The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

“So? Lick it off. You haven’t even tasted the cake yet.”

Hesitantly, I lean in and run my tongue along the corner of his mouth. It’s barely anything, but I make sure to get it all.

“How’s it taste?”

“Like you,” I say, “but sweeter.”

“Is there any leftover icing?” he asks.

“I think so. Why?”

“It’s only fair that I get to taste you too, but sweeter.”

I blush when his insinuation occurs to me. “What makes you think I’d let you put sticky, dyed icing on me?”

“You’ll let me, because I’ll promise to clean off every last bite—with my tongue.”

I clench my teeth against the flutter making its way through me. “Are we being inappropriate considering we’re at a child’s birthday party?”

“Life is about to get very hectic for us. Have to squeeze it in where we can, right?” As he says it, he crushes my front even more tightly to his. “Stay the night. We can teach Bell to ride the bike later.”

I bite my bottom lip. How can I say no with his arms wrapped around me, his sweet-frosting mouth on mine, his sugarcoated promises to lick me clean? A month ago, when he wanted to stay with me, I couldn’t do it.

Now, I tell him I will.

I can’t imagine spending tonight without him.

EPILOGUE

Andrew’s head pops up from under the cotton-white, puffy comforter. He makes a show of licking and smacking his lips. “My favorite flavor. Apricot vanilla crème pussy.”

I laugh, sated from my first orgasm of the night, third of the day, fiftieth of the trip. Fifty might be an exaggeration, but our vacation feels as though it’s been one, long marathon fuck—with some watersports and whale watching in between.

The curtains of the Honeymoon Suite flutter with a breeze from the balcony. We’re not married yet—it’s on our to-do list—but the hotel doesn’t need to know that. This way, we score all the perks . . . like the free champagne we guzzled on night one.

Andrew lifts up onto his arms to hover over me. “I can’t believe it’s already our last night in paradise. Are you bummed about going home?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“No. I know you’re not.” He drops a quick kiss on my lips. “Neither am I.”

“St. Maarten has been dreamy,” I say. “But next time, let’s bring the kid.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

“She would’ve loved snorkeling, Andrew. She’s going to flip when she sees the underwater photos.”

“Speaking of flipping, I’m going to need you to get on your stomach.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Should I even ask why?”

“So I can spank you. How many times have I asked you not to bring up Bell when I’m naked and about to have you? I lost my hard-on.”

I shake my head, laughing. I know from experience that one spanking will instantly put him back in the mood. “That’s so inappropriate.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life with an eight-year-old. Messy as fuck.”

“Almost nine,” I point out. “Can you believe it’s been two years since we met?”

“Um, yeah, I can.” He rolls his eyes. “I thank my lucky stars all the time that you thought I was a plumber and ripped me a new one.”

His tone is sarcastic, so even though I know how grateful he is for me, I smack him on the ass. And then I wince.

“Hurt your hand?” he guesses, reaching around to grab my wrist. He kisses my palm.

I nod. “All that yoga you’ve been doing.”

“Now you’re really asking for it,” he says. I’ve been explicitly warned against mentioning yoga—according to Andrew and his friends, it’s for chicks only. Except that he started joining me for private classes a year ago. There’ve been a few arguments during which I was tempted to run to the shop and announce Andrew’s new hobby to Pico and Randy. But I don’t want him to stop. Yoga has made his body even firmer and leaner, and I enjoy those benefits as often as I can.

I pat his shoulder. “Well, since you’re done for the night, I think I’ll go to sleep.”

He grins wolfishly. With my wrist still in his grip, he lifts my arm over my head and pins it to the mattress. “You know very well I’m not finished. I plan to do this for a lifetime and still not be done.”

Andrew lugs our things up the sidewalk to the house, but I lag behind, eyeing my rose bushes. Without even a glance back at me, he calls, “You can inspect them with a magnifying glass later.”

He knows me so well. I planted them when I moved in, and I’ve cared for them meticulously since. I want to make sure the gardeners were good to them during my absence. Bell’s almost as diligent as I am about tending to them, but she’s still a child. My orange-pink Brothers Grimm roses, which Bell chose just for the name, are my pride and joy. For the first time in my life, I own a piece of the world, something tangible.

To my surprise, the front door hasn’t flown open yet. I can imagine Bell must be bursting at the seams to see us. We’ve spoken on the phone twice a day every day. As eager as she’s been for us to return, Andrew and I have made strides getting her to understand we’ll always come home. We’re not going anywhere. She still gets upset when we leave, but it’s not nearly as bad as when Andrew and I started dating.

When Andrew reaches the door, I jog up the walkway to block him from going inside. “I should warn you,” I say. “There’s a surprise for you in there.”

“Yeah?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “How’d you manage that?”

“It wasn’t easy,” I admit. Considering our history with exes, Andrew and I are completely transparent with each other at all times. This surprise took a lot of secret phone calls and money transfers, but I know without a doubt it’ll be worth all the sneaking around. “Come on. You’ll see.”

As he reaches for the handle, the door swings open. “What’d you bring me?” Bell screams.

So much for her separation anxiety.

“Nothing!” Andrew screams back at her.

Her face falls a mile. “What? Not even a little shell?”

I drop my shoulder bag and open my arms. “I brought you presents, baby.”

She runs into my embrace. I lift her up and immediately smell her hair. It reminds me she’s real. I had no idea I could miss someone as much as I did her—or Andrew for that matter. When I have to go into the city for business, all I want is to come back to him.

“How was your trip?”

I look up. Shana leans in the doorway, her arms crossed. She’s wearing her regular get-up of a black halter and dark jeans. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the cleavage, but somehow, I’m getting used to her.

“Amazing,” Andrew says. “And the kid?”

Shana nods. “Thanks for letting me do this. We had fun, didn’t we, Bell?”

“Yep.” Bell squirms. I put her down. “Shana did fine.”

I check Shana’s expression. She hates that Bell won’t call her mom. I’ve talked to Bell about it, but she gets squirmy. She isn’t ready. I haven’t mentioned to anyone yet, not even Andrew, that lately, Bell’s been calling me mom when she’s sleepy or emotional. Even if I wanted to share that, I wouldn’t be able to without bawling. It’s unreal. Special. And for now, it’s just between Bell and me.

Shana, almost thirty, has gotten her act together as much as someone like Shana can. She’s no angel. She still causes trouble at Timber Tavern and regularly stirs up gossip. She was even arrested a year and a half ago for public intoxication—and promptly called Andrew to bail her out. He didn’t. But the last year or so, she’s been consistent with Bell, and as long as she continues to prove herself, Andrew and I will cautiously let her into our lives. Under Flora’s supervision, along with the help of Pico’s new wife, Myra, and of course, her son Sammy—Shana got to spend these last couple weeks taking care of Bell.