Sweet Stuff (29 page)
Authors: Donna Kauffman
“I don’t have to dream it,” he murmured, his heart tripping right over the edge into that fast slide straight into love. He closed the refrigerator door and shuffled back upstairs to bed, note still in hand. He propped it on his nightstand where he’d see it first thing when he opened his eyes, and buried his stupid-grin smiling face into his pillow. “I’m living the good stuff.”
Chapter 20
R
iley woke up to the heavenly smell of bacon, decided she was clearly still dreaming, and rolled back over so she could enjoy it a little longer, delaying the harsh reality of the cold, dry breakfast cereal that actually awaited her. But, snuggling in more deeply, she still smelled bacon. Then she abruptly sat up.
The note!
Bacon, eggs ... and a pirate.
iley woke up to the heavenly smell of bacon, decided she was clearly still dreaming, and rolled back over so she could enjoy it a little longer, delaying the harsh reality of the cold, dry breakfast cereal that actually awaited her. But, snuggling in more deeply, she still smelled bacon. Then she abruptly sat up.
The note!
Bacon, eggs ... and a pirate.
She grinned. “Har har, indeed.” She hadn’t known if Quinn would see the note, much less in time to do anything about what it said. She looked down at the baseball jersey and pajama pants she’d dragged on when she’d come home in the middle of the night to a chilly stateroom. “Not exactly wenching clothes.”
Of course, bacon was already on the griddle, so perhaps there would be no time for pillaging. They were apparently going straight to the hearty après pillage repast portion of her proposed morning’s activities. She pushed her hair out of her face and checked the clock. Seven. Fortunately call time had been moved back to eleven that morning, as Lani had no one to cover Cakes by the Cup. She had to open the shop until Alva was done with her weekly set and starch (as Lani privately called it) at Cynthia’s. Of course, Quinn probably didn’t know that.
Hmm
. A slow smile spread across her face as she wondered what Quinn’s schedule looked like that morning. And just what kind of wenching attire she could throw together in hopes of enticing him into a bit of raid and pillage.
. A slow smile spread across her face as she wondered what Quinn’s schedule looked like that morning. And just what kind of wenching attire she could throw together in hopes of enticing him into a bit of raid and pillage.
She slid her feet out of the covers and over the side of the bed, felt the cold air, and pulled them right back in, deciding wardrobe planning would be better undertaken while staying warm and tucked in.
She stilled when she thought she heard something coming from the galley that sounded like ... She grinned. Quinn was singing. Not loudly, but still. She strained to make out the tune, then covered her face with a pillow so she could laugh out loud when she heard him bust out the refrain to New Kids on the Block’s “The Right Stuff.”
She flopped back with the pillow still on her face, but found herself wiggling her hips in the tangle of sheets as the song flooded her mind. “Oh, oh, oh,” she sang along. Flinging the pillow aside, she took a full slide into the second refrain, singing a heartfelt, “All that I needed was you!”
“Ahoy, matey,” came a deep voice from the door.
She slammed the pillow back on her face, immediately starting to snicker, which led to full-out laughter.
A second later the pillow was gently peeled back from her face, sending her into a fresh peal of laughter when she spied Captain Jack Quinn looming over her, complete with handmade black patch strapped over one eye and red bandana wrapped around his head.
“If it’s dancin’ in the sheets ye wanted”—he gave it his best Jack Sparrow—“I believe I can be of some assistance.” He tossed the pillow aside. “But first, let me usher my worthy sidekick to his observation post off the portside bow.”
He straightened and glanced to the side, drawing her gaze downward ... where it landed on Brutus, who was also sporting an eyepatch. A bandana bowtie was attached to his collar.
“They were out of parrots at ye olde pirate shoppe,” Captain Quinn offered by way of explanation when she lifted her gaze to his in openmouthed disbelief.
“I can’t believe he let you do that.”
Brutus looked up at Quinn, and his tongue lolled to one side.
“Okay. Yes, I can.” Riley flopped back on the bed, the laughter making her breathless. “First pirates who sing sea chanteys complete with a solid bassline and synchronized dance moves, and now this. I’ve no restraint left.” She flung one arm wide and the other dramatically over her eyes. “Have your wicked, wanton way with me, Captain Quinn. I know I’ve stirred your manly ardor with my wicked, wanton attire.”
