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“I think so.” Nick set the pans on the counter. “Now we let them cool, and then frost them. Up for some Scrabble while we wait?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Nick poured us some more scotch, retrieved Scrabble from the top of his coat closet, and turned the cakes out onto cooling racks before sitting down next to me at the island.
I opened the box. “Now, no cheating, Lupo. I’ve got my eye on you.”
“I’d like your ass on me. Want to sit on my lap?”
“Tempting, but no. You stay in your chair, I’ll stay in mine.”
We played one game, drank too much scotch, and laughed so much my sides hurt. At one point,
Nick tried to use panky and I told him it wasn’t a word.
“Yes, it is,” he insisted. “I can use it in a sentence. ‘The panky in the kitchen tonight was delightful.’”
“Still not a word.”
“Did you know what I meant?”
“Yes, but—“
“It has a definition, so it’s a word!” He pulled me off my chair and onto his lap. “Or perhaps you need a demonstration of the word.” He slid his hand down the front of my shorts.
“Nick, come on. Again already? I thought you had to frost the cake.” But his fingers were already working their magic, making my knees open wider and my spine go slack against his chest.
We never did frost the cake that night. Or finish the game. Or empty our glasses. Instead, Nick decided to prove to me how much better the beanbag was than a couch.
And after two hours of panky on it, I had to agree.
Eventually, we made it upstairs, although my leg muscles were so fatigued that I desperately wished for a banister to hold on to. We collapsed onto the bed, both of us on our bellies.
“This is insane,” I said. “I haven’t had this much sex in one day since…” Our wedding day. “Since college.”
Nick laughed. “Me neither.”
“Stop it. Really?”
“Really. But I like it. Maybe we should get married.”
“Haha, very funny.” And yet so not funny. I went to get off the bed but he dragged me back down. “Relax, Coco. I’m kidding.”
“I know,” I lied. “I’m just getting up to brush my teeth.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess I should go put the cakes away. Hope they’re not all dried out tomorrow.”
“If they are, we can start over.” I ruffled his hair, and he let me. “I like baking with you.”
#
I brushed my teeth, turned out the light, and got under the covers, barely able to keep my eyes open. It had to be one in the morning, I’d been up since six, and I was not a night owl by any means. Nick’s bed was amazingly comfortable, and I fell asleep even before he got back upstairs, waking only when he slid between the sheets, smelling like chocolate and toothpaste.
“You smell like mint chocolate chip ice cream,” I told him sleepily. I opened my eyes to see him turn onto his side, one elbow beneath his head, facing me.
“Still your favorite kind?”
“Yes.”
“Red still your favorite color?”
“Yes.”
“Fall still your favorite season?”
I smiled. “You really do remember a lot of things about me.”
“Told you.”
We lay in the dark, silent for a moment. I wondered if he would sling an arm over me, or what he’d say if I flung a leg over him. It didn’t have to mean anything; I just felt close to him and liked that he would sleep near me tonight. He felt reassuring somehow. Like a forgotten lullaby you hear again years later, the melody taking you back to a time when you felt safe and loved.
He moved his pillow a little closer to mine. “This is nice.”
“Mmhmm.” My eyes drifted shut.
“Poor baby. You’re tired.”
“Mmhmm.” I was already half-asleep when I felt his hand brushing the hair back from my face. A second later his lips rested briefly on mine.
“Night, Coco.”
“Night.”
His hand kept stroking my hair, and a moment later, he spoke again. “Do you ever think about what would have happened if I hadn’t left Vegas?”
“No.” I was so tired, I answered him honestly. I didn’t have the energy to make up a lie. “I don’t let myself.”
“Why not?”
“No point,” I murmured drowsily. “And it makes me sad.”
“Me too.” He exhaled, his hand still moving slowly over my hair. “Although I think about it all the time.”
I woke up slowly, feeling content and happy, although it took me a minute to think of why. When I opened my eyes, the room was light but not bright, and the bed was unfamiliar but not strange.
