Yours forever, p.9
Yours, Forever, page 9
"I know, I know." Somehow, I thought baking with Brooke would be more sexy than this. I imagined licking icing from her neck and teasing each other with whisks. Instead, I'm sweating more in the kitchen than I have in any gym. I'd say I'm disappointed, but I'm not. She's a force of nature. I lov—like it. I like it. A lot.
"This bag is empty—can you swap out the tip?" She points to the full piping bag on the counter she already prepped, and hands me the empty bag.
I can do this. Sure, I messed it up the last time, but that was just practice. With careful precision, I follow the steps she laid out clearly. I only curse under my breath a few times—which is an improvement—and hand her the most perfect piping bag of frosting I've ever seen, if I do say so myself.
"Better." She nods approvingly, and my chest fills with pride.
Within moments, every single one of the bare chocolate cupcakes is frosted with a perfect pink swirl—reminiscent of a rose but not exactly. I watch intently as she sprinkles silver pearlescent powder of some sort on each cupcake. The silver compliments the dusty pink perfectly. It looks classy and elegant, which isn't something I would normally associate with cupcakes. Brooke really has an eye for this sort of thing.
Bee-bee-bee-beep. Bee-bee-bee-beep.
Her phone's alarm rings out and I jump into action. I test the middle row with my fork, and it comes out clean. Next, I remove the tray, efficiently replacing it with the next tin. Brooke taps her phone again, resetting the timer.
"How'd I do, boss?" I ask.
"Very good." She nods again.
There's not much to do until the batch is cool enough for frosting, so I sit on a bar stool and try not to wipe up the counters. Every single speck of powder or goop taunts me, and I have to sit on my hands. This is her show; I'm just the assistant. But god dammit, I want to fucking clean up this mess.
"Do you think you'll be able to help me deliver these tomorrow?" Brooke asks, scrolling through her phone. "It's up north in Inwood, by the Cloisters."
"Sure," I automatically reply. I've never heard of Inwood, but the Cloisters pique my interest. Medieval architecture and art? I could spend hours there. "Can we… visit the Cloisters after the delivery?"
She looks up from her phone and grins. "Yeah, absolutely. It's a date."
It's a date.
Those three words echo in my mind long after we finished baking. All of the cupcakes are boxed up and ready to go, sitting in my fridge. Brooke flopped onto the couch about twenty minutes ago. Her eyes just wouldn't stay open any longer. I admire the peaceful expression she has while she sleeps, then stop myself.
That is undeniably creepy of me. I can't watch her sleep—what's wrong with me? I should just get on my phone, check my email… maybe text my sister. Something. Anything besides watch Brooke sleep.
It's a date.
What are we doing here, Dustin?
It's a date.
I know what I want to be doing here. I want to sweep her off her feet and threaten her ex-husband so he'll never bother her again. I want to do all the sappy stuff in romance novels. I want to be the Gomez to her Morticia. The Jake to her Amy. The Chidi to her Eleanor. The Ben to her Leslie.
But there's so much that could go wrong. We'd have to declare our relationship to HR, of course. And once that's on paper, it would be horrendously mortifying if anything were to happen. Then we'd have to professionally declare a breakup, and the very concept of that makes my stomach turn.
And what if she doesn't want this? What if she's happy to just wave goodbye when I leave? What if we drift back apart and we don't see each other again?
I straighten my spine and shake myself. No. That can't happen. I can make this work—we can make this work. I know we can. I believe in us.
"Yours, forever," I whisper to her sleeping form. Maybe it's just my imagination, but I swear she smiles.
Brooke
"No, Huey!" I wake with a start at the sound of rushing liquid. It takes me a few blinks to realize where I am—I'm not home; I'm at Dustin's fancy-ass corporate apartment. Huey isn't peeing on the floor. It's the sound of a sink.
"Everything okay?" Dustin looks over his shoulder at me. He's washing something in the sink with my tea towel slung over his shoulder.
I snicker. "Yeah, weird dream. What are you doing?"
"Washing up. You said I shouldn't clean until we were done. You fell asleep, so." He grins sheepishly. "I figured we were done."
