My dick roars to life, and my balls threaten to kick themselves up into my stomach. I try and angle my waist away from Stella’s so she can’t feel it because poking my erection into her belly isn’t gentlemanly, but she drops her hand from my neck, curls her fingers around my upper arm, and drags me closer. She whimpers into my mouth, and her lips move against mine.
Guiding.
Dancing.
Oh, god, it’s a glorious dance.
I abandon all caution and good sense as I wrap my arms around Stella’s waist and haul her up against me. Her legs part, and she tries to climb my knee, squirming against it shamelessly while her tongue thrusts into my mouth. Her dress rides up, and the heat of her is everywhere. Her hands slide up to the nape of my neck and find my man bun. She tugs, and it unravels, spilling the hair I swore I wouldn’t cut until I’d made it—a stupid thing really, but people have lots of superstitions and rituals about hair. Her fingers tangle in the strands while my fingers sweep up and tug at her pinned-up gold tresses, spilling them down her back in return. Pins go flying all over the place. She moans, and her teeth scrape across my lower lip.
Her tongue caresses mine again, with a sense of playfulness that doesn’t feel like revenge. In fact, her tongue finds mine like it’s been searching for it for a long time and has finally found what it wants. They clash like our teeth nearly do, warring together with strong strokes that ignite more than a fire deep within me. My whole body trembles and I want more. I want so much more than this.
But then Stella breaks away and steps back. She smooths her hands down her dress, then holds one up to her mouth. I’ve finally succeeded in smearing her lipstick, but not as much as I want to. That stuff must be made of pure diamond dust. It had no taste. All I tasted—can still taste—was and is the sweetness of Stella herself, like freshly picked ripe strawberries. And I absolutely love strawberries. I don’t think there’s anything better than that.
Except Stella.
“Cash,” she whispers breathlessly. Her shoulders heave up and down hard, and her breasts thrust in and out with the movement. Not that I’m looking. Because I’m not. Mercifully, she maintains eye contact and doesn’t look at the probable tent in my pants. “Tomorrow. At the bakery. Nine in the morning. Bring your contract. And oh, I want it to say that if the building is used as a bakery, it will stay a bakery. Not a cakery.”
I want to take her back into my arms, sink my teeth into her lower lip, sweep my tongue into her mouth again, and taste her. I want to run my hands over her silky skin, slide that dress away, suckle her nipples into my mouth, strip her bare, drop to my knees, throw her legs over my shoulders, and—
“Tomorrow,” Stella barks. Her hand visibly trembles when she smooths it over her messy hair. It’s half pulled down; the other half still tucked up neatly. And as if she can sense it’s there, she wipes the smudge of lipstick off the corner of her mouth, but it’s not quite flawless because her lips are swollen, and some of it has been licked away. By. Me. By. My. Tongue. Which I just had inside her mouth.
Holy sweet bakery, which should be called cakery.
I really did it. I really kissed my best friend’s little sister.
And my sweet cupcakes, it was better than I ever thought it could be, and truth be told, I’ve been wondering for a while now. As in possibly for the past two years or so, not longer than that. I’m not into jailbait, thank you very much. I also never thought I could be into Stella, whatever age she was, but then she came back from culinary school and started looking after her mom. She opened her own business, and she was so changed, so fearless, so grown up.
Unfortunately, she was also someone else’s.
That was the one bit I didn’t like about what she brought home with her. Her boyfriend, who as anyone could see, was never good enough to lick her feet. Err, no, her boots. When I think about any bit of the guy’s undeserving, loser, lazy, disrespecting, disgusting, shit bits touching any part of the goddess Stella, it makes me want to do irrational things to him.
My Stella.
Hmm. Hmm. I guess this is now the part where I clear my throat at that awkward confession, the deep longing, and the straight-up possessive way I think about Sam’s sister.
Stella wiggles her fingers at me. “Okay, you can go now. You’re being slightly creepy.” She’s still slightly breathless herself.