Here’s an oldie but goodie for you Driven fans . . .
The house smells like a goddamn bakery. I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but the sight before me is making me crave some sugar. Well, more like a specific dessert that I know from experience tastes so good it can knock this grown man to his knees. I lean against the doorjamb as Rylee moves to the beat as she hums along to some seductive ass song. All I can do is watch her: the way she sways her curves in those killer jeans, tight in all the right places, the tank top that I’d bet my ass has no bra beneath it, and her hair pulled up.
Sweet Jesus. There may be a bag of sugar sitting on the counter beside her, but I sure as shit would prefer the sweetness between her thighs any fucking day of the week.
And that any day is going to start right about now. Long hours testing at the track make for a good day, but ending it like this? Talk about getting to claim a checkered flag when I’m not even in the race.
I watch her. How can I not? Shit, a year ago I would’ve called myself a pussy for thinking that I’d get turned on watching a woman bake Christmas cookies. But damn, that was BR: before Rylee.
There’s something so goddamn sexy about the way she moves to the music. I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know I’m here so she’s letting loose, or if it’s because my fingertips have memorized every inch of skin beneath those fine as fuck jeans. Regardless, it’s worth taking a moment to appreciate.
But I think I need to appreciate it a little closer. Like with my fingers and mouth because I need all hands on deck when it comes to Ryles.
I walk forward, take note of the counters of my kitchen lined with cookies, some frosted, some not. It’s a strange sight in what used to be my bachelor pad, but it makes me smile for some weird reason. It makes me think of a home and how fucking lucky I am that she actually said ‘I do’ a few weeks ago.
We’re married. Talk about crazy.
“Arrgh!” she yelps as I slip my arms around her waist, tug her back against me, and press a kiss to the addictive curve of her neck.
“Hmm, you smell better than the cookies,” I murmur, lips against her skin, dick against the swell of her ass, and my head already filled with the things I want to do to her.
“Good day at the track?” She asks tilting her head to the side so it presses against mine. And there’s something about the motion that just pulls on those dark parts remaining inside of me and tells them, “See? I can be loved.”
“Yeah. Car’s handling good. Needs a few tweaks yet, but it’ll be ready to go.” I rest my chin on her shoulder as she dips her paintbrush in the icing and spreads it over the unfrosted cookie. “What’s all this for?”
“I’m playing Betty Crocker.” She finishes painting a Christmas tree green and holds it up, “See?”
“Can you play her in just an apron and heels and nothing else?” The thought alone has me groaning. Heels and ruffles bent over the kitchen table. Game on, baby.
“And who, kind sir, are you going to play?” She teases, the smile on my lips automatic.
“A baseball player.” She bursts out laughing at our long running joke that takes me back to that first date, cotton candy, and Ferris wheels. And then more cotton candy mixed with the taste of Rylee on my tongue. Fuck. What is it with this woman and sugar that makes me want to bury myself balls deep in her without a second thought? “Wanna see my stick?”
She wiggles her ass where my dick presses against it. The woman loves to test my restraint in every way possible. “Hmm, I can feel your stick all right. Too bad you’re only getting to first base until I finish frosting these cookies.”
Fuck that. Like she doesn’t know she just issued me a challenge I’ll take so much pleasure in winning. Sure as shit, I’ll be sliding into home in no time, frosting and all. “We’ll see about that,” I chuckle into her ear and brush my lips against her neck in that place that she likes. Her body tenses momentarily as goose bumps chase over her skin. This is going to be a piece of cake.
Or I guess I should say a piece of cookie since they’re about to be cleared to the floor so that I can play out my dining room table fantasy.
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmurs. I reach out to dip a finger in the icing, and she bats my hand away. “Hands off, Ace.”
“My hands do what they want,” I say as I place them over her boobs, brush my thumbs over the hard tips of her nipples, and cause that sigh of hers that turns me rock hard to fall from her lips. “And you’ll like it.”
“I will, will I?” She asks and when she turns around to face me, the frosting paintbrush in her hand hits my chin with the natural motion of the action.
Her eyes flicker down to where green frosting is coating my chin and then back up to my eyes. She fights the smile on her lips when I raise my eyebrows in a silent warning. “You want to play dirty now, do you?”
The smirk she was fighting is now full blown as she keeps her eyes locked on mine when she leans forward to lick the frosting off of my chin. I swear to God the tip of her tongue is like an open ended livewire because fuck if an electric shock doesn’t mainline straight down to my dick and then streak back up to jumpstart my heart.