He looks so domestic. And god, it looks good on him. I admire him as he turns back to the sink, humming quietly. His chestnut brown hair could use a trim, but the shaggy look seems effortlessly chic. And his broad shoulders? Woof. If he calls me a good girl again, I'll probably bark.
After a few minutes of my gawking, he produces a sparkling clean stack of my muffin tins and mixing bowls. He even wiped down the hand mixer and reinstalled the beater whisks. Jesus. I'm really impressed with him—he kept up with me and didn't take any of my criticism personally. He listened to the feedback, adjusted his actions, and tried again.
Why aren't all men like that? But, then again, I don't need all men to be like that. I have Dustin—
Nope.
Nope. Not going there. This has an expiration date, and I'm fine with that. Honestly, I should just be happy that I've patched things up with Dustin. And I am happy. My job is safe; my team is safe; I've rekindled what was once an incredible friendship-turned-relationship, but does it have to be anything more? No, it doesn't.
But it could be, the tiny little traitorous voice in my head sings out. My stomach ties itself into a knot. I don't want to complicate things—I want to keep hanging out with Dustin. I want to keep being happy. Why can't I convince myself that the expiration date is a good thing?
Objectively, it could be. He's helped me regain my confidence, thanks to all the murmured words of praise and adoration over my body. He's given me more orgasms in two weeks than during my entire marriage. He even loves my cat. That's not a euphemism, either. He genuinely adores Huey.
I could take all of this onboard and find myself a local man who's up to my high standards. You know, in time. I don't want to rope anyone into my post-divorce mess of a life, not really, but it feels much less messy with Dustin. He knows me. He's always known me.
That's why you want it to be more, idiot!
"Ugh," I huff out an exasperated breath at myself.
"Did I do something wrong?" Dustin looks over to me with concern. "I'm sorry—I looked up how best to clean muffin tins, and I don't think yours are non-stick, but I used the soft side of the sponge anyway. Is that okay?"
God dammit.
"You haven't done anything wrong." I shake my head. "In fact, you're perfect."
The smile that breaks out from his face is magnificent. He saunters over to the couch and plops down beside me, grabbing the foot I've tucked under my butt. My eyes roll back into my head as he massages the soles of my feet. The moan that slips from my mouth is inhuman and definitely not professional. Definitely not platonic.
"I think I'd like to show you how perfect you are, Brooke," he whispers.
The definition of the word platonic dissipates from my mind. Friends? What are those? Who cares! I'm about to get some Dustin.
"Is that so?" I purr, looking over at him through my eyelashes.
The good thing about a studio apartment is that the bed is never very far away. He releases my foot—I pout and whine—and gestures to the bed. I expect him to sit down or maybe lay down, but he doesn't. He stands beside it and watches me flop and adjust myself until I'm perfectly comfy.
"Take off those pants, Brooke." He unbuttons his shirt and drops it to the floor. "Now, if you please."
His commanding tone, mixed with the polite words, stokes the butterflies in my stomach. I follow his directions and shimmy the pants off, then drop them to the floor beside the bed.
"Panties, too."
The instant my underwear hits the floor, he dives towards me and spreads my legs apart. His tongue circles my clit before I have a second to comprehend what's happening. I don't think I need to comprehend. I think I need to turn my mind off and chase the pleasure.
"God, you taste better than I remember." He flattens his tongue and takes a deep, long swipe that floods the thought center of my brain with tingles. "Wrap those legs around my head, baby. I'm taking you for a ride."
"Oh, god," I whimper and arch my back. I feel like I might float off the mattress. The things he does with his tongue… why did I ever let him go? How could I ever think he's boring?
His tongue and lips dance around my clit, giving just enough pressure to make me gasp but not enough to be uncomfortable. It's perfect. Everything about him is perfect. Every breath comes out as a keening moan. I don't even realize I'm gripping the sheets until he wraps his lips around my clit and flicks it with his tongue—I about rip the sheets off the bed, my arms having a mind of their own.
