He panted along with her, on the precipice of something he knew was big but that he couldn’t understand. She flexed her internal muscles around him, nearly sending him spiraling.
With his free hand, he reached to her sweet spot, massaging the place he knew drove her crazy. Pushing her over the edge.
She fell first, and he followed.
Wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her neck, he held her steady as she clamped around him over and over. Still, she didn’t move her hands. Her knuckles were nearly white from gripping the table.
Both of them out of breath, he withdrew and straightened her panties back where they went. “Sugar, you can move your hands now.”
“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to move again,” she replied, breathing hard.
He lifted her palms from the table, kissing each fingertip. “We can go upstairs, and it’ll be your turn to play with the frosting.”
A wry grin spread across her lips. “You are so on.”
Pastry bag in hand, she sauntered toward the stairs to her apartment. He took his time putting himself back together. She paused at the corner of the room, raising her eyebrows. He snagged the cookie with his name from the tray on the table and bit into it.
Tonight, he was getting all the cookies.
22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Senior “Senior” Prom Countdown: 2 Days
Jase sat by the cash register in his shop and did a quick inventory of the raspberry-ice-carrousel roses he’d managed to track down. After the clusterfuck of a dinner party the night before, he and Heather had ended up not-sleeping at her apartment. He had a whole new fondness for icing uses in bedroom adventures. He liked Heather’s place. It was comfortable and had real furniture. Unlike his makeshift bachelor pad with crates as end tables.
Then Dean had texted him that Claire was requiring he do a full-out promposal for her and he needed ideas. Fuck that. If Jase was going to plan a promposal, it’d be for Heather. Thus, the hunt for every raspberry-ice rose in the Denver metro area.
So far, he was pretty sure he’d come up with enough. Ten dozen ought to do it. And another few hundred rose petals for the bed. He’d already asked Babushka for her key so he could slip in before Heather returned from work.
Babushka had given him the third degree about what he was doing and why. Then he heard her tell Harry that he needed to step up and ask her before Morty did. Then Harry had called and ordered a bouquet of two dozen red roses and a box of chocolates the size of Babushka’s Buick. Apparently, that’s what Babushka required to agree to be his date.
Yeah, prom season brought out the crazies.
The cowbell on his door clunked and he glanced up. His mother, father, and Anna.
Fuck.
“Mom. Dad. Anna.” He tucked the slip of paper with the rough design of how he’d pull this off in his pocket. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
His mother was pretty pissed about the whole refrigerator situation. He knew because she had left him a multitude of voice messages over the past eighteen hours informing him.
“We came to talk to you about Heather.” His mother was wringing her hands, but he knew it was all for show. She didn’t get nervous, but she put on a good show.
“Talking about Heather is off the table.” He strode to the cooler and did a quick adjustment to the display—anything to avoid the discussion about his love life that was sure to follow.
“We’re just worried about some of the things that she’s done with Babushka.” Anna flicked her hair over her shoulder. “The strip club and moving her to the retirement home without talking to us about it.”
“Well, one, the strip club was all Babushka. Two, it was either the retirement community or moving in with the man who owns Pistol Polly’s. And, three, I like her so lay off.”
“Son, we’d like to open a conversation about this with you. We want you to move on, find a nice girl, but we don’t think that’s Heather.” His father crossed and uncrossed his arms.
His mother sighed. “It’s not thatwedon’t like her. We just worry about her influence. So far, it hasn’t been…”
“Great. It hasn’t been great,” Anna finished.
“You wanted me to date someone,” he reminded them. Hell, it was all they’d talked about for a year. They had meetings about that shit.