She finishes her tantilization by sucking gently on my chin. “There was some right there,” she murmurs. “I’m just trying to play clean.”
I laugh softly, my cock now thick and ready against her abdomen. Thoughts of wiping the counter clean in one fell swoop so I can have my way with her fill my head again. If she keeps this shit up, it’s going to be more than just a thought.
“Sweetheart, that right there was playing dirty…” She starts to argue with me, but I cut the words off by kissing her again. The frosting on her tongue and the simple taste of her sears my goddamn memory and what feels like my balls from the ache it creates there. Just when I have her where I want her – sinking into me, lips taking, and tongue demanding – I pull back and reach for the paintbrush covered in frosting.
“What?” She feigns innocence as those pursed lips of hers fall open in the shape of an O. And hell if my dick isn’t begging to put the space between them to good use right now.
Before she can comprehend what I’m doing, I have the neckline of her cami-tank pulled down, and sweet Jesus, I was right. No bra. The sight of her pink nipples has every part of my body begging to take her hard and fast. And then that sound – her shocked gasp when I take the brush and paint frosting around her nipple – only serves to intensify that slow, sweet ache I have to take her.
After admiring my handiwork, I flick my eyes back up to hers to find them wide and hazy with need. “See, you’re dirty now too.” I smirk. “Makes it a hell of a lot easier to slide into home plate when you don’t mind a mess.”
“Is that your master plan, huh? This woman has cookies that will burn if —oh God…” she moans as I close my lips over her nipple and gently suck on it, the frosting a nice addition to her already addictive flavor. She part moans, part sighs as I suck a little harder, causing her hands to grab my hair.
“Let the cookies burn,” I say and fuck if the immediate nod of her head isn’t more of a turn on than her tight peak in my mouth. The fact that she wants me just as badly as I do her fuels my desire.
She watches as I paint her other breast. This time I make a production of it despite my body being on edge – want and need crashing into each other. My tongue over frosting. Her fingers in my hair. The heat of her skin on my lips. Christmas cookies only come once a year so I might as well make the most of it.
The banging on the front door startles the hell out of us.
“What the fuck?” I bark as I stand up. Rylee pulls me in to her, tells me to ignore the distraction, and fuck, I’m more than game. No one’s going to stop me from hitting this homerun. We dive back in to our addictive desire with mouths and tongues and her bare chest pressing against mine.
The pounding starts again. “Go away!” I shout in frustration just as Rylee releases me. “No,” I groan against her ear, desperate for more.
“Dude, why’s your door fucking locked?”
Rylee and I lock eyes when we hear Becks’s muted voice. “Go away, Daniels. I’m trying to get laid!”
Rylee laughs and fists a hand in my shirt to pull me in for a chaste kiss before pushing me away. “See what he needs and then you better get your big stick ready because I’m expecting a grand slam, rookie.” She raises her eyebrows in a silent taunt as she lifts her chin for me to get the door.
Rookie? Bullshit. I start to correct her, tell her I’m far from that, but the words get lost in the sight of her stuffing her tits back into her top. She can call me whatever the fuck she wants as long as she’s moaning my name later.
“Yes ma’am,” I say as I adjust my dick in my pants and then yank open the front door. “Dude, you really know how to kill a boner don’t you? You better make this quick because we’re playing baseball here.”
Becks looks at me, confusion on his face, but the quick moment of silence allows me to realize that something’s wrong. His usual smirk and smart ass greeting are missing.
“You look like shit. Must be a woman who has your panties in a bunch. Who is she?” I have to tease him. This is our thing, harassing the shit out each other instead of having some Kumbaya session.
His silence tells me I’m right. It’s woman trouble. And now I’m even more curious. Who the hell has knocked Daniels on his ass while we were on our honeymoon?
Ignoring my question, he glances over my shoulder and nods his head at Ry. No smile. No quip. Something’s definitely up. Fuck. The best friend in me wants to invite him in and the selfish, horny bastard in me doesn’t want to. I glance over my shoulder to where Rylee’s wet and frosted and waiting for me. She meets my gaze. I can see the concern in hers over Becks and that I should deal with him first. But shit, there’s that smudge of green frosting on her collarbone calling to me. Sweet Christ. Am I really picking friend duty over sex?
“This better be good, Daniels, because you’re causing a rain delay in my game,” I say as I step back for him to come inside.
Rylee disappears from sight as we walk into the family room. “So what gives, man? Who’s the woman who’s fucking you up?” I ask, never expecting in a million years the answer he gives.