She cracked one eye open and spied Quinn sliding off Brutus’s patch and nudging him out the stateroom door, which he promptly closed behind him. A moment later, they heard a thud, indicating Brutus had parked himself in his standard boneless heap just outside the door.
Quinn turned back to Riley. “No one can save you now, my pretty.” She felt his weight on the side of the bed a moment later. “And if it’s restraints ye be wantin’ ...”
She lifted her arm slightly to look at him. “Wait—”
He just grinned, and reached for his patch.
She grinned. “Leave it on.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” he said, and rolled on top of her.
He pushed her hands over her head, pinning them down as another breathless laugh escaped her. But that laughter quickly faded as he ran his hands down her arms, and straight over her breasts. She moaned and arched up hard against him as his fingers closed over her nipples.
“Oh, aye. A wench ye are indeed.” He slid down and shoved her shirt up ... and suddenly things shifted from light and funny to lusty and hot. He suckled one nipple and tore her shorts off as she yanked the white linen shirt he’d worn, thankfully open to the waist, from the waistband of his pants. In seconds she was naked and he was pulling on the buckle of his belt and dropping his pants on the floor.
She drove greedy hands into his hair and dragged his mouth to hers as he fell on top of her, parting her legs with the weight of his body. They growled as she shoved her tongue in his mouth just as he yanked her thighs up high on his hips and drove into her.
It was hot and wild. His mouth never left hers and he plundered it in the same rhythm and thrust as he plundered her. She didn’t even try to keep from shouting as she came ... and neither did he.
He collapsed on top of her while still throbbing inside her. She shuddered in the throes of rippling aftershocks. They were breathing so hard, neither could speak. He finally rolled off, tugging her hard against him, her body half splayed across his torso and legs as they dragged air into greedy lungs.
With her cheek pressed against the damp, hot skin of his chest, she felt his hands slide into her hair, stroking, toying. He tucked her foot around his ankle, and slid his other arm over the small of her back. Little things, instinctive things, they were the things that made her know he was always aware of her. Always. And he wanted her to know it.
She slid her hand up his chest, and cupped her palm to the side of his face. That was all, just pressed it there. With a little tilt of her head, she pressed a kiss over his heart. Because she wanted him to know it, too.
As their pounding hearts slowed along with their rapid intake of breath, he let the fingers that were teasing the ends of her hair wander slowly, lightly, across the tops of her shoulders, then traced a path along the length of her spine.
She moved the hand cupping his cheek so her fingers could slide into his thick hair, toy with it, tracing her fingertips around the shell of his ear.
And slowly her body began to stir all over again as she felt his begin to do the same.
Silently, wordlessly, he eased her to her back. Pushing her hair from her cheeks, he caught her gaze. The patch was gone, and his eyes were like blue crystals, dark and flashing, belying the exquisite gentleness of his touch and the protective way he sheltered her body with his own.
He cupped her face, and she felt the finest of tremors shaking his fingers. He tipped her mouth up to his, keeping his gaze locked on hers as he lowered his lips. The intensity was something she’d never seen in him before. When he kissed her it was as if her body, her mind ... her heart—everything she was, or had ever wanted to be—opened to him. He’d laid her utterly bare, but in doing so, had bared himself to her as well.
As he took the kiss deeper, she gave herself over to him. In what was the most intimate act she’d ever experienced, it was the most vulnerable, honest, and elemental way she knew how.
He finally moved on top of her, and took her slowly, almost reverently. His rhythm was steady, powerful, claiming ... just as it was nurturing, compelling, protective. He took her up, higher, sweeter. The only sounds were her gasps, as he took her right to the brink, and kept her there, winding slowly, ever tightening, until she thought she’d splinter into a thousand pieces if he didn’t give her release—which was exactly when he jerked her gently over the edge. Pleasure cascaded through her like a waterfall, gently flowing until it went thundering over the edge and into the abyss.
He kissed her again, framing her face as he pushed deeper, and harder, and she could feel his heartbeat, thundering like her own, pressed against her.