I'm getting closer and closer. He can feel it, too. He slips a finger inside me and curls it, making a come-hither motion. I see fucking stars behind my eyelids. There's no way I can hold on much longer. My breath hitches, and my muscles tense—
"Not yet." He backs off and smiles up at me. He looks so fucking good with my arousal smeared all over his face. "Not yet, baby."
"Please?" I'm whining, and I don't care. I wriggle my hips and try to lock him between my legs, but he's too fast.
"You'll get yours, I promise. You believe me, right?"
"I do."
"Then turn over. Face down, ass up." He kneels on the bed and grips my hips, turning me impatiently. He lost his pants at some point, and his rock-hard cock stands at attention. I allow myself to be manhandled by Dustin and whimper as the cool air hits my pussy. "God, that's a gorgeous sight."
My whole body vibrates with anticipation. I can feel myself absolutely drenched, dripping down my thighs, and I need him. "Please, Dustin? Please?"
He makes a feral sound and rubs the head of his cock against my pussy. A low groan emanates from somewhere in my soul. I open my mouth to beg him, plead with him, but he slips inside, and I feel myself stretch around his thick cock. Goddamn.
"How are you so perfect?" Dustin whispers. "You taste divine, and you feel even better. God."
I melt. I'm a puddle. I'm a perfectly fuckable puddle. Dustin thrusts into me with the pistoning speed and power of a god. I clutch the sheets like it might save my life, but we both know it won't. He huffs out a laugh when he sees me hanging on with a death grip.
"Too much for you, baby? You want me to slow it down?" He thrusts deeper than before, stealing my breath. "Or am I boring you?"
I gasp, but it morphs into a moan as he slaps my ass hard. He really loves my ass—it's a welcome change, honestly. Calvin thought it was too big, too jiggly. But Dustin? He goes all googly-eyed whenever I wear anything more form fitting than sweatpants. I try to vocalize my thoughts—or anything at all—but it just comes out as a muffled groan.
"Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want."
"More?"
"As you wish, baby."
This beautiful, beautiful man pounds me into the goddamn mattress. My eyes roll back. My brain doesn't work. My limbs are noodles. My hands can only scrabble at the blankets and try to find something to grab hold of. I've never been fucked like this, ever. Not even by Dustin. He isn't holding back. He's turned me from a competent, intelligent woman into a whimpering mess. I'm cock-drunk.
I've never been cock-drunk.
Dustin's masculine grunts and groans sound like music to my ears. I arch my back for him, clenching my pelvic muscles, and relish in the sounds of his whimpered "fuck." His hand smacks across my ass cheek again, and I shiver at the sting.
"Do you remember how to count, baby?" Dustin caresses the stinging flesh of my ass cheek, and I nod into the bed. "No, I need you to say it."
"Yes, I—fuck—one!" I yelp out.
"Good girl."
I shiver at his praising words until his hand cracks across my ass again. "Fuck! Two!"
He huffs out a strained breath. I tense, waiting for the next hard spank. I have no idea how he's still fucking the life out of me and smacking my ass. Just when I let out a hissing breath, he strikes, and I yelp again.
"Three! God, Dustin, please—I need to come, please?" My voice sounds strained, breathy when I'm on this incredible edge between pleasure and pain.
"You will, baby. I promise. Just a few more, okay?" He kneads the thick muscle of my ass cheeks and whispers his praise under his breath.
My body is strung tight, but I nod and whimper into the blankets. With one hand gripping my hip, he slides the other down between my legs and gently circles my clit with his thumb. His thrusts are slower, more loving, and the pleasure rolls through my body like a tidal wave. My legs quiver below me, and I can feel myself getting closer.
He yanks his hand away from my clit and slaps my ass again, just as I near the edge. An irritated huff bubbles from my throat, and I pound the bed with my fist.
"Four! Fucking hell! Why? I was so close!" I whine and moan.
"I know, baby. I promise you'll come. But you need to learn patience." The smile is practically audible, even though his tone is soothing and caring.
"I don't wanna learn shit!"
Another hard smack across the ass shuts me up, and I growl into the blanket. "Five!"
"That's my good girl," he grunts. His hand finds its way back to my clit and he strokes those lazy circles that drive me insane. I feel like a bomb, and if he's not careful, he's going to set me off and take us both down.
