So a while back I released an exclusive scene between Rylee and Colton to readers that are a part of my monthly newsletter…I happened to come across it today, did a quick reread of the scene, and figured the rest of you might want to read it too. So just in case you were missing Ace and Ryles, here is a new scene between them…
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The house smells like a goddamn bakery, flour and vanilla, but the sight right before me is anything but a damn cookie. More like a dessert good enough to knock this grown man to his knees. Curves swaying in tight jeans, a tank top that I’d bet my ass on has no bra underneath, hair pulled up so curls tickle her neck, and her voice humming along to some seductive ass song about riding something.
Sweet Jesus, I’ll ride her. No doubt there. There may be a bag of sugar sitting on the counter beside her but I sure as shit would take the sweetness between her thighs any fucking day of the week.
And that any fucking day is going to start about right now. A long day at the track is one thing but ending it like this? Talk about getting to claim a checkered flag when I’m just testing out the car.
I lean against the doorjamb and just watch her. How can I not? Shit, a year ago I would’ve called myself a pussy if I even remotely thought watching a woman bake Christmas cookies was a turn on but damn, that was before I knew Rylee.
There’s something so goddamn sexy about the way she moves to the music, and I’m not sure if it’s because she doesn’t know I’m here so she’s letting loose or it’s because my fingertips have memorized ever inch of skin beneath those fine as fuck jeans, but shit, it’s worth taking a moment to appreciate it.
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 my bachelor pad, but it makes me smile for some weird reason. It makes me think of the real meaning of the word ‘home’ and how fucking lucky I am that she actually said ‘I do’ a few weeks ago.
We’re married. Talk about a fucking crazy thought.
“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 pressed 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 that motion that just pulls on those dark parts remaining inside of me and tells them, “See, I can be loved.” It’s fucking stupid – fighting the damn demons still – but old habits die hard and hell if it doesn’t feel good.
“Yeah. Car feels good. Needs a few tweaks yet, but it’ll be ready to go.” I rest my chin on her shoulder as I watch her take the paint brush and dip it in the icing before spreading it over the unfrosted cookie. “What’s all this?” I ask as if my covered counters aren’t obvious enough.
“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?” Hmm the thought alone has me groaning. Heels and ruffles bent over the kitchen table. Bring it on, baby.
“And who, kind sir, are you going to be?” She teases, and the smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“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 against where my dick’s pressing into her softness and I swear to God she loves to test my restraint in every way possible. “Hm, 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 more than gladly win. 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, lips brushing her neck like I know she likes. Her body tenses momentarily and 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 floor so that I can play out my dining room table fantasy.
“Mm-hm,” she murmurs as I reach out to dip a finger in the icing. She bats my hand away. “Hands off, Ace.”
“My hands are going to be anywhere that they want,” I tell her and place them perfectly over her boobs. Her hands stop mid-motion as my thumbs brush over the hard tips of her nipples and that sigh that turns me hard as rock falls from her lips. “And you’ll like it.”
“I will, will I?” She asks as she turns around to face me, the paintbrush in her hands covered in frosting hits my chin with the natural motion of the action. And the startled gasp from her lips and the desire clouding her eyes tells me it was purely accidental.
Her eyes flicker down to the green frosting I’m sure is coating my chin and then back to my eyes. She fights the smile on her lips when I raise my eyebrows at her. “You want to play dirty now, do you?”
She looks up at me with mirth in her eyes and the battle to hide her smirk is lost. Her beestung lips spread into a full blown smile as she leans into me, eyes still locked on mine, and licks the frosting off 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 back up to jumpstart my heart.
She finishes by sucking gently on my skin and then licking my bottom lip. “There was some right there,” she murmurs against my lips. “I’m just trying to play clean.”
I laugh softly, my cock now hard and ready against the V of her thighs. Images of wiping the counter clear behind her in one fell swoop so that 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 an image.
