Somehow he managed to pull himself out of her mouth, flip her over, and pin her on her back before he came.
“What’s wrong?” She lay beneath him, large eyes opened wide, mouth swollen and wet.
“Not a damned thing except I’m not inside you,” he said at the same time he rectified the situation, notching himself at her entrance and thrusting inside.
“Oh, Sam.” His name sounded like the deepest groan in the back of her throat, taking him impossibly higher.
“Look at me,” he said, managing to listen to the voice in his head directing something other than his cock.
She forced her heavy eyelids open.
He eased out of her, deliberately slow, wanting her to feel every last inch of him.
“Nic?”
He watched as she forced herself to focus. “Hmm?”
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he said, before thrusting back inside.
Sam didn’t remember much of their joint frenzy to completion, but long after he collapsed on top of her, after they’d showered again and eaten dinner, and after she’d fallen asleep, he lay awake. And remembered the tears that moistened her face as he made love to her for the first time.
Thirteen
Sam walked into the kitchen the next morning, shocked by the explosion of baking stuff all over the usually pristine counters: bowls, a mixer, pans, flour, and God knows what else spread across the granite. Sammy sat on a stool, her little body leaning over, listening intently to Nicole’s explanation.
“So now mix the dough until there are no more lumps. Let me get you started because the flour’s heavy like paste.” Nicole took over the task for a few seconds, until she was satisfied Sammy could handle things. “Okay, here.” She handed the little girl the wooden spoon. “Take your time, okay?”
“’Kay.” Sammy began to stir in the contents of the bowl. She bit down on her lip, concentrating on her job, eager to please Nicole. “Is it ready?” she asked after about three or four stirs.
Grinning, Nicole looked down. “Nope. Still lumpy.” She dipped her finger into the mix and placed a dot on Sammy’s nose. “Keep going.”
Sammy giggled and bent back down to work.
Sam watched in silence, his admiration for Nicole growing. Her ability to relate to his goddaughter, her caring nature, her patience with a little girl, all showed him a depth he’d always known was there. How she managed to be this warm, giving woman in the face of all she’d lacked in life astounded him—and his heart opened to her a little more.
Uncomfortable with his thoughts, he cleared his throat. “Morning,” he said, making his presence known.
“Uncle Sam! Look at what we’re baking!”
Nicole looked up, met his gaze, and blushed. In her face, he saw the replay of last night in her head. He knew exactly what she was feeling. He couldn’t look at her and not want.
“I see, Pumpkin,” he said, using his favorite nickname for his goddaughter.
“We’re not bakin’ pumpkins, silly! It’s gonna be cookies!”
Sam grinned and pulled up a stool, joining the party. “So what’s the occasion?”
“Daddy’s coming home today. So we’re baking.” Sammy still mixed the dough, but Sam noticed her movements slowing, her arm obviously getting tired. And there were still massive lumps in the mixture.
“Hey, I want a turn,” he said, nudging Sammy lightly with his arm.
She looked up at him through big brown eyes. “Mommy says we’re ’posed to share.” She pulled the spoon out of the bowl and handed it to Sam, trailing cookie dough over the counter.
He met Nicole’s amused gaze, not missing the warmth there, heat and tenderness, just for him.
He glanced away and took the spoon from Sammy. He began to stir, making the dough smooth and much easier for the little girl to finish the job.
“Look at that,” Nicole said, pointing to the cookie dough. “We’re almost ready to put them on the pans. My assistants did great jobs.”