Oh, right. It’s Nick’s bed.
Smiling and stretching, I turned over, expecting to find him sleeping beside me, but he wasn’t there. My face fell—actually my heart dropped too. It was kind of irritating how crushed I was that he wasn’t there. You should be glad he’s not here…spontaneous sex in the kitchen is one thing but sex in a bed, in his bed, might be too personal.
His side of the bed was neat, as if he’d pulled the covers up to keep me warm, and I swung a leg into the space where he’d slept—the sheets were cool. He’d been up for a little while.
Nick didn’t have a clock up here, and I’d left my phone downstairs, so I had no idea what time it was. Judging from the light coming in through the huge windows downstairs, it was probably mid- morning.
I used the bathroom and wandered downstairs, feeling oddly nervous when I rounded the corner into the kitchen. Last night had been crazy, but I didn’t regret a moment of it. Did he? Should I be prepared to blow it off? Laugh it off? Or would it be awkward— what if he apologized?
Four words went through my head.
This was a mistake.
I walked into the kitchen on wobbly legs.
“Good morning, cupcake.” Nick, electric mixer in hand, walked over and kissed my head. Barefoot, he wore jeans and a plain, clean white t-shirt. His hair was neat and damp. “I’m glad you’re up. I have to finish the frosting and I didn’t want the noise to wake you.
There’s coffee there. Cups are in the cupboard above.”
“OK. Thank you.” I smiled at him, grateful there didn’t seem to be any weirdness between us. On the contrary, this felt easy and natural…was that any less worrisome? Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I poured myself a cup of coffee and glanced at the clock on the oven. Not quite eight. “I’m surprised you’re up so early.”
“Me? I’m always up early. All those mornings I had to be at work at five AM, I guess.”
I sipped my coffee as he plugged the mixer in near the stove. “That’s right. I’d forgotten about your days as a short order cook.”
“Not very glamorous, but I had to pay for college somehow. Not all of us could send the bills home to Mom and Dad.”
Stiffening, I debated a sharp-tongued defense of myself, but decided against it. Instead I brought my coffee cup to my lips and vowed to be the bigger person. I patted his shoulder blade. “You made it look good, darling.” The mixer came on with a whir and I peeked around him at the white mixture he was beating in some kind of two-layered pot.
“What is that thing?”
“It’s a double boiler. You have to mix this frosting over heat.”
“Jeez, that cake is a lot of work.”
“It is. But it’s worth it.”
“Good things always are.” Setting my coffee cup on the island, I picked up my phone and noticed I had a text from my real estate agent. “Ooh, we can see the house at ten forty-five,” I told him, raising my voice to be heard over the noise at the stove.
“Perfect. That will give me time to frost the cake and cook you breakfast before we go. Still like bacon and eggs?”
“I like bacon and anything. But don’t feel like you have to make a big meal. We might be a little rushed, and I still need to take a shower.”
> “I do too.”
“Really? You look like you already took one. OK, well what about if I get in now, you finish the frosting, then you can shower, and we can just grab a bagel somewhere on our way to the house?”
“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll finish this, and while it cools, I’ll make breakfast. We can shower together, saving time and conserving water, and I’ll frost the cake while you dry your hair.” He flashed me a grin over his shoulder. “How does that sound?”
I laughed, my stomach turning somersaults at the idea of a shower together. So it’s still on for today. “Resourceful and environmentally conscious. Very impressive.”
He nodded, turning off the heat under the pan. “Babe, I’m a fucking model of efficiency.”
#
Despite all the sex we’d had last night, I still hadn’t seen Nick completely naked, a fact I realized when I stood staring at him through the glass door of his shower. The sight of him in there wetting his hair, eyes closed, the water running down his long, lean body, cascading over all his tattoos, dripping off his firm, round muscles, nearly brought me to my knees. Immediately I felt self-conscious of my soft curves, especially since I’d just eaten Nick’s equivalent of the Grand Slam at Denny’s. God, why did I have to eat that last slice of bacon? I knew I’d had enough but it was just sitting there in the pan, all lonely and crunchy and delicious. I couldn’t walk away.
