Melt (13 page)

“Why not? You even have a can of mushrooms. And I think I
saw a
smooshed
red onion at the back of the fridge.”
Yawning, she popped to her feet and pointed out the window. “Look, it finally
stopped snowing.”

Snow glittered from every branch and blanketed the ground,
shimmering like crushed diamonds. The pink-and-blue-streaked sky only
emphasized the stark whiteness of their surroundings. If she stepped outside,
she knew it would be eerily silent, the world set on mute.

As much as she loved snow—as a lifetime upstate New Yorker,
she’d learned early on that not enjoying it meant she’d be perpetually
miserable—she hated the silence. She could fight her pervasive, bone-deep
loneliness when there was noise and activity around her, but the roar of
nothing filled her ears, beating in her chest like a hollow heartbeat. Even the
idea of Justin leaving her alone in his house while he dug out his vehicle made
her skin chill.

Silly. She wasn’t ten, and a little quiet never hurt anyone.

He stood up behind her and linked his arms around her waist,
resting his chin on her shoulder. “So it has. Guess that means I have to shovel
us out, huh?”

“You don’t have to yet.” Strangely deflated at the idea they
wouldn’t have to be sequestered in their winter oasis any longer, she reached
down to stroke his hands where he’d cupped them in front of her. “I’m fine with
staying here forever.”

“Me too.” She felt his smile against her cheek, along with the
brush of stubble since he hadn’t shaved. “But if you’re really not too keen on
pizza, we can go check out the Super K, see if it’s still open.”

She turned over his wrist and looked at his watch. “At four
p.m. on Thanksgiving? Doubtful. Unless you want to make a pepperoni run…”
Grinning over her shoulder, she wiggled her butt against his groin. “Though I
think we have plenty of meat right here.”

“God, you are so bad. Good thing it’s not Christmas, else
I’d be carting your fine ass to church.”

“Too late there.” She kissed the smirk off his face and
gestured toward the kitchen. “Now go on, go do your manly thing. I have a pizza
to make. And if we don’t have a needed ingredient, prepare to trek your ass out
to hunt and gather.”

He winked. “We’re probably in luck. I made pizza this
summer.”

“Is that your way of saying your yeast is probably expired?”
She laughed and pushed on his chest. “Go on, get out of here. I gotta cook.”

At the front door, he glanced back. “Will you wear an
apron?”

She glanced down at her clothes from yesterday. She was
really tired of her jeans and top, but wearing his clothes felt a little too
intimate. And a little too nice. “If it cranks your engine, sure.”

“
Just
an apron?”

His blatantly lascivious look made her grin. “For you,
anything.”

“I’ll remember that.” He grabbed his coat and scarf off the
hall tree. “Now get in there and cook for me.”

Something about the growled playful command caused her
nipples to pebble. Maybe he was loosening up a little when it came to their
power exchanges. Cooking pizza wasn’t exactly the same thing as getting him to
feel comfortable enough to spank her, but it was a start.

She’d take it.

She cast her eyes down and then looked up through her
lashes. His subtly altered stance told her she’d shot and scored. “Yes, sir,”
she purred.

His knuckles whitened on the knob as she reached for the hem
of her top. He groaned and shook his head. “I’ll be back soon.
Very
soon.”

She laughed. “I’ll keep your apron warm.”

* * * *

He stayed outside a good long time, longer than he needed
to. Kylie seemed to delight in reminding him of urges he wasn’t certain he
could control, and he had to step back before he went over the line. She might
like playing with fire, but he knew better.

Shoveling snow was the kind of backbreaking work that served
as a perfect distraction. He cleared the walks and the driveway, then shoveled
a path between his house and his neighbor’s. The
Shalers
had built a snowman at the edge of their lawn, and he added to it, shaping and
patting snow until his fingers grew numb in his thin gloves.

When twilight began to descend and he couldn’t stall
anymore, he stuck his shovel into a
snowbank
at the
base of the steps and went inside, stomping his boots on the way.

