Bittersweet chocolate so dark and deep it was almost too sharp coated my tongue. Then I bit into the soft cake, releasing mellow creamy mousse. It wasn’t chocolate—perhaps coffee or maybe caramel, the flavor elusive. But the combination of all that dark bitter bite with smooth cream made it something new, rich but not cloying.
I made a noise of satisfaction that had Lucian’s gaze turning rapt. “Good?”
“Exquisite.” I licked my lips. “More.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Damn, I didn’t think this through.”
A glance down had me licking my lips again. He was hard. Gloriously so. Thick and pulsing. Raising a brow, I swiped my finger through the cream-filled cake, collecting a dollop. “You better take the last bite,” I advised. “I’m going to be busy.”
“What—”
I swirled the cream over the fat head of his cock and swallowed him down.
“Oh, fuck . . . oh . . .” A tortured groan ripped from his throat as he clenched the sheet with one hand, his head thrown back. “Em . . .”
He was beautiful. And delicious. And I savored him the way he deserved to be, slowly, thoroughly. Until he was whimpering my name, undone and panting.
Only later, when he’d fallen upon me—resting his head upon my upper chest, his arm wrapped around my waist like he needed to hold on in order to settle down—did the full interpretation of his dessert hit me. All that darkness swallowing up the light. A glossy beauty that wasn’t made to last.
“I’m the butterfly. You are the cake.”
Replete and limp, he turned his cheek more fully toward my breast, giving me a featherlight kiss. “Honey, to me, you’re both.”
But I wasn’t convinced. And I didn’t think he was either. But for now, it was enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Emma
One convenience of the bungalow I’d rented was that it had a dining room that easily fit six. Since Tate hadn’t stopped blowing up my phone for details, and Lucian admitted that Brommy and Sal had tagged along and were staying at the hotel as well, we invited them over for lunch, preferring the privacy of the room.
Though Tate and I could don big hats and sunglasses and often get away with not being photographed, I had no doubt that Lucian and Brommy together would instantly be noticed. The men were just too good looking not to cause a stir. And while I had no idea how big a hockey town LA truly was, enough people already had recognized Lucian for me to know they’d do it here too. Throw Sal, with his bold flash, into that mix, and we might as well have pointed a neon sign toward our party.
“Can I just say, thank God,” Tate murmured to me as I poured her some champagne from the bar cart set up in the corner of the room. “I thought I might get a text saying you’d gotten back together with Greg.”
“Ew.” I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t believe you thought that. Do you know me at all?”
She made a self-deprecating face. “I know, I know. But people do stupid things all the time.” She glanced at Lucian, who, despite not cooking the meal, was setting up our plates with his typical fierce attention to detail. “That, over there, is the best choice I’ve seen you make outside of your career.”
Heat suffused my cheeks, but I raised my own glass slightly, and we did a covert glass tap.
“Is this a private girl huddle, or can anyone join?” Sal asked, appearing at my side. He was wearing an authentic olive-green zoot suit with a cherry-red polka-dot tie. The outfit had so impressed Tate that, upon meeting him, she’d pressed a hand to her chest and exclaimed, “Be still my Chicana heart.”
It had cemented an instant friendship.
I handed him a glass. “I don’t know. Tell me more about this dress I’m getting first.”
He had the grace to look sheepish. “I was a sneak, I know! And I wouldn’t have done it for just anyone, but poor Luc looked so pathetic.” He smirked at Lucian, whose head had jerked up on hearing his name, and he glanced our way. “Besides, he threatened to pound me into a Sal meat patty.”
Lucian rolled his eyes. “There were no such threats.”
“Maybe not verbal,” Sal countered, taking the champagne bottle with him to the table. “But there were glares. We all know how potent your glares can be.”
“He’s got you there,” I said with a grin, taking the seat Lucian held out for me.
Lucian grunted and sat next to me.
“Well, he looks damn content now.” Brommy neatly slid into the seat between Tate and me. “Almost as though he’s inwardly purring. I feel safe in the knowledge that I am leaving him in your capable hands, Emma.”
“Sitting across the table won’t prevent me from kicking your ass,” Lucian drawled without heat. In truth, there was a lazy air about him now. He appeared a man content, his big body loose limbed and relaxed in his chair. It was a good look on him. Even better when his gaze met mine, and a hot knowledge of what we’d done last night and this morning simmered between us.