Chapter Eight
Two thirds of a cup of butter. What the fuck?
Daniel looked at the sticks of butter on the counter, trying to figure out how to cut them into two thirds of a cup. There was a marking for one third of a cup on each one. He considered cutting each of those thirds and leave the rest, but that seemed wasteful. There are sixteen tablespoons in a cup. Two thirds of sixteen is ten point six repeating. Not exactly easy to cut.
He glanced down at the butter sticks again, examining the wrappers. They weren’t even lined up properly. Even if he cut at ten and two thirds of a tablespoon, it wouldn’t be accurate. How are people expected to work like this?
After considering abandoning the chocolate chocolate chip cookies that he’d found in favor of something that didn’t require such asinine fractions from a product that couldn’t even mark measurements with any degree of accuracy, he remembered they had a food scale. He could weigh them, then measure out two thirds that way, ensuring accuracy and better cookies.
A knock sounded on his apartment door. He set the scale down to answer it, a smile on his face.
Elena stepped through, going up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips. Coop had gone to a party tonight. He’d tried to convince Daniel to join him, but he’d declined and invited Elena over instead, happy for alone time he didn’t have to bribe his roommate to get. And he was making her cookies, partly as payback for all the pies she’d made him, and partly because he just wanted to do something nice for her and see her smile.
With a hand on her back, he deepened the kiss, enjoying her taste—a mixture of chocolate and cinnamon—for a second before pulling back. “Come on in. I’m making cookies.”
She followed him into the kitchen, setting her messenger bag on the floor by the couch on the way in. He continued weighing out the butter so he could get two thirds of a cup.
“What are you doing?”
Elena’s voice came from right next to him, catching him by surprise. “Weighing the butter so I can get the right amount.”
“Um, okay.” She took a step closer, invading his space, leaning over his arm to see his set up. “What kind of cookies are you making?”
“I found a recipe for chocolate chocolate chip that I thought sounded good.”
“That does sound good.” She peered at his phone where he had the recipe, picking it up and scrolling around with her finger. “This calls for two thirds of a cup. Why are you weighing the butter?”
“So I can get two thirds of a cup.”
A snort of laughter came out of her. “Why don’t you just cut ten and a half tablespoons and call it good?”
“Because two thirds of a cup is ten and two thirds tablespoons, not ten and a half.”
She shrugged, grinning. “Close enough. It’s not like the tablespoon marks are more than estimates anyway.”
His brows came down in consternation. “I know. It’s completely inaccurate. How am I supposed to get any amount other than half or whole cups that way?” He gestured toward the kitchen scale holding a small plate with a growing pile of butter pats as he added some a little at a time to get to 151.3 grams, which was how much two thirds of a cup of butter should weigh.
Laughter bubbled out of her. She tried to hold it back at first, but when he turned to look at her, she lost it. Bent over, hanging onto the counter with one hand to hold herself upright, she cracked up. A smile tugged at his lips in response.
When she calmed down enough to catch her breath, she stood up and wiped the tears from under her eyes from laughing so hard. “Thanks. I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”
“Glad I could help,” he deadpanned.
She grinned at him. “Seriously, though. They’re just cookies. If the amounts are off a little, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“But—“ He couldn’t help it. Measurements should be accurate. That was just the way it worked.
Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around him, and the softness of her breasts pressing against his torso made him forget whatever he’d been going to say. “Finish weighing your butter. Do you want help with the cookies?”
He shook his head, staring down into her beautiful brown eyes. “No.” He had to clear his throat to lose the rasp that she caused. “No. I want to make them for you. You can lick the spoon, though.”
Her smile grew wider, and she shot him a provocative wink. “Sounds good. Maybe I’ll lick something else after.”
Unf. The thought of her going down on him sent all the blood rushing to his cock. Maybe he’d leave enough cookie dough so she could lick that off him. God. Like the whipped cream she brought with one of his pies. He jacked off to memories of that on a regular basis.
