Joel helped me carry the bags of groceries into the kitchen and deposited them on the counter. At that moment, his cell buzzed. “It’s my dad. Mind if I get this?”

“Of course not.” Actually, the call’s timing was perfect. “You talk here, if you want. I’m going to shower before I start cooking.”

He nodded absentmindedly and walked toward the front door. “Hey, Dad.”

As he stepped outside, I hurried to the bathroom. It had been a long day, and if the evening went as I hoped, I didn’t want to ruin the moment by pausing for a shower later. I sped through a thorough but quick cleansing, and I’d just returned to the kitchen with fresh clothes on when Joel walked back in through the door. He looked stressed.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Oh yeah. The normal.” He glanced around then gave a forced smile. “Cute place. I’m a little surprised, though. It’s not what I pictured.”

It was probably ridiculous that my heart leaped at the notion that Joel had spent enough time thinking about me to consider where I lived. Whatever. I turned to face him and leaned against the counter. “Really? What did you expect?”

He didn’t have to pause to consider, confirming that he truly did have expectations. “For one, I didn’t think you’d be in a condo. As much as you love Lavender Shores, I pictured some little Craftsman cottage, probably passed down from older family.” As he spoke, the strain from the call seemed to lessen. “A nice flower garden out front. A wrought iron fence.” He lifted a finger and pointed at me. “No, I’m adjusting that to a white picket fence. Something warm, cozy, and settled. And you seem like a dog person. I can’t believe we weren’t greeted by a beagle or something. Wait, wait….” He pointed again. “Golden retriever. You’re a golden retriever type of guy.”

The man had known me for a hot second and had seen into my dreams, knew what I longed for. I couldn’t tell if he had an opinion about that particular fantasy or not. It seemed too small for him. “So basically you envisioned me living in a Thomas Kincaid painting with the dog associated with every polite, run-of-the-mill white boy who ever existed.” I made certain to keep my tone light so it would seem I was teasing instead of sinking into my mess of insecurities. “For you, I’m torn between a standard French poodle and a Doberman pincher.”

He laughed. “Wow, those are my two options. Not really sure what that says about me.”

“Well, you’re fancy and uptown, but you’re also sleek and masculine. So for dogs, I’m not sure which side would win.”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure either, between those two.” He gave a little snort and then began to unpack the grocery bags.

“Wait, what is it? You just thought something.”

He glanced back at me, looking unsure. “You’re probably going to drop me down on the masculine scale if I admit what kind of dog I’d get if I had time for one.”

“Worse than a poodle?” I winked.

Another laugh. “You didn’t say a toy poodle.” He lowered the Italian parsley to the counter and faced me again, using his free hands to mime something small. “You know those little longhaired doxen? The ones that look like fuzzy hotdogs scampering around with pointy noses and floppy ears?”

I nodded.

“Yeah. Those.”

I failed at keeping the surprise off my face.

“Come on, I mean, you don’t get cuter than those little guys. Can you imagine coming home from a long day at the office and having three of them scampering over to you like you’re the best thing in the world?”

“Three?”

He shrugged. “They’re little.”

Though it was just about dogs and completely hypothetical, my vision of him shifted. Not world turning on its axis type of shift, but enough to make me think that… just maybe, he could be the type to find happiness behind a white picket fence.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Did I just lose all sex appeal? Are you discriminating against me due to my love of small dogs?” Joel waved his finger in a sweeping motion over my face. “Is that what’s happening right there?”

I grabbed his hand and held on to it. “No. Not at all. In fact, I think I just fell a little bit more—” His eyes widened, and I cut my words off, letting go of his hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Say anything. Say anything else. “And there wasn’t a property for me to inherit, anyway. My grandfather had quite a bit of real estate here, but he started getting rid of it right and left, which really pissed off my mother. The one place he had was inherited by my older brother. As normal. They get passed to the oldest child.” I knew I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop. “Technically, Lamont isn’t a Kelly. Dad had him before he got with my mom, so everyone thought the house would go to Heather because Mom had her from her first marriage, and she is a Kelly, but Mom counts all three of us the same, and even if Lamont is a Price instead of a Kelly, he’s still her son, and—”

Joel shut me up with a kiss. Thank God. Just a short one, but long enough to allow my brain to reset. He pulled back slightly and looked into my eyes. “It’s okay. No harm done.”

