He pushes himself inside me, gently, and I bite my lip, shocked at his size, my pussy stretches to take him--my body already begging for more. One inch at a time won’t do--I need to be filled and fucked and fueled.

I need him to make love to me and at the same time, take me hard. Harder. As hard as he can. I want it all tonight. I want to remember what it is like to be consumed.

He runs a hand under my cami, and I don’t steer it away. I may not be ready for the lights to be on, for him to see stretch marks from pregnancy, but I do want to be touched. Taken.

I inhale as his hands run over my belly, holding me at my waist as he sinks inside of me. He is big, filling me so completely.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks, brushing away a loose strand of my hair.

I whimper, but shake my head. “No. It feels so good. So right. Please. Don’t stop.”

I close my eyes, the worries from my real life slipping away--Milo and Lucy and Christmas shopping and gingerbread houses--all of it disappears as Ansel rocks his perfectly shaped body against my own.

As he takes me, his muscles intimidate me in their absolute strength, but it makes me feel safe too, beneath him. He towers over me as he fills me up. Under him, it’s like he’s the shelter from the storm.

I’ve missed this sensation, the way my pussy opens to take a man, the way my heart pounds as my skin remembers what it means to be kissed and held and licked and fucked--so many good memories. As Ansel moves against me, I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him as we move toward climax.

I’m loud--I forgot that about myself. And Ansel laughs, teasing me for my cries.

“You’re more wild than I expected,” he growls in my ear, turning me on even more. I roll out from under him, climb on top, straddling him. I pin him down playfully with one hand, as I lift my ass and ease him back where he belongs. Deep inside of me.

“Oh, god, woman,” he groans as I rock my hips in a circle.

“I’m so close,” I moan, moving faster and faster. “Oh, Ansel, oh, oh.” I come hard, my hands pressing against his chest as the orgasm washes over me. The pleasure ripples through my body and Ansel knows it. It makes him needy and I know he’s ready to come. He thrusts inside me, hard, coming against me too.

“Oh, hell,” he groans in pleasure as we rock softly until we both still against one another. I look down at him, this man that is unlike anyone I know--handsome and so damn smooth--and I laugh. Hard.

Hard enough that I cover my mouth as the laughter escapes.

The room is dark but I can faintly make out his face and for a moment his brow is knit with concern. “That bad, huh?”

I erupt in a fit of giggles, leaning down, close enough to kiss him. “Not bad at all. In fact, it was exactly, one hundred percent amazing.” I’m on my back and he is above me; it’s a moment full of moonlight and stolen kisses and skin on skin.

A moment where all is right.

“Thank you,” I say softly, as the laughter fades.

“For what?” he asks, rolling beside me on the bed, lacing his fingers with mine, and kissing the top of my hand.

“For reminding me that I’m alive, breathing.”

“Oh baby,” he says, wrapping an arm around me again. “You’re not breathing, you’re panting.”

I laugh again, covering my face with my hands, as Ansel lowers himself on the bed and pushes apart my legs.

Guess if I was looking for a good time, I’ve found it.

* * *

I wake around three am, with a start. I sit up in bed, looking around, disoriented. Then I see Ansel, bare chested and asleep, beside me.

Blinking, I remember the night. Did I seriously just sleep with that hunk-a-hunk-a-burning-love? I’m such a dork--yet he was all over me. It’s been so long since I felt so adored.

My shoulders fall and my face breaks out into a grin.

I seriously dominated that one-night stand.

Slipping from the bed, I tiptoe around the room and grab my clothes, dressing quickly. Standing in Ansel’s doorway, I pause, smiling at what is clearly the most uninhibited experience of my life.

Walking home in the early morning, I use the flashlight on my phone to lead the way--but that small stream of light is hardly necessary--right now I’m on cloud nine.

At home I shower and change quickly, knowing I need to get to the bakery to start the morning routine that starts at four am sharp. The biggest downfall of this profession is the early morning. I usually have a sitter who comes to be with the kids, but today they’re with Hazel and Clive.

I put on my uniform of choice, thick black leggings, a tunic long enough to cover my ass, and clogs. Not sexy, but certainly practical.

Pulling my winter coat back on, I head to Main Street, knowing the smile on my face is going to tell Maggie everything she’ll be dying to know.

A few minutes later, I am adding yeast and hot water to the giant Hobart. The floor mixer is my BFF most mornings as I get my famous cinnamon buns ready for the oven.

When Mags walks in a few minutes after I arrive, tying an apron to her waist she doesn’t wait to ask. “So did you do it?”

I flip on the mixer and the yeast begins to froth. Not looking up at her, I measure flour in a commercial grade container. “Do what?” I ask.

She walks right over to me. “Oh, don’t you even. Dish!”

I look up at her and another laugh escapes me. Why is everything suddenly so freaking hilarious?

“Holy shit--you slept with Mr. Man Bun, didn’t you?”

I bite my bottom lip, raising my eyes, nodding my head. Suddenly tears fill my eyes. Apparently I’m manic too, because one minute I’m giddy, the next I’m stifling a sob.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mags says, taking my hand. “It’s okay. Luke knows you--”

I cut her off. “No, it’s not about Luke, Mags. Luke knows I love him more than life-- I don’t doubt that. He’d want me to be happy.”

Maggie tilts her head. “Then why the tears? Oh God, did this guy do--”

I cut her off again. “No, Ansel was an absolute gentleman.”

“Then why are you crying?”

I wipe my eyes, collecting myself. “He made me feel ... like I was...” I stop talking, feeling ridiculous to say these things out loud.

“Feel what?” Mags asks gently.

“He made me feel like I was more than a mom or a widow. I felt like I was a twenty-seven year old woman who was wanted. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel that way again.” I smirk. “Well, I knew I’d never feel like that with the guys who are from Linesworth--they’re all terrified of hitting on Luke’s wife.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

I raise a brow. “It wasn’t like that. It was sex. I mean, do you remember how handsome he was? He wouldn’t want to date a mom. He thinks I’m some girl on vacation. “

Maggie shakes her head, smiling too. “I’m glad you had fun, no one deserves it like you, Greta. I can’t remember the last time I saw you so happy.”

It’s hard to hear. “I’m happy.”

Mags shrugs. “You have a lot on your plate. I just like the idea of my sister having fun. It’s been a long time.”

I give her a squeeze and return to the mixer. “These cinnamon rolls won’t make themselves.”

“Yeah,” Mags snorts. “You should bring one to your Man Bun and see what he thinks of your cinnamon center.”

“Ewww,” I say, laughing. “I don’t even want to know what that might mean.”

“It means if you get the chance, you should see him again while he’s in town.”

I add flour to the dough, thinking she’s right. Truth is, I’d like some more cookie in my crumble, and some more icing on my cake.