“You’re beating it too hard.”
“I’ll have you know my beating technique is honed over years of experience.”
“I’m sure you like to think so, but there’s always room for improvement.”
“Would you’d like to take over here, Sweets? Because I’m not against witnessing your beating skills.”
“Nice try, buddy. Just don’t come crying to me when your cream comes out too thick.”
At this, August bursts out laughing. He’d been holding it in admirably while we pretended to bicker. So had I, but the damn has broken. I join him, doubling up against the counter where we’ve been trying to make dessert.
Jan, March, and the girls are out picking up barbecue for dinner; I’ve been promised a veritable feast of ribs and brisket. When I’d asked about sides, I got a long, suffering look from the boys. But after a lecture from March about how sides were superfluous in the presence of good barbecue, I was promised there would be some—if I so chose to fill up on needless carbs.
I’d offered to make dessert: fresh whipped cream piled on top of syrupy baked apples and a butter cookie crumble.
That was the idea, anyway. I’d tasked August with whipping the cream. In hindsight, a bit of a mistake.
His laugh rolls full and deep as tears of amusement make his eyes shine. In his hand is a whisk with cream sitting upon it like a fluffy white hat. The tip of it trembles as he snickers.
“Oh, sweet Penelope,” he sings with mirth. “Won’t you taste my cream?”
“Get out of here,” I say through actual giggles, and push the whisk threatening to coat my lips with hiscreamaway. “Pervert.”
“I didn’t used to be. This must be a newyouthing.”
Bare footed, dressed in a blue college T that stretches nicely over his chest and low-slung faded jeans, he looks happy and relaxed. The sliding glass doors facing the kitchen are cracked open to the crisp evening air and the piney scent of fall drifts in. Just beyond, the still waters of the lake shine silver in the moonlight.
“Give me that.” I take his whisk and the bowl. “We will not be having cream wars in your brother’s kitchen, thank you very much.”
Without warning, he clasps my waist and lifts me onto the counter. I land with a surprised squeak, and he chuckles, stepping in between my thighs to cup my cheek. In the warm glow of the kitchen, his eyes gleam like polished pewter. “Now, Penelope, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“It got kicked to the side by my sense of decorum.”
Even as I say it, my lips coast along his skin. I love the strong column of his neck, how it’s sandy with his beard just under his jaw, then becomes silky and hot by his pulse. I love how he shivers every time I kiss him there, and how he’ll inevitably tilt his head just enough to give me more access.
He does it now, his big hands kneading my hips as I kiss along that smooth, hot skin and lick his sensitive points. “Guess a little cream landed here,” I lie, licking him again.
August grunts, dipping his head to return the favor. His mouth opens over the curve of my neck. Gently, he sucks there. I feel it in shivering licks of sensation along my thighs, in my core.
“Pickle,” I warn, weakly.
“Hmm?” He nibbles his way back up my neck toward my ear. And I lean back to let him, my hand clutching the whisk tightly.
“Brother’s house...” It’s the saddest attempt at behaving ever. August cups my breast with a big, warm hand, fondling me in that way of his that makes me weak.
“Live dangerously, Sweets.” A husky plea as his head lowers to my collar, looking for a way in. He finds the first button and pops it free.
Oh, how I want him. I want that clever mouth to find all my swollen and eager places. But he’s seducing me too easily.
“August,” I say again, leaning in just a little, because, damn it, he’s tweaking my nipple now.
“Yes, Pen.” He doesn’t appear to really care what I’m saying at the moment. He’s got his hands full, after all.
I ease back just enough to break contact. He meets my gaze, his slumberous and carnal. I give him a long look over. “You got a spot...”
“A spot?” He frowns, slow-moving due to lust. I empathize. However...
“A spot,” I confirm. “Right . . . there!”
