Dropping my gaze to the peach robe that was belted tightly at my waist and fell to my kneecaps, I shrugged. “I guess you’ve got a point there.”
He gripped my ass with both hands, and I snaked my arms around his neck. “But I’m not complaining.”
I wasn’t either, especially not when his lips touched mine. His tongue was instantly in search of mine and I welcomed him. I loved kissing this man, loved his hands on me while his tongue stroked over mine. He was a drug, a potent ass one that left no room for fighting addiction. His mouth was as masterful as his touch and his stroke. He even smelled like sin—the citrus and woodsy notes of the cologne I knew was his favorite, was now mine too. I cupped the back of his head, and he slipped his hands down from my ass to the backs of my thighs. He didn’t bother breaking contact to move the cake and flowers first, just used my body to push them back on the big island so he could set me onto it.
The connection of our mouths was never severed as I opened my legs and he stepped between them. The kiss grew deeper,nastier, our teeth clashing briefly before our tongues continued their assault. I gripped his shoulders, wanting the shirt gone so I could feel his taut skin at my fingertips. One of his hands moved to the back of my neck, clenching it while the fingers of his other hand dug into my ass. We both gasped when he finally ripped his mouth from mine, only to trace his tongue over my chin and along my jaw. I let my head fall back, knowing what he wanted before he could speak the words. He dragged his mouth down the line of my neck and over my collarbone. Tongue and tiny nips of teeth that sent tingles all through my body.
“Been thinking about you all damn day,” he whispered, then dragged his teeth over the swells of my breasts. “I’m always fuckin’ thinking about you.”
His fingers found the belt, untying it before I could take a breath or think of a response to his words.
Pulling back slightly, he stared down and groaned.
I was wearing the most scandalous piece of lingerie I’d ever seen. It arrived inside one of four boxes delivered to my door on the morning of our one-year wedding anniversary. The burgundy box inside of the shipping one was filled with glittering gold tissue paper that I had excitedly pulled out and tossed somewhere in my bedroom. I squealed the second my fingers touched the first of three burgundy velour pouches with the wordentimin a swirling gold font on the front. Delphine Broussard was an up-and-coming Haitian designer whom Fabian and I had met during a trip to New Orleans.
This set sported open cups with a sheer scalloped lace underbust and matching crotchless panties with a cage back. I’d been afraid that the garter belt and wraparound leg garters wouldn’t fit my thick thighs, but they slid on perfectly and if my husband’s second grunt as he dragged a finger over the edge of the garter, was any indication, they looked perfect as well.
“This is the last one,” he said, dragging his eyes up to mine.
My hands had dropped to rest on the pectorals I longed to slide my tongue over and I nodded. “Yep, I’ve worn all six outfits now. Guess that means you’ll have to buy some more.”
Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he moved his palms to my breasts and squeezed. I moaned as my nipples hardened against his skin and the pricks of pain from his grip, made my pussy throb.
“As good as this looks on you, I’ll buy the whole damn store.” Dropping his head, he replaced one hand with his mouth, sucking as much of my F-cup breast into his mouth as possible.
“Shit, baby,” I gasped the second his teeth joined the delicious assault.
He clasped them over my nipple and bore down just enough to have me trembling beneath him. Pulling back, but not breaking the contact, his gaze sought mine and I stared down at him through half-closed eyes.
Fuck, this was sexy. My dark nipple between his teeth, his other hand full of my other breast. The lust in his eyes mimicking the heat pulsing through me. I definitely loved me some him.
A loud ding startled us both and we froze, then laughed.
“Saved by the bell,” he said, licking his lips as he released his hold on my breasts. When he began pulling my robe closed, I frowned.
“Yeah, I guess the oven alarm stopping us is better than the smoke detector when the rolls burn.”
He pulled my belt into a tight bow, then put his hands to my waist to lift me off the counter. I skirted around him to get to the oven so I could, in fact, save the yeast rolls I had in there. When he smacked my ass, I yelped.
“Pretty, sexy as fuck,andyou can cook. I definitely hit the jackpot that night at the warehouse.”
Tossing a look over my shoulder as I pulled on the oven mitts, I saw him leaning against the island now, hands pushed into the front pocket of his slacks. “You mean the night three men were killed and your brother was shot?”
“That bullet only nicked him, thank the Lord,” he replied while I opened the oven and pulled the tray out. “And the three your crew bagged up and transported to see the lilies, deserved that shit for trying to rob me.”
A smile touched my lips even though what he just said wasn’t funny at all. I was just floating in this feeling that this was how it could be every day. Fabian coming in from work, me having dinner ready, us talking openly about our work. Me being able to ask the questions and make the observations that I’ve had to hold in for so long.
“Why do you call it that? Them going to see the lilies?” I asked, setting the tray of rolls on the top of the stove. I reached for the bowl of butter I’d melted before putting the rolls in to cook, then pulled a cooking brush from the drawer.
“My mama loved lilies. When she passed, the owner of the funeral home acted like he didn’t want to service ‘people like us.’ He’d actually said that racist shit out of his mouth. KC and I left that day. The next morning, I bought that shit. Fired him and his staff, then had Maleeka’s friend, who owns a staffing company, fill all the open positions. By the time we buried my mama a week and a half later, the sign on the front had been changed to Lily of the Valley.”
I brushed butter over the rolls while he talked realizing that the lone flower etched into the details of his cross tattoo was a lily. When he finished, I turned to face him. “That was such a sweet thing to do. I mean, putting all those people out of a job, maybe not so much. But paying homage to your mother in that way was really nice. I’m sure she was very proud of you.”
He nodded. “She was. Of me and KC. We grew up and did exactly what her and my pops raised us to do.”
I turned back to grab the bowl and started to pick up the rolls to drop them inside. “Oww, shit!”
“Move, woman,” he said, coming up behind me and pushing me to the side. “I’m not trying to be in the ER with you tonight for burning your fingers.”