"You—are—such—a—good—girl," he praises me between thrusts.
I'm so far gone that I can't respond. I am nothing but my rising orgasm. Every part of my body and soul urges me closer and closer to that blissful edge. I can practically taste it; I'm so close.
And yet he pulls that glorious cock out of me, and I whine at the sudden emptiness. "What? No! Why?"
"Because you're gonna ride it, baby." He slips himself down next to me, fisting his cock. My mouth practically waters at the sight. It's so hard and so ready for me.
As I climb onto his cock, Dustin's eyes light up and his mouth falls open. His hands wander all over my belly, my thighs, my hips—everywhere he can reach. The steely length throbs inside of me, and I bite my lip to stifle my moans of pleasure. Once I rock my hips back and forth, dragging my sopping pussy over his cock, Dustin's hands latch onto my hips.
Rolling my hips at a grindingly slow pace, his face and chest flush red, and his eyes focus on my breasts. A gasp catches in my throat as his eyes sink lower, lingering on the soft rolls of my belly.
"God, Brooke, you drive me insane. It's fucking unbelievable," he murmurs as he trails a gentle finger over my flesh.
Shivers zip up and down my spine as I ride the life out of that man. He worships every dip and every curve of my body. He looks at me with reverent eyes. There's something more than lust there, but I don't want to think about that—it comes with so many complications, and all I want is to feel this exact way, right now, forever.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Brooke. You're so fucking gorgeous." The heat of his hands all over my body draws me closer and closer to the edge again, even with my slow strokes. He's getting closer, too. He adjusts his position below me and pistons into me with delightfully masculine grunts.
"I need this, Dustin, fuck, I need this. I need you. I need everything—" Coherent speech is somehow beyond my grasp. My body tightens around him, and I feel the building pressure deep in my core, in my goddamn soul—every part of me is teetering on the edge, and I don't know how much longer I can hold off.
His thrusts come faster, more erratic, and we tumble over the peak at the same time. He lets out a feral groan, and I feel the delicious warmth of his cum flooding into my cunt. I can't control the volume of my voice as wave after wave of pleasure engulfs me—it's like an out-of-body experience. Everything is perfect. My body rocks against his until we're both fully spent—breathless, limp, and completely satisfied.
"Oh, my god," I whisper. I flop over into the fetal position, sliding his still-hard cock out of me. He heaves a happy sigh and stumbles over to the bathroom. I can't move. I can't even roll over to my back. I might be stuck in this position forever.
"You did so well for me, Brooke," he says lovingly. He's returned with a towel, and he's carefully cleaning me up. I can't respond. It doesn't matter. I did well for him. I took his cock and his cum. I came harder than I ever have in my life.
After I'm all cleaned up, he eases me onto my side and settles in behind me. He always was the best big spoon. Warm, snuggly, and he knows exactly how I like my shoulders massaged.
Does this really have to end?
Dustin
Brooke lurches up from the bed, head on a swivel. "What time is it?"
"About seven. Are you hungry?" I ask, looking for my phone. I don't particularly want to brave the outside world. Out there, it's cold and gray, but in here, it's warm and bright. This is the kind of weather food delivery was invented for.
"Yes—shit, going back to Brooklyn is going to be a nightmare on the subway." She rubs her eyes and roots around the floor for her discarded clothes.
"You know," I muse. "You don't have to go home. You could stay the night."
She looks back over to me, pulling her pants up. "I don't have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush. Or a hairbrush."
"What a conundrum." I smile, proud of myself for thinking ahead. "I just so happen to have an extra toothbrush. It's new—in the package and everything, you can check—and while I don't have clothes for you, I do have a comb."
"Wow. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get into my pants." She laughs and shimmies her hips. Considering she's still shirtless, it's a mesmerizing sight.
"So what do you say?" I ask, ripping my eyes away from her incredible breasts. "Sleepover?"
"Ah, alright. You wore me down, Dusty. Honestly, it's probably for the best—shorter train ride with the cupcakes tomorrow. Let me just ask Eve if she can check on Huey…." she trails off, searching for her phone.
