The Dare Collection: March 2018. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
pastry you create a Screaming Orgasm?’
She mumbled something unintelligible as I peeled her dress off and flung it away, leaving her completely naked. Completely beautiful.
‘What was that? You want another already?’ I lazily circled a nipple before plucking it as it puckered. ‘If you say so—’
‘I want you inside me.’ She stilled my hand, her gaze trying to convey a message I had no hope of comprehending.
It looked a lot like gratitude tinged with something else, something I dared not label in case it scared the crap out of me. More than I already was.
‘Done,’ I said, sheathing myself and rolling her onto her side so we were face-to-face. ‘I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.’
‘And I like you,’ she murmured, hooking her leg over my hip and sliding closer. ‘Every inch of you.’
Not breaking eye contact, I slid into her in one smooth thrust and she sighed, the green flecks in her eyes sparking with mutual passion.
She felt so tight, so right, I knew I’d never forget this. Never forget her.
I needed to break eye contact, needed to stop her seeing into my soul, but as we rocked together slowly, sensually, I couldn’t look away.
We didn’t speak. No murmured dirty pleas. No naughty demands. Just the sound of our heavy breathing as we melded together.
Exquisitely slow. Deliciously drawn out.
Long, deep thrusts that made me mindless with wanting more.
As the first ripples of her orgasm clenched around me, I changed the angle of my hips a little, driving into her with enough force to make our heads bang.
‘Oh, hell...’ She came on a keen, the sexiest sound I’d ever heard as my balls tightened and I followed her over the edge a second later. Body taut. Mind blank. Stunned by the intensity of it and the ferocity of wanting to do it all over again as soon as humanly possible.
‘More like heaven,’ I said, disconcerted to find we still hadn’t broken eye contact, and in that moment reality crashed over me.
What we’d done wasn’t just sex.
We’d moved past that.
The intimacy, the eye contact, the yearning to stay inside her, all added up to one thing.
Trouble.
Abby
I USUALLY STARTED baking at six most mornings.
Today I started at five.
Tanner had been snoring softly when I’d woken at four, giving me precious time to study him. A slumbering Tanner was nothing like awake Tanner.
Asleep, Tanner’s face softened, making him look younger. Awake, tension bracketed his mouth and made his neck muscles bulge a little. Asleep, his lips relaxed into a semi-smile and his head lolled on the pillow all slack and cute.
It made me wonder, had he always been this uptight or had something happened to put him on alert at all times?
He’d dropped another hint about his childhood, about him and Remy, and while I’d never pry behind his back I couldn’t help but wish Remy had spoken more about his younger brother.
I knew next to nothing about Tanner King and I’d been okay with that. Having mind-blowing sex with a guy for a short-term fling didn’t demand shared confidences.
But last night had changed all that.
I didn’t know if it was having him in my space, the only guy I’d ever let into this apartment. Or cooking him dinner and having him rave about it. Or having him tell me that he’d never spent the night at a woman’s place so this would be a first. Or the way we’d connected during the first time we’d had sex in my bed. Or the second. Maybe even the third.
Whatever it was, I knew I was in trouble. Because this short-term fling had started to get to me a little.
I wanted to know what made Tanner King tick.
Realistically, nothing had changed. Once Remy was back on his feet and back at work, Tanner would leave. But I’d overheard him chatting to Makayla yesterday about opening another two clubs in Sydney, which meant he’d leave Le Miel but would still be in town.
After last night, short term had somehow morphed in my head into something possibly a little...longer.
I could lie to myself and say it was the sex. The phenomenal, stupendous, soul-drugging sex. But I’d given up lying to myself around the time I’d walked out on Bardley after finally admitting what a disaster I’d made of my life by kowtowing to everyone and lying to myself that I was okay with it.
So lying was out. Which meant I had to accept the fact I was in danger of falling for my sexy fling. No biggie. I’d have to suck it up, get my game face on whenever he was around and make sure he didn’t see beneath my devil-may-care mask. Because I could care given half a chance and if there was one thing I’d learned during my brief time with Tanner, he wasn’t the kind of guy to develop anything beyond a transient liking for.
I had clear-cut goals and I’d told him as such. No way would I let a little potential crush derail my plans.
I’d already given up so much in my life, had frittered away too many years being someone I wasn’t for people who ultimately didn’t give a crap about me. Emotional ties bred dependence and submissiveness and compliance, so no way would I allow myself to get involved with Tanner beyond the physical.
Moving forward, this time was for me. I intended to be selfish and goal-oriented, allowing nothing or nobody to distract me.
Tanner King in all his sexy, tattooed glory was one big distraction just waiting to happen.
So I wouldn’t allow it.
After fifteen minutes of indulgent daydreaming, where I envisaged waking up to his magnificent body every morning, I’d slipped out of bed and got dressed as quietly as I could. He hadn’t stirred, so I’d left him a breakfast tray next to the bed and a note. He wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary that I’d started work at five, though he might take offence at being advised to slip out the back stairs if he didn’t want to be spied doing the walk of shame.
In reality, I couldn’t face Makayla’s inevitable interrogation if she saw Tanner waltz in here wearing the same clothes as yesterday. For the simple fact I didn’t know what I’d say.
Accepting I’d been idiot enough to be teetering on the brink of falling for him was one thing, admitting it to anyone else another. I could live with my secret. I couldn’t live with Makayla’s endless banter if she discovered it.
For now, I needed to focus on my morning routine to get my head back in the game; and away from the sexy guy lying slumbering in my bed, waiting for a wake-up he’d never forget...
‘Damn it,’ I muttered as a glob of butter plopped onto the floor.
The intricate process of laminating dough to produce my signature Viennoiserie pastries required concentration and skill, neither of which I had this morning if my first effort was any indication.
So I started again. Wrapping a light dough around a layer of butter. Rolling it. Folding it. Rolling it again. Repeating the process over and over to produce a dough with many layers that would result in a puffy light texture that melted in the mouth after baking.
Remy said my almond croissants, pain au lait and chouquettes rivalled the best he’d tasted in France. I knew his excessive compliments were supposed to encourage me so I accepted them with aplomb, all the while wishing I could be half as good as my mentor.
So I toiled away every day, creating and tasting, buoyed