He swallowed. “That sounds good.”
With a quick squeeze of his ass, she let him go, hopping up on the counter to watch him make the cookies, reaching across to stick her finger in the bowl to sneak a taste once he’d gotten all the ingredients mixed.
Narrowing his eyes, he pointed at her with the spoon. “Watch it. I might have to punish you for that.”
“Oh, are you going to spank me?”
He chuckled, low and growly, shaking his head. “Uh-uh. I was thinking more like a thorough tongue-lashing.”
She shivered, rubbing her thighs together. Then she leaned forward deliberately, her shirt gaping to tease him with a glimpse of her breasts, and she scooped up as much dough as she could on her index finger before bringing it to her mouth, licking it from palm to tip before sticking it in her mouth and sucking.
And the semi he’d been sporting since she got there turned into a raging hard-on.
He let out a groan, and she smiled around her finger, sucking on it and drawing it out from between her lips with a pop.
“I think I can get behind a tongue-lashing.”
“Coming right up.” Reaching down, he adjusted himself, her eyes zeroing in on his actions, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. “But you’ll have to wait until I get the first batch of cookies in the oven.”
“So mean. Making me wait like this.”
He laughed, enjoying the verbal foreplay as much as the physical kind. The cookies were irregular in size, but he couldn’t care less right now, his normal desire for precision swamped by his desire for her. All he cared about was feeling her thighs around his head, her lips around his cock, her pussy gripping him as she came. Fuck the damn cookies. The only reason he went through with it was because he knew she was suffering as much as he was, maybe more, and the anticipation only heightened the release when it came.
Sliding the full cookie sheet into the oven, he straightened and set the timer on the microwave. When he turned around, Elena stood in front of him, her hands immediately going to his waist, tugging down his athletic shorts and boxer briefs together until his cock came free.
Gripping him with one hand, she licked from the base to the tip once, again, dragging her tongue all over his shaft, coating it with her saliva, teasing him by ignoring the head. Then her hot, wet mouth engulfed him, her tongue firm and soft, sliding over the tip and all around, feeling like heaven. He let out a groan, reaching behind him to hold onto the stove, his knees weak.
His fantasy of her licking cookie dough off his cock didn’t come true, but he didn’t care. Not with the way her hand gripped him, the way her mouth felt, and the visual of her on her knees, her head bobbing up and down on his cock, seeing how far she could take him. He reached out to rest his hand on the back of her head, not forcing her or even guiding her, just needing to touch her.
When his balls started to draw up tight against his body and his fingers gripped her ponytail without his conscious direction, he tugged back, pulling her off of him. She sat back on her heels, looking up at him, wiping her puffy, red lips with the back of her hand.
Pulling her up, he pulled her T-shirt over her head. “Clothes off. Now.” She grinned, unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down her hips. Impatient, he grabbed the sides and yanked them down to her ankles, standing up to kick off his own shorts and pull off his T-shirt. Pulling her close, he kissed her, bending enough so that he could reach her ass, lifting up as he did so. She let out a little squeak, grabbing at his shoulders as he pivoted and placed her on the counter.
He ran his hands down her sides, over her thighs to her knees, and back up her inner thighs, spreading her legs wider. “My turn.” Crouching down, he held her open, kissing here and there on his way to his target, nipping at the tender skin at the fullest part of her thigh just to watch her squirm before holding his mouth over her spread pussy, letting his hot breath wash over her.
“Daniel, please.”
And this was why he teased her. A satisfied grin played over his face as he took her in, fingers clutching the edge of the counter, breasts heaving, hair a mess of curls around her shoulders, head back against the upper cabinets. This desperate wantonness got him harder than anything, his cock jutting out in front of him, desperately seeking friction but unable to find any. No, he’d hold off, bring her pleasure first, and then find his own, making it all the sweeter for the wait. Delayed gratification was his M.O., both in life and in the sack. Or the kitchen, in this case.