Nine days out of ten, I was perfectly happy with my body—I was healthy and shapely and felt beautiful in my skin. But on that tenth day, I suffered self-criticism just like all women do, no matter their size. Even Mia, who never struggled with weight, had things she disliked about her body.
“What are you doing?” Nick pushed open the glass door. “Get in here.”
Flustered at being caught staring, I twisted my hands together in front of my stomach. “I’m being nervous.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “About what?”
“About my body.”
“For fuck’s sake, Coco. You can’t be serious. You have the most knockout body I’ve ever seen.”
“But you’ve been around all those Hollywood types. Those girls are so skinny and—“
“Fake. Most of them are nothing but fake and I like real. I like curvy. I like you.” He reached for my arm and pulled me into the shower. “Now come here.” He moved so I could stand under the hot water and watched as I wet my hair. While my eyes were closed and my arms over my head, he lowered his mouth to one breast and brought his hand to the other. “I can’t believe,” he said between kisses that made my nipples stand at attention, “that you think I’d prefer any body in the world to yours.” He lifted both breasts in his hands, sucking on one pebbled tip and then the other while I stretched languorously, reaching high above me, feeling lithe and desired.
He straightened, kissing his way up my neck and finding my mouth with his. As his wet body pressed close to mine, I felt his cock growing hard between us. Sheathing it in my hand, I let it slip through my fingers, nice and slow. His hands traveled down my sides, one coming to rest on my ass, the other reaching between my legs. I moaned as his fingers rubbed slow, wet circles on my clit, rising up on tiptoe and tightening my grip on his erection.
“God, that feels good,” I said. “But I think we’re supposed to be in here getting clean, not getting dirty.”
“Mmm. First one. Then the other.” He slipped a finger inside of me. “Dirty first.”
I took his other hand and brought it to my mouth, slipping a finger between my lips and slowly dragging it out. “But it’s my turn.” I kissed his collarbone before moving down his chest, running my mouth over ink and muscle, brushing my lips down the ridges of his stomach and the trail of hair beneath his navel, kissing the points of his hip bones. Sinking to my knees on the tiles, I slid my tongue along the V lines on his lower abdomen—up one side, and down the other, my heart beating hard and fast in my chest.
“Oh my God.” Nick’s voice was deep and rusty. I smiled up at him, and he brushed some wet strands of hair off my face. He looked so good standing above me, dripping and hungry-eyed and breathing hard. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“You just like me on my knees.” I vaguely remembered the fumbling blow jobs I used to give Nick in college, but they were usually over really quickly (Nick said that was his fault, not mine), and I was always a little tentative. Scared of hurting him with my teeth, of choking myself, of not doing it right. And it wasn’t as if I thought myself an expert now, but I had learned a thing or two in the last few years, and I was eager to demonstrate my progress.
“I like you every way. But this is… Oh fuck.” He put a hand on the wall as I teased his cock with my tongue, making it dance in front of me. I ran my hands up the back of his legs, over his muscular calves and tight thighs. I squeezed his ass before dragging my nails around his hips and taking his solid flesh in both hands.
“Fuuuuuck.” Nick swore again softly as I swirled my tongue over the tip, then licked around the sides. Murmuring softly, I ran my tongue up one long, hard side of his shaft and down the other, then from the thick-veined bottom all the way up to the velvety top, smiling when his cock jumped, as if it couldn’t wait to get inside my mouth. “Coco,” he pleaded.
Yes, beg me.
I eased the first couple inches between my lips, continuing to whirl my tongue around the tip before sucking gently.
“Yes. Jesus.” Nick cupped my head with his other hand as I sucked him harder. “You’re fucking amazing.”
I slipped his cock from my mouth and grinned up at him. “I’m just getting started.”