There was something so homey about seeing the glow from the
light above the stove down the hall, especially considering he hadn’t turned it
on. He could put on every light in the house, and it wouldn’t have the same
effect on him as knowing Kylie bustled around his kitchen as if it were hers.

He unwound his scarf and shed his dripping coat, hanging
both over the register in the front hall. His snowy boots and holey socks came
off next. He wrung out the hem of his shirt as he walked down the hall to her,
his nose already perking up at the smell of fresh, hot coffee.

She stood at the stove, shaping dough in a round pan. He
watched while she ladled on tomato sauce, using her fingers to smooth it in.
Next came the cheese she’d grated from the block he was reasonably sure he’d
had since the beginning of time.

“Like what you see?”

She wiggled her heart-shaped butt, drawing his attention to
the fact that his apron parted over her bare ass. The sides of her breasts
swelled out beyond the edges of the front panel, and her nipples pressed
against the stiff fabric. Taunting him. Prodding him to act.

She was right there, everything he’d wanted and dreamed of.
And he wasn’t even taking her the way she said she needed because he was afraid
of losing her, when she wasn’t even his to begin with.

The breath he’d drawn in to answer her question stalled out,
and he stared, fisting his hands at his sides.

Her questioning smile faltered. “Justin?”

He stepped forward and took hold of her wrist. Cheese clung
to her fingertips, and he brought them to his mouth, nibbling off the cheddar
and tasting the leftover spices and tomato from the sauce. “You’re a miracle
worker. That tastes like real sauce.”

“I found a jar.” Blushing, she leaned back against him.
“Your pantry still has some unexpired stuff in it, thank God. Though I’d really
expect more from a master chef like you.”

“Who am I supposed to cook for? Usually it’s just me.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of those hot, young teachers at
school who’d be happy to sample your creations.” She said it lightly, but he
heard the undercurrent in her tone.

It matched the undercurrents rolling through him, growing in
strength and intensity with every passing moment.

He gripped her hips, pressing his thumbs into her soft skin.
Not too hard, just enough to clue her in to the direction of his thoughts. She
was probably still sore, and he knew it was too soon, too fast. But the part of
him that sensed the hourglass draining minute by minute didn’t care.

If he made a mistake, at least
he’d
made it.

“I’m not looking for a hot, young teacher. That’s not what—
who
—I want.”

She looked back at him, her hair falling low over her eyes.
“Sometimes you settle for the best option out of what’s available,” she said
quietly.

Rather than toss back a retort heavier than the moment
warranted, he drew her closer and pressed his lips against her ear. “I’m not
settling when I have what I want in my sights.” He bit down, softly but firmly,
on her earlobe, her small hoop clinking against his teeth. “And maybe I need to
claim her the way we both need.”

If she’d given him any indication she wasn’t ready, that he
was pushing her too hard, he would’ve backed off. She didn’t.

A quaver went through her as she reached up to stroke his
jaw. “Let me put the pizza in. Then we’ll…discuss.”

He stepped back, waiting while she fiddled with dials and
pulled down the oven door. Bent as she was, the tie of his apron dangled over
her crack, bringing his focus to the soft pink slit beneath. As she pushed the
pan across the grill rack, he knelt and pushed his tongue inside her, wrapping
his hands around her thighs to hold her still. She let out a relieved moan and
grabbed the stove, holding it as he surged into her without pause, dragging the
bead over her dampening flesh. He aimed right for her G-spot.

“God, your mouth and your cheeks are so cold…” She reached
back and framed his face in her hands, keeping him right where he was.

Leaning in, he nipped her clit, rasping his piercing over it
while he parted her wet folds with his fingers. He traced her opening with his
thumb, giving her just a little of it to clench around. Even in the faint light
over the stove he could see her sensitive tissues twitching and the glistening
moisture he couldn’t lick up fast enough. More and more slid over his tongue,
prompting him to fuck her with it again, striking that spot inside her that
swelled so readily and warned of her impending orgasm. He felt it building in
her tensed thighs, heard it in her agonized breaths.