“Sweetheart, that right there was playing dirty…” She starts to argue with me but I cut the words off with my own lips. Fuckin’ A. The frosting on her tongue and the taste of her sears my goddamn memory and what feels like my balls from the ache it creates there. Just when I have here where I want her – sinking against me, lips taking, and tongue demanding – I pull back and reach out to take the paintbrush covered in frosting.
“What?” She says, eyes asking the same thing those pursed lips of hers are that are making the perfect O shape. And hell if my dick isn’t begging to put that 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 I’m rewarded for my patience because I was right, she isn’t wearing a bra beneath. Every part of my body begs to take her hard and fast at the sight of her perfect pink nipples. I love the shocked gasp that falls from her mouth when I reach the paintbrush out and paint more frosting around her the hardened peak.
I lean back and admire my handiwork before flicking 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 Colton…” she moans as my lips close over her nipple and suck gently on it, the frosting a nice add to her already addictive flavor. She part moans, part sighs as I suck a little harder, her hands finding their way to weave into my hair.
I look up to her and the suction of my mouth makes a popping sound when I release her nipple before grazing it softly with my teeth. “Let them burn,” I tell her and fuck if her immediate nod of her head isn’t more of a turn on than her peak in my mouth. The fact that she wants me just as bad as I do her is an oddly fulfilling and arousing notion.
I paint the other side, and I love her watching me as I do it. I make a production of it this time as my dick tells me to hurry the fuck up, but hell, Christmas cookies only come once a year, I might as well make the most of it.
I set the brush down and push her breast up with my hand as I lean forward to tease her again. I love the feeling of her fingers gripping my hair, demanding and needy all at the same time. I swirl the tip of my tongue around the frosting, not wanting to let her go just yet.
The banging on the front door startles the hell out of the both of us.
“What the fuck?” I bark. Rylee’s fingers try to pull me back to her, to ignore the distraction and fuck, I’m all for it. No one’s going to stop me from hitting this homerun. I lean in and press my lips to hers, tongues meeting, her bare chest pressed against my shirt, and her desire addictive as fuck.
The pounding starts again. “Go away!” I shout in frustration as Rylee releases my hair and causes me to groan, “Nooo,” a silent plea for her to ignore whoever it is too.
“Dude, why’s your door fucking locked?”
Rylee and I lock eyes when Becks’s muted voice hits our ears. “Go away, Daniels. I’m trying to get laid!”
Rylee laughs and pushes me away. I object and she grabs my shirt, pulls me into her, and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “See what he needs and then you better get your big stick ready because I’m expecting a grand slam, rookie.” She releases me and raises her eyebrows, suggestion in her eyes and a sexy smile on her lips.
And normally I’d take offense to her rookie comment but the mixture of the look in her eyes and her hands stuffing her tits back in her tank are enough to shut my mouth. She can call me whatever the fuck she wants as long as she’s moaning my name later.
“Yes ma’am,” I say, adjusting my dick in my pants as I walk toward the door. I fling the door open to my oldest friend. “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 completely confused and the quick moment allows me to realize that something’s wrong. His usual smirk and smart mouth are nonexistent.
“You look like shit. What woman has your panties in a bunch this time, you pansy-ass motherfucker?” I have to tease him. This is our thing. Guys don’t talk about shit like this like women do. We rib and fuck with each other instead of talking about feelings and the kumbaya type crap.
So why do I get the sense that whoever the cryptic someone is that knocked Daniels on his ass while we were on our honeymoon – the woman he won’t talk about – is not his typical run-of-the-mill?
He glances over my shoulder and nods his head at Rylee. He doesn’t give her his usual smile and joke. 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 where Rylee’s wet and frosted and waiting for me. She meets my eyes, and I can see the concern in hers over Becks as well as a trace of green frosting on her collar bone. Fuckin’ A. I groan aloud, fully knowing the homerun I’m about to delay.
I turn from her to face Becks, and step back, waving him into the house. I slap him on the back as he passes by me, put my arm around his neck in greeting, and walk toward 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.
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