He started slow, running the tip of his tongue up and around and back down, without ever touching her clit, much like she did to him when she licked all up and down his shaft without more than brushing the head of his dick. Payback time.
She tried to squirm, but his hands pinning her thighs apart held her in place so she could barely wiggle her hips, just moving her upper body enough that her tits jiggled and bounced enticingly. He needed to have her in his lap so those could bounce up and down at eye level. His cock twitched at the thought. So far, every time they’d been together he’d ended up on top. Except for when he’d bent her over and taken her from behind. Still, not her on top either. That was his new goal. He needed her to ride him.
She squirmed some more, so he gave in and let his tongue wander over her clit before resuming his slow circles and long flat strokes of his tongue. Spearing his tongue into her opening, he tongue-fucked her until her hands landed on his head, trying to pull him higher, but she couldn’t get a grip on his close-cropped hair. He resisted a second or two longer, just to make her that much more frustrated. And the sound she made when he finally gave in made it worth it—a long, low sigh that had her hands relaxing onto the counter again in pleasure before her fingers tightened on the edge once more as he drove her higher, closer to the edge.
Normally he’d sink his fingers inside her now, but she was bucking her hips so much that it took both hands to hold her down, keep her steady for the onslaught of his tongue and lips. The tendons in her thighs popped as her muscles strained, her legs trying to clamp around his head, his tongue working her clit hard. Her breath came faster, little moans on every exhale, her hands gripping his arms and shoulders, seeming to want to push him away and hold him close at the same time. With a shudder and a moan, her legs twitching under his hands, she came, her head banging back against the cabinets and her nails digging into his skin hard enough that he wondered if she’d drawn blood.
Slowing, he licked her a few more times, enjoying the way her body jumped as he pushed her past pleasure into hypersensitivity. Her hands on his shoulders pushed him away, the message clear. With one last stroke of his tongue, he stood and gathered her against him, wanting to sink inside her here and now. But he hadn’t brought a condom into the kitchen, not expecting this to happen so soon after putting the first batch of cookies in the oven.
The cookies. He became aware that the microwave was beeping, the timer going off, and had been beeping for a while now. And the sweet smell of baking cookies was starting to get the acrid edge of something burning.
“Shit. The cookies.”
Turning, he grabbed a pot holder and yanked the baking sheet out of the oven, setting it on the stove. The dark brown color of the cookies made it hard to tell, but the edges looked distinctly black.
Elena pressed up against him from behind, her arms going around his waist and her head poking out under his arm to look at the cookies. She laughed. “Oh, well. We can finish baking the cookies when we’re less distracted.”
He swiveled around, pulling her against him. “You’re very distracting. But you’re my favorite kind of distraction.”
“Mm. You’re my favorite distraction too.” Something in her tone when she said that made him look at her more closely, but she wouldn’t let him, brushing kisses against his chest and her hand cupping his balls before stroking his still-hard cock. “Someone seems like they need some more distracting.”
And if that was what she meant by distraction, then yes, he definitely needed more. “Couch. I want you to ride me.”
With a quick detour to his bedroom, he grabbed a condom, ripping it open and rolling it on while he walked to the couch, not caring where the wrapper landed. Leaning down, he braced himself over Elena with one hand on the back of the couch behind her head and the other on the arm, kissing her thoroughly. Her hands traveled up his chest, wrapping behind his neck, pulling him as close as she could, but he held himself firm, not ready to relinquish the kiss yet.
Kissing his way down her neck, he wrapped his lips around one of those perfect nipples, sucking hard as he flicked his tongue over the tip, a lot like the way he sucked on her clit. The analyzer in him enjoyed the different but equally intense reactions the same action provoked on two different body parts.
She arched into him, and he pulled back, tugging on her nipple until it popped out of his mouth. Repeating the action on the other side, her hands scrabbled at his shoulders and biceps, uttering breathless sounds, a mixture of English and Spanish that he didn’t understand, but trying to convince him to press their bodies together. He loved when he reduced her to Spanglish.