I nodded, both embarrassed and relieved. Even as those emotions washed over me, I wished he would just say he loved me already. I could see it in his eyes. He did. Fuck, already. Like he was taking his sweet time about it, waiting for at least the forty-eight-hour mark to proclaim love. I needed a psych evaluation.

He returned to the groceries, which at this rate, weren’t going to get turned into dinner for a good five hours. He pulled out the jar of capers and then looked over at me again. “Wait a minute. Your older brother’s last name is Price, not Kelly, but he’s your father’s son?”

I nodded, relieved to have a safe topic again. “Yeah. That always throws people who aren’t from Lavender Shores. The Kellys are one of the few founding families still represented in town, and Mom was the last of the line. There were no male Kellys left, so Dad took her last name instead of the other way around. I’m sure the plan was for me to produce a bunch of little Kellys to replenish the town, but….” I shrugged. “Well, you know.”

“At least you have fun trying.” Joel winked. “Besides, I also pegged you for a kid kind of guy. You’re not planning on that? I can’t believe I was off on the cottage, fence, dog, and kids.”

Where had the safe topic gone? “Maybe one day.” I wasn’t going to admit that I’d waited on the house, dog, and fence for the right guy to come along. That this condo, the life I had built up to now, was nothing more than a placeholder. “So… doxen, huh? Aren’t those also called dachshund?”

Another laugh, a loud, full one. “Okay, okay. That was a less-than-subtle subject change there, Mr. Kelly. But message received.” He waggled his finger at me once more. “I thought the deal was you were cooking me dinner, and yet there you are wearing clothes. As you’ve noticed, I’m fancy. I require dinner and a show. So I suggest you get out of your sweats and T-shirt and into an apron while I finish unpacking what I’m fairly certain was half the grocery store.”

I felt my face heat, and I was relieved to get past my romantic notions and onto sex. “I don’t have an apron, and I’m not cooking naked.”

He didn’t bother to look my way, and his voice was neutral. “Whatever you say, chef.”

Within a matter of minutes, the rest of the groceries were unpacked, and I took the healthy Giada cookbook off the shelf, just to make sure I didn’t forget a step, since I normally didn’t have the added pressure of the hottest man in the world watching me.

“Before we get going, do you mind if I use your bathroom? It’s been a long day.” He rushed ahead. “A good day, but a hot shower will wash away any lingering… will clear my head.”

“Of course you can. Plus, you might as well use the time while I start cooking.”

“No, I was just kidding about watching you, or at least only watching you. I’ll help cook.”

I didn’t respond to that. The thought of cooking with him, in my kitchen, my space, was the stuff of which my boring little dreams were made. I wanted him to do that more than anything, but I still wasn’t clear what he was thinking for us when he returned to Lavender Shores, even if I could see love in his eyes. Such a domestic activity sounded much more dangerous to my heart than sex. Which I should’ve realized before I suggested a home-cooked meal. “Let me give you a quick tour of the place so you can make yourself at home.”

“I got it. It’s a condo. If I get lost, I’ll just holler.” He kissed me, that quick kiss that couples with years together give each other. Fuck. “I’ll be back soon.”

The sound of the shower drifted into the kitchen as I began chopping the onions, Kalamata olives, and celery. Maybe I should’ve waited and showered with him, but I was fairly certain he was trying to wash away the effects of talking about his mom or whatever his father had said as opposed to wanting to fuck around in the shower. Which was totally understandable. Besides, this moment was pretty perfect, though the sound of him nearby was proving to be as dangerous as Joel cooking right by my side.

I didn’t have big career dreams. Real estate was fun. I got to be out and about in the town I loved, work with Regina, and visit with townspeople all day, but I didn’t care about it beyond that.

I wanted a home, kids, the joy of cooking for my husband and family. That sounded like heaven. I’m sure it would have its issues, like everything, and I’d probably go stir-crazy after a week.

Actually, that was what I was supposed to think. But I didn’t really. I’d love it.

