Page 46 of Last Slice of Pie

NOT EVEN KNOCKING on the door, I pull out the key she gave me the last time we were together, unlock the door, walk straight in, and slam it behind me. I wanted to drive up after last night’s game against the Titans, but it was so late, even I knew better. Instead, I crashed the moment I got home then woke up at my usual time, packed my clothes, and headed out. I told her I’d be coming up today, but I’m certain she wasn’t expecting me this early as I round the corner to the kitchen and find her standing by the window, drinking a cup of coffee, and grinning from ear to ear. Clearly, she heard me coming and saw me hop out of the truck, and steam floats up in the air as she stares at me, frozen with wide surprised eyes and messy unbrushed hair.

“Well, hey there,” she says, turning to lean against the sink. She’s covered from head to toe in red pajamas with white polka dots, and she looks like a present that needs to be unwrapped.

I drop my bag and let my eyes drift shut as the smells take over: butter, roasted pecans, melted brown sugar, and cinnamon. She’s baking already, and all of it is an aphrodisiac that makes me want to bust out of my skin. Instead, I advance toward her, on a mission. She sees the determination in my gaze and gleefully straightens up.

I should say something back—after all, I’m so happy to be here—but I can’t. This need for her has overwhelmed me past the point of civility. Taking her coffee cup from her, I set it on the counter and slide one of my hands around her waist to pull her into me. The other dips under the fall of her hair as I tilt her head and drop my mouth down on hers.

Relief is instant, and she doesn’t waver as she rises up onto her toes and digs her fingers into my shoulders.

Damn. With the hint of coffee floating in her mouth, she tastes exactly like what mornings should taste like, and I want this, her, everything, forever.

Spinning, I lift her, place her on the island, and step between her legs. I can’t get close enough, wrapping my arms around her, holding her to me, never breaking contact from her lips. She smells clean, feels warm and familiar next to me, and as I slow down the internal roaring I’ve dealt with all morning, I suck her bottom lip in between mine and just hold it.

“I take it you missed me.” She smiles against my mouth as her lip pops free, and she drapes her arms over my shoulders.

My head drops to her neck, that place just above her collarbone, and I breathe her in. “You have no idea.”

She giggles. “It’s been two weeks, and we’ve talked every day—several times a day.”

“Longest two weeks of my life,” I mumble, tightening my hold.

Her legs wrap around my waist, and one hand moves to the back of my head. Her fingers dip into my hair, and I swear my eyes roll back in my head.

“I’m happy you’re here,” she says softly, the sound of her voice vibrating her throat against my face.

“Not more than me.”

Time passes as we stay wrapped in each other’s arms, and quickly my need for her changes from one kind to another, which she acknowledges by rotating her hips against mine. A groan leaves me as I sink my teeth into her neck and drag them up to her jaw. Fingertips press into my back and she tilts her head even more. I could feast on every inch of her; I’m starved for her.

Pulling on her shirt, I lift it slowly, making my intentions known. She leans back, and her moss-colored eyes spark as she lifts her arms, allowing me to remove it. She’s not wearing a bra, and I’m temporarily blinded by how beautiful she is. After dropping the shirt on the floor, my hands slide up her ribcage, settle over her breasts, and squeeze the weight of them. Her head tips back at the sensation, and a deep rumble moves through me as I lean forward and take her in my mouth.

Her skin is hot, so hot the red marks I’m leaving across her chest and up her neck fit right in.

Man, do I want this girl. I feel crazed and insatiable, and some primal part of me wants to mark her and claim her over and over again so she and everyone else knows she’s mine.

Dropping her hands, she places them behind her on the counter to brace herself and hold her body up. I lift my head, and as my eyes connect with hers, I run my hand straight down the middle of her stomach to the top of her pants.

There’s no question about what she wants from me, the pink in her cheeks and the short breaths puffing between her lips saying it all.

Quickly, I untie the drawstring, and she lifts her hips as I slide her pajama pants and her underwear down so they can drop to the floor. Both of us pause as I trail my eyes over the vision before me. She’s gorgeous, open, and bared just for me.

“Not fair,” she whispers, looking me over, her eyes stopping just below my waist.

There’s no hiding what she does to me. I think I’m the hardest I’ve ever been in my life, and I even the playing field by yanking my shirt over my head, kicking off my flip-flops, and dropping my pants.

Her eyes widen.

“You are so perfect,” she says, reaching up and running the tips of her fingers down my chest and slowly over each indentation of my abdominal muscles. Chills break out across my skin as it begs for her to touch me more.

I should offer her some type of poetic confirmation of her beauty in return, but at this moment, I can’t speak. Instead, I lay her back across the counter, reach behind her knees, and slide her forward, leaving her hips just barely on the edge. Bracing her legs over my shoulders, I bend so my forehead hits the center of her chest, and with my heart racing in anticipation, I kiss my way down her body, breathing her in and tasting her. She’s so perfect. She’s the perfect flavor for me.

“Bryan,” she moans while arching her back, and I take from her. I take everything she has to give using my mouth, my tongue, my teeth, this morning’s stubble, my fingers—all of it. I take her taste, I take her sounds, I take her trembling, I take her release. I take it, because it’s mine and mine alone, and only then do I lower her legs and give. In one complete thrust, I give her what she wants from me. I give her my all.

I give her everything I have.

It isn’t until sometime later, after I damn near pass out on her and both of our heartbeats have slowed, that I lift my body from lying on top of hers and the words tumble out, “You are perfect, too. Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

She rewards me with a smile that makes my breath catch, and I know this is going to be the best Christmas ever.