He palmed one swell of her ass, releasing a groan of his own
at how perfectly it fit in his hand. He did the same with the other, spreading
her pussy wide for him. Instead of diving back down, he rimmed the pucker
between her cheeks with the tip of his tongue, smiling at her ragged whimper.
He’d take her there too, after he pinked that beautiful bottom until her
arousal dripped down her inner thighs.

“You get so wet for me.” He rolled the bead over her hole.
“Do you want my cock?”

She shifted her hands into his hair, yanking hard. “I want it.
I want you. But first…” A gasping giggle escaped her. “I want to shut the oven
door before my pussy incinerates.”

Laughing, he pulled back and rose, following the line of her
spine with his tongue while she shut the door. He grasped her breasts under the
apron, pinching the tight tips, making them tighter.

The second she’d finished at the stove, he whirled her
toward the center island, hooking a hand under her leg and lifting it onto the
lower bar meant for wine. As soon as she was open to him once again, he sought
her clit, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. She braced her elbows on the
island, jutting out her ass, and he didn’t think. All he could hear were her
pleas; all he could see were those taut globes of flesh. Just waiting for his
hand.

He smacked her softly, testing them both. Then harder and
harder, switching sides. He could smell her now, the perfume of her need
stinging air already tinged with the scents of rising dough and spicy sauce.
She widened her stance, rocking into his hand, begging for it even as pale pink
welts rose on her skin. The bruises from her fall were already beginning to
fade, the mosaic of mottled colors blurring as he made her
his
the only way that would last longer than the sound of his words. For the next
day, every time she sat, she’d think of him. Maybe then she’d experience a
fraction of what he’d gone through every night he’d laid in bed and tried to
scrub her image from his brain. She’d remember him alternating his sharp slaps
with the slide of his fingers along her sopping pussy and the press of his
thumb over her pulsing bundle of nerves. The questing finger he worked into her
tight hole, easing past the ring of muscle to help spread the warmth from his
hand into her core.

Pressing his face into her hair, he fed his cock into her
sheath, plunging into her without hesitation. He alternated his thrusts with
smacks on her ass, and she tilted her hips into his sensual blows. Perspiration
blurred his vision, but he blinked his eyes clear, desperate to see her arch her
back and grind into his groin as if she couldn’t get enough. He rubbed her
bottom, shocked by how warm it was, then let out a groan once he let himself
look. Her inflamed skin had passed pink into red, and the imprint of his
fingers marked her in just the way he’d envisioned.

She squeezed his cock where it was embedded inside her,
trying to clasp him deep. He pulled out and rammed home again, losing the
thread of anything but the blind need to keep pumping into her pliant body. She
opened to accept him, her inner walls acceding to his unrepentant thrusts.

“So…fucking…wet.” She coated him from root to tip, and he
could feel her liquid slipping down to trickle over his balls. It still wasn’t
enough. Farther and farther he drove home, shocked to feel her softening to
take more of him, as if his body only had to make the demand and she responded.

Her cries rose, a sterling invitation for him to band his
arm around her waist and haul her back into his strokes. Her nails scraped over
the countertop from his endless onslaught, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Her
tits bounced against his arm, and her pussy squeezed him so tight his lungs
burned. He whisked his thumb over her swollen clit, and she went off,
saturating his cock with an orgasm that doubled her over and seemed to have no
end. He groaned and lurched into her, grinding deep, extending her
contractions. His balls crawled toward his spine, aching for a respite. But
there was only her sweet body yielding to him, her pretty, dirty mouth begging
for his dick to fill her up.

The tension inside him snapped, and he shouted, lost to her
even as he spent himself inside her depths. He didn’t stop thrusting even
through his climax, using his hold on her ass to drive her up and down. She
whimpered softly, brokenly. And he continued on, consumed with his own release
and what she’d given him.

Then she let out a sob, and he went still.

He stared at her, shocked immobile. His gaze drifted to the
handprints on her ass and the bruises that suddenly stood out in sharp relief
on her back. They were fading, yes, and what he’d done to her had been about
pleasure, not pain. But the two could mix. Even knowing that, he’d pushed her
into doing what he commanded. Some of the time he definitely hadn’t been in
full possession of his faculties. What if he’d hurt her?