“Riley.” He said just the one word, the only word he’d spoken. She locked her gaze on his as he pushed one last time, hard, deep, and claimed her mouth as his body bucked, shuddered, and shook.
And that, she thought as she wrapped herself around him, holding the weight of him on top of her and him inside her, was how you made love.
They drifted, slept, and when she finally opened her eyes fully again, it was to discover at some point he’d pulled the covers over them. Quinn was on his back with her curled against him, her head on his chest, her leg entwined between his. His arm around the small of her back held her to him, and his other hand was tangled in the lengths of her hair as it draped across his chest.
His steady, even breathing didn’t change as she slowly came awake, and she knew he was still deep in sleep. Staying where she was, which was right where she wanted to be, she let her thoughts wander where they would.
She closed her eyes and listened to the beat of his heart.
Well, you don’t have to wonder if he’s capable of being vulnerable with you.
She had no idea where that thought had come from. Maybe the intensity of their first time had left them with nothing to protect their more vulnerable selves.
Well, you don’t have to wonder if he’s capable of being vulnerable with you.
She had no idea where that thought had come from. Maybe the intensity of their first time had left them with nothing to protect their more vulnerable selves.
She didn’t know what she was feeling. But she knew she was herself with him, utterly and fully, all the time, in every moment they shared. And that apparently wasn’t going to change.
She realized her ability to be so relaxed with him, so herself, was because she’d never had to strategize, or worry, or plan. She might wish she’d not been a klutz here or a dork there, but it went far deeper than that. At first that had been scary, had made her feel exposed, like her guard was constantly down. Thinking about it, she realized it wasn’t because she was stripped bare of her defenses ... it was because she had no need of them.
If she could purely be her true self there was nothing to defend, no inner part to protect. That begged the question ... protect against what? What had she been so afraid of? Jeremy hadn’t been harsh or critical. She had wondered what his true thoughts or feelings were at times, but he’d never overtly made her feel defensive.
She thought more about that. Though it might seem odd or wrong to be thinking back over personal times, intimate times, spent with one man, while lying in bed in the arms of another, it wasn’t. She was so comfortable, relaxed, at peace, she could finally peel back some of those painful layers and put aside the hurt brought on by betrayal. She could finally look at what her life had been then in a more rational, objective, maybe even impersonal, way.
It was true that Jeremy had been somewhat picky about certain things—particular, he called it. She had known there had been a certain amount of passive-aggressive manipulation on his part, to get what he wanted from her. But it had been so benign. She was, by nature, a pleaser, and she’d loved him, and he’d loved her, so she’d never thought of it as anything other than what someone does when they’re in a relationship.
With the luxury of dispassionate hindsight, she played back moments, and comments, reactions, interactions. Patterns of behavior began to emerge. Not just his, but hers as well. She’d never really asserted her opinions or her wants with him. She’d been so happy to be part of that pair her focus had been on making it a happy, joyful world to exist in. If she’d been asked then, she’d have said she had everything she wanted. If he was happy, so was she. Certainly, he had habits that annoyed her, routines that didn’t mesh with hers, opinions she didn’t share, but those were all things she knew were just part of their yin and yang. It was normal. What wasn’t necessarily normal, and what she saw now, was while Jeremy wasn’t the type to directly point out her flaws or shortcomings as he saw them, he found a way to make it known to her that maybe it would be better—for her—if she changed this, or did that.
Even that was part and parcel of a relationship. She didn’t have to make any of those adjustments, though she always had. Making him happy had brought her joy. But, she realized, she’d never let him know about those same sorts of little things that bugged her. Not because she’d been afraid of making him angry. He was the most even-tempered person she knew. She had loved that about him, in fact. It had made her feel safe and secure knowing he’d never fly off the handle. No, that wasn’t it at all.
She realized she hadn’t pushed any of those opinions, or wants or needs at him, because she’d suspected he wouldn’t have been moved to do for her what she so happily and willingly did for him. It wouldn’t have mattered to him. Making her happy in that way was not something that motivated him, especially if it meant doing something he didn’t want to do.
She’d been so busy making both of them happy, and maintaining the status quo, it had never occurred to her he wasn’t really having to do much of anything. She’d felt needed by him, vital to his happiness. She supposed she had been, but not in the way she’d thought, or the way she should have been.
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