Page 101 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

He climbed onto the chaise behind her, then rolled smoothly onto his back, stretching out along the length. The chaise’s low profile put him exactly where he needed to be—face upturned, perfectly aligned beneath her without having to strain or navigate any awkward angling.

Robyn hovered just above his mouth at first—teasing, testing—then slowly lowered until she settled against his tongue.

Tyler groaned softly at the first taste, hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips, guiding without forcing. She rocked gently, using the armrest for leverage as she found her rhythm. The chaise cradled them both, turning the antique piece into the perfect impromptu prop.

Robyn moaned, low and helpless, and the chaise creaked faintly under their weight. Every time she pushed back, the high arm cradled her chest and face, letting her melt into it instead of fighting for balance.

Tyler hummed against her, and the vibration pulled a sharp gasp from her throat. He worked her patiently—thoroughly—until her thighs trembled and her breath came in broken, breathless sounds he felt in his bones. When she finally came, it hit hard and fast, her body bowing over the armrest, velvet muffling the sound as she shuddered around his fingers and against his tongue.

Tyler didn’t pull away immediately, steadying her through the aftershocks while her breathing slowly found its way back.

She let out a soft, shaky laugh against the velvet armrest, forehead resting there as she caught her breath. The red silk skirt was still bunched around her waist, the fabric warm and heavy where it draped over his chest and shoulders like a fallen curtain. She shifted slightly, knees planted wider on either side of him, not quite ready to move away from the warmth of his mouth.

She pushed up just enough to glance back over her shoulder. Her dark hair spilled forward, framing her face in the lantern glow. “Your turn to breathe,” she teased.

Tyler rose behind her in one fluid motion, knees bracketing hers on the plush surface. The chaise creaked faintly under the shift in weight, velvet compressing beneath them. He kept one hand splayed on the small of her back while the other reached down.

“Still yes?” he murmured, thumb brushing a slow circle over her hip bone.

Robyn arched back toward him in answer. “Yes,” she breathed, voice breaking on the word. “Please… now.”

He sank in slowly, inch by deliberate inch, letting her adjust to the stretch and depth this new angle allowed. The chaise’s low height kept everything aligned perfectly.

For a moment, he held still, savoring the way she clenched around him, the heat of her, the way the red silk pooled and shifted with every tiny movement. Long, measured thrusts that rocked her forward against the velvet, the high arm cradling her upper body so she could melt into it completely.

His hands roamed: one sliding up under the corset remnants still loosely draped around her ribs, cupping her breast through the thin fabric; the other gripping her hip, guiding the rhythm. Every time he drove deep, the chaise gave a soft, antique protest beneath them—and so did she, a broken little sound he was starting to crave.

Robyn pushed back to meet him, nails digging into the tufted velvet, the black lace choker at her throat rising and falling with each ragged breath. He couldn’t stop watching the delicate line of lace against her flushed skin, the way her spine curved beneath him. The angle was devastating, letting him feel every inch of her, tight and slick and still trembling from the first time. He could tell she was close again already. He could feel it in the way she clenched around him, the way her rhythm turned desperate.

“Tyler—” Her voice cracked.

He leaned over her, chest to her back, lips finding the nape of her neck. “I’ve got you,” he whispered against her skin. One hand slipped around to circle her clit again—light, teasing strokes at first, then firmer as her hips started to chase the touch.

The rhythm built; they moved faster, harder, the sounds of their bodies meeting echoing softly in the quiet bookstore. When she came again, it was sudden and shattering, body locking around him, a keening cry muffled into the velvet. The pulse of her pulled him over the edge right after.

They stayed like that for long seconds—him draped over her back, still buried deep, her braced over the armrest, skirt tangled around them both. The lanterns flickered overhead, casting warm shadows across the dark velvet and their joined bodies.

Finally, Tyler eased out slowly, pressing one last kiss to the curve of her spine. He helped her turn, guiding her down to lie against him on the chaise. Her head rested on his chest, legs tangled, the red silk settling over them like a blanket.

Robyn settled against him. “This chaise is officially ours now.”

Tyler chuckled, kissing the nape of her neck. “We’re going to have to buy a new one if we keep this up.”

“Worth it,” she murmured, already drifting in the warm afterglow.

The bookstore settled back into its hush around them, candles burning low. Tyler pressed his lips to her hair and closed his eyes.

He’d spent years making sure Emma had everything she needed. He’d forgotten, somewhere along the way, that he was allowed to need things too.

He pulled Robyn a little closer and thought, This, this is what I’ve been missing.

EPILOGUE

ROBYN

Robyn stood in the doorway for a moment before she went in, breathing it all in. The smell of roasting turkey, butter, and sage curling out into the air like a fall hug. Laughter ricocheted from room to room. Someone calling, with true urgency, for a missing serving spoon.

This, this was how Thanksgiving was supposed to sound.