“Please. Dios, por favor. I want you inside me.”
And those were the magic words. With a growl, he gripped her hips, pulling her onto his lap as he sat down. “C’mon, baby. Climb on.”
Lifting up, she reached down between them, lining him up, then she sank down all the way in one long, hot slide. His head fell back against the top of the cushions behind him, his jaw clenching, his hips flexing up without thought. She gasped. He could fall in love with her sounds.
He held himself still after that one thrust, even though everything in him screamed to hold onto her hips and pump himself up into her hard and fast. But he didn’t give in. Waiting for her to move, he wanted to let her set the pace for the first time since they’d started this relationship, such as it was. He’d always taken over, which she hadn’t objected to, but he wanted her to be the one in control, wanting her to take what she needed and show him how much she wanted it in the process.
After what felt like forever, she rolled her hips. Then again. He opened his eyes, and the gleam in hers told him she was teasing on purpose. He growled, running his hands up and down her back. She moved again, just as slow as before, only rolling and grinding, not moving up and down at all.
With his hands behind her shoulder blades, he pressed her toward him, deciding he’d take advantage of her lack of bouncing for now by tonguing her nipples some more. Her back arched, pressing herself further into his mouth once he made contact, and her hips bucked. He made tight circles around the point of her nipple with his tongue, and her hips bucked again. Sucking provoked a different movement, and he alternated what he did to her breasts, holding them steady with his hands now, causing her movements to change from her reactions to him.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she lifted a little, slamming back down on him, driving him in deep. He pulled his head back from her chest, her nipples now shiny and harder than he thought they could get, watching her move on him. She slowed, looking down at him, but with his hands on her hips, he encouraged her to keep going. “Yeah, baby. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
She lifted higher, slow, until he was barely inside her, dropping her weight again when she reached the top. He thrust up into her this time, and she gasped at the force of their hips coming together. On the next downstroke, he held her in place for a beat, grinding her against him. The next time she did it herself, her eyes heavy-lidded with enjoyment.
“Oh God,” she said the next time. Their pace slowly picked up, still the long slide up, the quick drop, her grinding into his upward thrust. Thank God she looked close, because he didn’t know how long he could last like this. He was determined that he wouldn’t come until she did, though, so he started working differential equations in his head to distract himself.
It didn’t work very well, the sight of her tits bouncing in his face every bit as fantastic as he’d imagined, pulling him back into the moment and out of complex math problems, propelling him closer to orgasm with the feel of her wrapped all around him, his cock driving deep inside her.
Good God. Maybe he could focus on simple algebra. Solve for x. Um, fuck. No. He couldn’t even come up with something. Multiplication tables might help. Two times two is four. Two times three is six.
Her pussy gripped his cock, so tight and snug, he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of it.
Where was he? Shit. He couldn’t think. Not with her on his lap like this. He thrust into her stronger than before, grinding her hard against him, his hands now directing the movements of her hips. He couldn’t hold back anymore, couldn’t distract himself. If he came first he’d get her off some other way. This was just too much. He couldn’t take it.
Slamming her down again, grinding her pelvis against his, her pussy started contracting around his cock, her head thrown back and her thighs squeezing against him as she came. Thank Christ. And that was all it took to send him barreling over the edge too, all his muscles contracting as he held her against him, then thrust once more as he spilled into the condom, buried as deep inside her as he could get.
She fell against him, her head landing on his shoulder as he relaxed back into the couch, feeling like he could melt into it, become one with the furniture, his body limp and sated. Stroking her back, he turned his head to kiss her temple.
She slid off his lap a few minutes later, and he brushed a kiss on her lips before going to deal with the condom. When he came back out, she was getting dressed again. He made a pouty face—he’d been hoping for some naked cuddling—and she laughed at him.
“I’m not going to finish making cookies naked. C’mon. Put your shorts on at least.”
“Alright, fine.” He snatched the shorts out of the air when she tossed them to him, heading into the kitchen to deal with the mess he’d made of the first batch of cookies and bake the rest.
