“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. About the sh—the stuff on your face. If it makes you feel more comfortable to wear it, then I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but for the record, you don’t need it, Ella. You have nothing to hide.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” she says, lowering her eyes to her knees.
I swallow the lump in my throat, letting it go, and reach for the thermos. “Warm apple cider and fresh pumpkin donuts.”
“Pumpkin?” Her voice fills with an unfamiliar sound as she lifts her head. “I love pumpkin.”
“Praise Jesus. I finally learned something she’ll eat.” Note to self. Everything pumpkin flavored.
“I eat a lot of things,” she says. Her voice lowers while her lids drop half-mast. She has no idea the dirty thoughts racing through my head with that look, and that’s probably a good thing. I open the thermos and pour some cider in the attached cup, then hand it to her. I’ll need to drink directly from the thermos, which is fine for me. I open the bag of donuts and let her pick one. She thanks me and then hums deliciously after taking a bite of the seasonal treat.
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” she moans. She’s killing me. My dick is so hard, I need to lean back on my hand and stretch my legs before me because I’m uncomfortable in my jeans. “This is so good.”
She purrs again, having no idea the effect she’s having on me. How good this moment is. How nice it is to be here with her. How much better it could be.
Keep it in check, man.
I bump her shoulder with mine like a damn teenager. “Good, right? The place. The donut. The company.” I wiggle my brows, and Ella giggles as she swallows another bite.
“It is good,” she says, her eyes on me. I turn my face away from her before I do something stupid, like kiss her. But man, do I want to kiss her.
“I always thought this would be a great place for a restaurant,” I say as a way of distraction.
“Is that what you’re planning? A restaurant. I’ve seen you looking at Pinterest, and I know you’re working on menus.”
I chuckle and lean forward, bringing my knees near my chest and wrapping my arms loosely around them. “It’s been a lifelong dream. One that feels like it’s taking too long to be my life.”
When Ella doesn’t speak, I continue. “My father disapproves. He thinks we should be growing the food, not playing with it.”
“Does he really say that?” she questions.
“He thinks food serves a purpose, which is nutrition and sustenance. I see food as art. I want to create with it.”
“What kind of restaurant do you want?” she asks. Surprisingly, no one has ever asked me before. Then again, not many people take my dream seriously.
“I want a place people hang out in, linger a little because of the atmosphere. Come in as a group or bring a date. I want good food. Farm to table is the saying. Fresh foods, grown locally, something unique, but not too fancy. Classics with new takes.”
Ella nods. “Sounds wonderful.”
“Yeah, someday.”
“Someday could be now, Ethan.”
I laugh. “Well, not for another six weeks,” I tease, turning my head in her direction for a second, but the words taste bitter. In six weeks, I won’t be living with her anymore. The thought makes me sad. “Forget I said that.”
My eyes squint at the low sun. I’m such a jerk sometimes.
“Forgotten,” she says, leaning into my shoulder too briefly. We continue to stare out at the lake. It’s such a peaceful view. This is one of my favorite places. “You should do it. Open a restaurant. Do all the things you say.”
I turn back to her, just gazing at her profile.
“For so long, I’d been under a microscope. What I ate. How I acted. Who I spoke to. Who I didn’t.” She swallows as her lips smirk. “But now, I’m actually free.” She turns to look at me. “I can do what I want when I want.”
“And what do you want?” I ask.
“I want to make this clothing line, and I want a retailer to sponsor it. I want to be more than a name or a has-been. I want to make a mark in a different manner.”
“You should be your own design house. Name it after you or something.”
She snorts. “Right? Fabulously Flawed clothing line by a former supermodel.” Ella waves her hands as she speaks. “Sounds like a winner. I see it on the internet now.”
“Actually, it sounds perfect. Fabulously Flawed means anyone can wear the items. She’s not perfect. Take her as she is.” I laugh at myself. I have no idea what I’m talking about.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Ella states, her brows pinching in surprise while mine lift. I chuckle. She leans on her hand, her body angling toward mine. “You know what else I want?”
I shake my head, my throat thick with longing.
“I want you to kiss me.”
Card 16: Candy Drop Kisses
The spacing
[Ella]
I have no idea why I say that to him. Maybe it’s the longing in his voice or the way he’s looking at me. The way he can’t take his eyes off my lips. Immediately, I’m apologetic that I suggested it, and I lean away from him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where that—” His mouth cuts me off, startling me even though I just asked for this. His lips are soft, gentle, and sweet. His fingers slip into my hair on the opposite side of my face, and his mouth moves over mine. It takes me a moment to register what he’s doing. I’ve kept still for too long.
“Kiss me back,” he mutters against my lips and I finally open for him.
Mother of all things, Ethan Scott can kiss. His lips are firm but tender, commanding but patient. He covers mine, sucking at them, all sugary sweet and pumpkin spiced flavor. His tongue sneaks forward, and I’m tipping to my back.
“Is this okay?” he asks. I don’t know if I’ll ever be right again, but I don’t want to stop him. He doesn’t wait for me to answer, and my back meets the quilt beneath us. His body shifts to lay partially over mine. His chest blankets me while a knee slips over my thigh. Ethan’s hand tilts my head to allow him better access to my lips, and his tongue returns, fully pleasuring mine. His lips are candy crack, and I savor every nip he gives me. He teases. He tortures. He pulls at the swollen curve of my lower lip and sucks at the corner before surging forward, tangling my tongue with his once again.
Of their own accord, my hips move. A part long ignored on me seeks friction against his thick thigh.
“Ethan,” I groan.
“You can stop me. Whatever you want.” He kisses me. “Whenever you’ve had enough.” He kisses me again, and I realize I may never have enough of him. His leg slips completely between mine, widening the spread of my thighs to accommodate the thickness of his. Something else thick and long pokes at my hip. He nudges his solid leg upward, drawing against my center, and I purr. The vibration rattles from my chest and into his throat.
“God, I just . . .” He falters. The kiss intensifies as his leg flexes, a steady rhythm developing as he grinds against me.
“It’s been so long,” I admit, embarrassed by the fact I can’t remember the last time I had sex or even the last time someone touched me. Ethan is reverent, taking his time to kiss every curve, every corner of my mouth. I’ve never been kissed like this, with a kiss that’s going to bring me to orgasm. “Ethan, I—”