Oh my god.
I’ve only been with one man!
A glob of icing squirts onto the cake and I curse under my breath. It’s a little too late to worry about having been with only one man since I can no longer say that anyway. I grab a butter knife, dampen it with water, and carefully remove the icing without disturbing the layer underneath. I nearly drop it when there’s a knock on the door.
Oh god.
He’s here.
I discard the items and the chair squeals from rubbing against the floor. My feet run me to the door, my hand on the knob, but I take a deep breath and force myself to take a moment to calm down. The last thing I need is to let Marc know that I’ve been waiting for him. My body is already humming with a need to see him. My fingers flex on the doorknob when another, louder, more insistent knock comes from the other side along with, “Elizabeth! Hurry the fuck up; it’s cold!”
Laughing, I swing the door open. For a moment, all I see is a chest because Marc pushes his way inside and quickly closes the door before much more of the cold air can blast into my home. He rubs his hands together and blows on them. My gaze travels upward until I see that slightly crooked nose, bright blue eyes, messy wind-blown blond hair, and then my favorite part.
That smile.
He doesn’t even say hello first.
He leans down, my head tilting back even further without conscious intent, and my chest empties of all air when his lips lightly touch mine. It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. Despite wanting to keep myself in check, my arms wind around his neck to hold him close and my mouth demands he kiss me like he actually missed me. Marc grabs my hips to lift me up. My legs lock around his waist. My lungs finally feel as if they’re taking air in again.
His hands are holding onto me so tightly, I faintly wonder if he’ll leave light bruises. I almost expect him to throw me onto the bed, but he’s not letting me go anywhere as he lies me on the bed while he stays bent over on his knees. He breaks from my mouth long enough to shed me of my shirt. Breathing becomes difficult once more. Marc kisses me fast, steady, leaving me completely breathless, even more so when those large rough hands slide up my stomach, under my bra, and squeeze my breasts.
My head falls to the side. He’s released my mouth to travel down my neck. My chest heaves as I try to regain some control over my breathing. A simple brushing of his thumbs over my nipples in combination with a teasing bite on my shoulder is all it takes to screw up what control I’d gathered. I lift my hips to his. A little rub and he groans.
“I don’t want to wait.” I pop open the button of his jeans. Hell, I don’t care if he undresses at this point. I want him inside me thirty seconds ago. “I need you,” I whisper.
“Fuck, Elizabeth.” His hands start moving faster than I thought possible, proving that he just might need me, too.
Later, I’m curled up against his chest, happier than it feels I should be, when a loud, blaring noise starts going off.
“Shit!”
I scramble off the bed and run toward the kitchen. My casserole! Smoke is wisping out of the top of the oven. I yank the door open, reach in, and without thinking, grab the glass dish.
“Fuck!” I scream, dropping it. It hits the door and I jump out of the way just in time to avoid burning my feet, too.
“Damn it, Elizabeth.” A naked Marc grabs my throbbing hands and takes me over to the sink to hold them under cold water. His thumbs rub my wrists in efforts to help soothe me. “I don’t think you hurt yourself too badly,” he adds in a softer tone.
I glance away, mostly because he’s naked and I’m naked and our dinner is burnt to a crisp on the floor, my oven door is open while it’s still on, and on top of that, my icing has probably gone dry.
“Don’t worry about all of that. Keep your hands under the water.” He disappears to my bedroom, returns wearing his jeans, and is holding his shirt in his hands. He sets the shirt on the table, turns off my oven, and picks up the mess. Then, he turns off the water, gently dries my hands, and slips his shirt over my body. “What’s your backup plan for dinner?”
“I don’t have one.” I walk over to where he placed the casserole. How in the hell am I going to get that mess out of the dish? I think it’s baked-in forever.
“Maybe we should just eat cake?”
I frown and glance at it. “It’s not finished, and the point of this disaster,” I wave at the blackened dish, “is so the stupid athlete can eat something healthy.”
“How are you cranky after great sex?”
I hold up my hands and nod toward our ruined dinner. It wouldn’t irk my nerves so much if he wasn’t grinning like a goofball. “Why are you smiling? Why were you late? And why’d you have to distract me?”
Marc steps closer to me, grabbing my hips, and yanking my body against him. Bye bye attitude. “I’m smiling because you look thoroughly fucked and you’re in my shirt. I wasn’t late because we never set an exact time. And if memory serves, you’re the one who jumped me, Elizabeth. Now what do you have to say?”
“That I’m hungry and it’s your fault. Everything else is frozen.”
“Then today must be my cheat day. I’ll run out and pick us something up.”
“Want me to ride with you?”