Elena grabbed a spoon out of a drawer, having been there enough times to know where they were, and helped herself to a heaping scoop of dough, popping it into her mouth. He gave her a mock-stern glare before pulling her second spoonful of dough to his own mouth.
“Hey!”
He grinned. “Sharing is caring, right?”
“Whatever,” she grumbled as she got herself another spoonful. “These are going to be really good cookies if you can manage not to burn them.”
He shot her a look. “Yeah. Don’t distract me this time, and I won’t.” Her lips curved into a smile around her spoon.
She had this wicked, playful side that he didn’t get to see very often. And he loved it when this side of her came out. Especially since she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave after sex this time like she usually did. He’d only gotten her to stick around one other time before. Maybe this meant she was becoming more open to them being more than just a convenient hook-up.
The last time he’d asked her to do something outside of his apartment, she’d said, “Look. I like you. I have fun with you. But I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”
He’d blinked at her and said, “Oh, okay,” like a moron. She’d gone home less than five minutes later. That had been three weeks ago. But she’d stayed after sex last week, and again today. Would she reconsider if he asked her to do something else now?
Avoiding her gaze, he focused on scraping the burned cookies into the trash can and washing the cookie sheet while the oven heated up again. He’d had the presence of mind to turn it off, apparently, though he had no memory of doing so. Or maybe Elena had. At least they hadn’t burned the apartment down.
“So we have another home game next weekend.”
“Cool.”
He chanced a glance at her, but she was looking at the bowl as she scooped up another spoonful of dough. “You should come.” Asking her to do things hadn’t worked out in his favor so far, so maybe if he told her what to do he might get somewhere. Worth a try, at least.
“Why?”
This time when he looked at her, her eyes bored into him like laser beams trying to burn a path through his skull. “It’d be fun. It’s homecoming. Did you even know that?”
She seemed to think for a second. “Yeah, I guess I did see something about that.” Shrug. “I’ve never cared about homecoming before, though. Why should I now?”
He mimicked her shrug, focusing his attention on scooping uniform balls of dough spaced apart evenly on all sides. “It’s your senior year. Part of the college experience, right?”
She snorted, and he looked up to find her caught between glaring at him and laughing. “Bring your roommates. And their friends if they’re around. The guys all used to play for us. I bet you’d all have fun.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she examined him for a minute. “And what do you get out of it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you want me there? What’s in it for you?”
He looked back at the cookie dough, scooping the final few balls onto the sheet and turning to place it in the oven. “Nothing, really. But if you wanted to hang out after, we could.”
“I don’t have to go to the game to do that.”
“True. But it’d be easier to meet up for the after-game party if you were at the game.”
When he turned back around she was still staring at him the same way she had been the last time he looked at her. She heaved out a sigh. “Fine. It seems like it’s important to you that I come to a game. So I’ll come. And I’ll make Hannah and Matt come with me, at least. They’ll probably invite the rest of their friends too. We’ll have our own little party during the game.”
He grinned at her deadpan tone. “Don’t sound so excited.”
She finally broke and gave him a smile. “I’m not big into football. And since my dad’s head injury …”
She trailed off, and he gave her a quizzical look. “What does your dad’s accident have to do with football?”
Shaking her head, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing, really. Just that football players have a high risk of head injuries, too. I don’t like watching people bash their own heads in.”
A chuckle leaked out, but he bit it back when she glared at him for real. “I’m sorry. It’s not like that, I promise. It’s not like guys are getting clobbered over the head every game or anything. I mean, yeah, sometimes you get your bell rung, but it’s really not that big of a deal most of the time. You walk it off and keep playing.”
Her eyes still looked troubled, so he stepped closer to her, tipping her chin up so she would look at him. “You’ll have fun. I promise.”
“Okay.” Her answer was little more than a whisper, but it had his heart lifting with happiness. Maybe he was getting closer to making her his girl for real.