“Oh my God,” he moaned when I slid him in deep, all the way to the back of my throat. Keeping him there, I used my hands. Firm, rhythmic pulls that had him pounding on the shower wall, his groans echoing off the tiles.
I looked up again, saw his eyes going even darker as he watched me rub my lips back and forth over the tip, then brush it across my cheek, down my throat, over my chin. “I like it when you hold my head,” I said, my voice soft.
He threaded both hands into my wet hair, and I slid him to my throat once more, hugging his hard length with my lips and tongue, sucking him hungrily. At first he just held my head steady, but as I took him deep again and again, he began to get rougher, thrusting into my mouth and pulling my head toward his body.
I moaned to let him know I liked it, and he cursed again and again, the words lashing from his lips between strangled breaths. His cock grew even harder in my mouth, and I could taste the salty sweetness dripping from it. He was close, but I still had a couple tricks left.
I reached between his legs, exploring, teasing, boldly stroking and sliding my fingers anywhere he’d let me. Nick’s groans grew louder, his fists tightening in my hair. His legs trembled. “Fuck, Coco…I’m gonna come…so if you…where do you…fuck!”
I’d grabbed his ass with the other hand, letting him know I didn’t want him to pull out like I used to in college. Back then he’d warn me and I’d finish him off with my hands, letting him come on my breasts or stomach or legs, and even though I’d love to watch him do that again for old time’s sake, this time I wanted him to come with my mouth on him, they way he made me come with his mouth on me.
With one final thrust, Nick’s hips stopped moving and he went rigid, but I kept my lips and tongue sliding over him, bringing my hand from his ass to his cock and jerking him into my mouth. Liquid warmth streamed to the back of my throat. I waited for his fingers to relax in my hair before taking my lips from him and swallowing. There. See what you missed by leaving me?
The thought came out of nowhere, surprising me with its cool resentment. Had it been in the back of my mind all along? That this was an opportunity to make him even sorrier for what he’d done?
Stop analyzing, Coco. It was a blow job, not a Great American Novel. You enjoyed it, he enjoyed it. The end.
Nick tipped my chin up. “You can’t leave. I’m never letting you leave my shower.”
He groaned. “You mean I will never experience this nirvana again? You vixen. I want to revisit the rules.”
I shook my head. “Uh uh. No way. We are allowed to have our fun this weekend, but that’s that. Got any shampoo?”
“Wait a minute.” He caught me around the waist as I tried to reach past him to the bench where his arsenal of hair products was lined up. “You’re not even going to let me return the favor? Like a good friend would?”
“You can wash my hair. How’s that?”
His face fell. “It’s not licking your pussy but I guess it will have to do. For now.” Shooting me a look that said later would be another story, he picked up a bottle of shampoo. “OK. Turn around.”
I loved getting my hair washed. Sometimes I made blow-out appointments at the salon just for the mesmerizing, swoony feeling I got when someone else massaged my scalp, rubbed the suds through my hair, rinsed it with warm water, and then cool. I was half in love with the gay stylists’ assistant at my salon just for the way he made me feel during the shampoo. As Nick’s fingers on my head sent chills down my spine, I closed my eyes and moaned softly.
Behind me, Nick laughed. “That good, huh?”
“Yes. I’m pretty much in heaven right now.”
“Me too. OK rinse.” I turned and rinsed, and when I opened my eyes, Nick was ready with the conditioner.
“Wow, the full treatment.”
He cocked a brow at me. “You want the full treatment? Because I’ll give you the full treatment.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nick. Focus.”
But when his hands started lathering my limbs with shower gel that smelled herbal and clean, the scent that I’d caught on his skin last night, my body responded sexually to the sensory overload. It was too much—Nick’s nakedness, his hands on me, the smell of summer and sex, the water streaming down our bodies, the taste of his kiss, the stroke of his tongue on mine…Before I knew it, I was sitting on the bench with my knees open, Nick’s tongue dancing over my clit, his fingers pinching my taut nipples.