wal .
“How thoroughly you own me, Nightie Girl,” he said, leaning in to whisper this part in my ear. “And I know I love you enough to want you to have
your happy ending.”
And then he kissed me—Heart was in heaven—kissed me like it was a fairy tale, even though in this fairy tale I had dough sticking to my back
and a cat with a pawful of nuts. But that didn’t stop me from kissing him back as though my life depended on it.
“Did you know I started fal ing for you the night you banged on my door?” he asked, kissing my neck. “And that I as soon as I started to get to
know you, I wasn’t with anyone else?”
I gasped. “But I thought, I mean, I saw you with—”
“I know what you thought, but it’s true. How could I be with anyone else when I was fal ing in love with you?”
He loved me! But wait, what’s this? He was backing away…where was he going?
“And now, I’m going to do something I never thought I would do.” He sighed mournful y, looking at the stacks of bread on the table. With a deep
breath and a grimace, in one fel swoop he knocked them al to the floor. Bread rained down in foil-covered bricks around us, and I can’t be sure,
but I think I heard a tiny whine escape as he watched them hit the floor. But then he turned to me, eyes dark and dangerous. He grabbed me and
swung me up on the table before him, nudging my legs apart to stand between them.
“Do you have any idea how much fun we’re going to have?” he asked, slipping his hands inside my apron, warm and a little rough on my
tummy.
“What are you up to?”
“An O has been lost, and I’m a sucker for a chal enge.” He grinned, pul ing me to the edge of the table and snugly in to him. With his hands
behind my knees, he wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing me again, lips and tongue hot and persistent.
“It’s not going to be easy. She’s pretty lost,” I protested between kisses, worrying his buttons open and exposing his Spanish suntan.
“I’m done with easy.”
“You should print that on cards.”
“Print this—why do you stil have clothes on?”
He laid me back across the table as I grinned up at him. My foot hit the flour sifter and sent it crashing to the floor, dusting us thoroughly in the
process. Simon’s hair looked like a biscuit, powdery and puffy. I coughed and a plume of flour came out, making Simon laugh out loud. The
laughing stopped when I reached down for him, finding him hard, yet stil covered in denim. He groaned, my favorite sound in the world.
“Fuck, Caroline, I love your hands on me,” he said through his teeth, dipping his mouth to my neck and leaving a trail of white-hot kisses across
my skin. His tongue swept out across me, underneath the edge of my apron. Hands quickly found the bottom of my tank top, and it went sailing
across the room, into the kitchen sink. Within seconds, a pair of shorts found themselves swimming alongside, quickly fol owed by a pair of jeans
and a white button-down.
The apron? Wel , we were having a little trouble with that one.
“Are you a sailor? Who tied this knot, Popeye?” he seethed, struggling to get it undone. In his struggles, he managed to knock over a bowl of
orange marmalade glaze, which now dripped down the table and on to the floor. My contribution was to flip over a carton of raisins while I craned
my neck trying to see the knot behind me.
“Oh, screw the apron, Simon. Look here,” I insisted, snapping the front of my bra and tossing it to the floor. I pul ed down the top of the apron,
arranging and propping up my cleavage. Pie eyed, he looked at my now-naked breasts and went in for the kil . I was pushed roughly back on to the
table once more, his insistent mouth now dragging down my neck, attacking my skin like it had done something personal to him and he was
exacting his revenge. And a lustful revenge it was.
Dipping a finger into the marmalade puddle, he traced a path from one breast to the other, circling and pressing the sticky into my skin.
Bending his head, he tasted one, then the other, both of us groaning at the same time.
“Mmm, you taste good.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t making hot wings. This could be a different story—wow, that’s nice.” I sighed as he responded to my smart-assery with an
actual bite.
“These would be extra spicy.”
He laughed as I rol ed my eyes.
“Want me to get some celery to cool you down?” I asked.
“No one’s cooling down in this apartment, not anytime soon,” he promised, grabbing the jar of honey from the nearby counter and pul ing aside
my apron. Without missing a beat, he got my panties al wet. And not in the way you think, although there was that…