Her answering growl had me smiling again. I crawled over her body, holding myself over her on my hands and knees. She panted lightly, glaring up at me. But there was only impatient heat in those pretty eyes.
“Hello,” I said, suppressing another chuckle.
“Asshole.”
“Now there’s a place I didn’t cover. Maybe I should.”
“Maybe you should—oh!” She gasped and bucked as I leaned down and lapped at her breast, flicking her nipple. God, she tasted good, sweet woman and creamy lemon. I sucked her deep into my mouth, loving the way she groaned and writhed.
Not letting go, I pulled back, tugging at her breast until her nipple freed with a decadent pop. Then moved on to her other breast, taking my time, nuzzling and licking until my lips were covered in cream, and she begged and whimpered for more.
A dollop of lemony confection slid down the plump curve of her pretty tit, and I chased it with my tongue, slurping it up, licking her nipple once more because I could. And then I did it again.
Her arm wound around my neck, urging me farther down. “Get messy with me, Lucian.”
She was beautiful, flushed and fevered with her need.
“Yes, ma’am.” I eased over her, my dick finding her waiting sex, and pushed into that perfect spot. We both groaned, our bodies sliding on slick buttercream. My mouth found hers, and she devoured me, her thighs clasping my hips, body working with mine.
I thrust deep and steady, reveling in the feel of her. It felt so good my body flared hot and cold and hot again. “I fucking love fucking you.”
But that wasn’t the only truth. I loved her.
I loved her so much I ached with it.
Pink lips parted, expression almost pained yet tender, she cupped my cheek as we moved together. “Lucian.”
Just my name. Just her. All I ever needed.
I made love to Emma all night, tumbling and rolling about in bed, licking and sucking and laughing with her. We got so messy it took two showers just to get clean. Then we did it all again.
When the sun came up, we were on the floor, wrapped up in a comforter. Emma’s hair stood out at odd angles, so adorably mussed that my heart flipped over at the sight. There were days I couldn’t believe she was mine. But I’d never take her for granted.
Emma opened her eyes and instantly focused on me. A smile spread over her face, transforming it from beautiful to breathtaking. Because that look of love? It was all mine too. “Hey, you.”
“I love you,” I said in return. “Have I told you that lately?”
“Every day.” She touched my temple. “And with every treat you set in front of me.”
I’d been baking and creating nonstop lately—as soon as we’d moved into our new house, which we’d christened La Vie en Rose. Which really didn’t fit for a house, but Emma had declared that she would always think of me when she heard that song. And since I thought of her when I heard that song—remembering the exact moment I stripped for her while it played, a part of me knowing even then that she would come to be my everything—the decision was made.
I’d been trying out dishes for Black Delilah, where I’d soon be chef de pâtissier for an excited Delilah. Turned out we worked well together. Since we were both headstrong and opinionated, it might have been a disaster. But I loved her creative vision, and true to her word, she gave me the freedom to express myself.
Emma was often on set now, playing the part of Beatrice in a role that would, without a doubt, make her a superstar. She came home exhausted every night. I would feed my girl and then tuck her up in bed and love her for as long as she’d let me.
Now, however, we were in danger of running late. With a grunt, I got up and winced. “Next time, we’re staying on the bed.”
“Hey, you were the one that rolled off of it.” She stood as well and grimaced. “Okay, you’re right. That was a monumentally bad idea.”
“Let’s take a hot shower, but then we have to hustle.”
Today was Mamie’s seventy-sixth birthday. After months in Paris, she had arrived back at Rosemont yesterday. We’d planned a family party for her on the terrace, and Emma and I needed to pack up the gâteau Saint-Honoré I’d made for her.
By the time we arrived at Rosemont, Tina and Sal were on the terrace putting the finishing touches on the table. Turned out they had decided to make Rosemont a bed-and-breakfast, but for people who needed refuge and healing. It would run from September to just before Christmas.
“Let me see,” Tina said, reaching for the pastry box. Carefully, she took it to the kitchen and opened it up. “Ah, there it is. Hello, lovely. I will be introducing you to my belly shortly.”
It was a simple gâteau with a pâte feuilletée base topped with a piping of vanilla crème pâtissière and ringed by caramel-covered pastry puffs filled with hazelnut crème chiboust. Emma called it my most creamiest of creamy desserts.
Sal smacked Tina’s hand away from the box. “Stop talking dirty to it. You’ll have your chance later.”
“No one wants to hear that later either.” Anton strolled in and cut his sister a reproachful look. “If you put me off the Saint-Honoré, I’ll leave a toad in your bed later.”
Tina’s nose wrinkled. “What are we, twelve?”
“You two might as well be.” I took the gâteau and put it in the walk-in wine fridge to keep cool.
“Like we don’t know about the weird cream kink you and Emma have going,” Tina said.
I glanced at Emma, and she lifted her hands. “Hey, I’ve never said a word. You know, about our kink.”
Chuckling, I shook my head.
“You didn’t have to say anything, love,” Sal said. When I cut him a quelling look, he quirked a brow. “What? You two were loud in those early days.”
“We still are.” With that, I headed back outside and found Amalie waiting.
“Ah, mon ange.” She kissed both my cheeks. “I have missed you.”
“Missed you too, Mamie. You’re looking well.”
She waved me off with casual grace, then grasped my arm. “Have you asked her?”
“Not yet.” Amalie had sent me the engagement ring Jean Philipe had given his bride. The deco cushion-cut diamond ring was just Emma’s style, and it meant something to me. I wanted her to have a piece of my family’s history.
“Soon, eh?” Amalie coaxed. Her grin was smug. “I knew you two belonged together. I just knew.”
I rolled my eyes but then shook my head with a smile. “Yes, yes, you’re very smart.”
Emma came out just then, pausing in the doorway when she caught my gaze and smiling wide. The climbing roses that covered the wall momentarily framed her in a wash of crimson. A sense of peace flowed over me. Not for the first time and certainly not the last. Finally, I had found myself. With her.
And life was good.
SOME PASTRY TERMS
Chef de pâtissier: pastry chef
Gâteau: rich, elaborate sponge cake that can be molded into shapes, typically containing layers of crème, fruit, or nuts
Pâtisserie(s): pastry/pastries
Brioche(s): a soft, rich bread with a high egg and butter content