Maybe, just maybe, Joel in my home was the teaser. The hint of things to come. Finally. After the failed relationships, after not being enough for other men, maybe this moment would become commonplace. Joel in the shower as I cooked. Him cooking alongside me. The two of us settling down to watch TV after dinner or read books, or make love all night long. Or fuck like crazy and then drive into town for dessert or something; that would work too.

I gave in to the fantasy as I prepped the food. Allowing myself to get lost in the hopes of it finally beginning. For real this time.

The picture in my mind was powerful enough that I hadn’t noticed the sound of the shower turning off or felt Joel’s presence until his hands were suddenly moving over my stomach. I jumped with a yelp. “Holy shit, Joel, you don’t do that to a man with a knife in his hands.”

A deep chuckle sounded by my ear, right before his scruff raked over my skin, causing me to tremble. There was a hardness at my hip.

“Someone gets turned on by good shower pressure, apparently.”

Joel responded by running his jaw down my neck as he lowered his fingers to my waist.

I reached behind with my free hand to squeeze his erection, expecting to feel jeans or underwear. Instead, my fingers closed around his thick shaft. “You’re naked.”

His lips were back at my ear. “Yep.” I started to turn around, but he held me still as he removed my hand from him. “Keep cooking.” He slid his fingers over the waistband of my sweatpants.

I froze.

“I said keep cooking.”

I began chopping the artichokes again, my breathing already increasing.

As he began to slowly lower my sweats, Joel’s tongue joined the sensation party his stubble had started, tracing my ear, then down the side of my neck and over to my spine, where he began to kiss.

All my focus was torn between his lips on my skin and not cutting myself, and suddenly, my sweatpants were over my thighs and Joel’s hand was wrapped around my cock. He stroked me slowly as he slid his other hand under my shirt, moving over my stomach and up to my chest, pushing up my shirt. He let go of my erection. “Put the knife down.”

I did.

“Raise your arms.”

I did.

He pulled my shirt over my head and arms and tossed it out of sight. “Cook.”

I picked up the knife and kept my gaze on the artichoke.

Joel’s fingertips traced my back, replacing his tongue on my skin. Over my spine, then back up to my shoulder blades. “I love how wide your shoulders are.” His fingers made little circular motions. “And these freckles. This one and this one.” A brief kiss before more fingers. “And this one.”

The touches were light, barely there, and they set me on fire.

“You’re forgetting to cook.”

Right. I started chopping again. The artichoke was going to be little more than mush. But who gave a fuck?

Fingertips gave way to his palms sliding over my back then curving around my sides. “And this perfect V-shape you’ve got going on, tapering down to that fuzzy ass.” He cupped one globe and reached around with his other hand to circle my dick once more. He let out a low hum. “You’re already wet.” His thumb ran over the tip of my cock, smearing the precome over the head. I put the knife down. This wasn’t going to end well otherwise.

I was so fixated on what he was doing to my dick I didn’t realize he’d knelt down until his tongue traced the curve of my ass. Instantly, I arched toward him.

“Fuck.” His breath was warm over my skin, “I love that you do that every time. How your body is desperate to have me inside.”

The last thing I wanted was to seem desperate. To have him see how much I truly wanted him. But I was powerless to control my physical reaction to him.

“Spread your legs.”

I whimpered and did as he commanded.

His tongue traced deeper in my crack, and he breathed deep, then growled. “Good, I was afraid you’d just smell like soap, but you still smell like man.” His tongue touched my opening, and I gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, biting my lip and pushing against him, despite my effort to stand still.

“Fuck yes, Andrew.” Another touch of his tongue. “Show me how much you want me inside.”

I pushed back farther, bending slightly at the waist to give him better access.

He let out a rumbling chuckle and then both hands were on either side of my ass, pulling me apart, opening me up to him. His tongue flattened against my hole, and he licked up, the scruff of his chin following the path of his tongue over the sensitive skin. I cried out and jerked away slightly, but his hand slipped from my ass to grip my hips and pulled me back to him. His tongue shoved into me as his hands tightened over the bruises from the night before.

I threw back my head and yelled, giving into the lust, the feel of his tongue shoving into me, licking, then pushing in deeper, not caring if the noises I made sounded like an animal, or if my thrusts against his mouth revealed that I’d let him do anything he wanted to my body. Anything.

Joel used one of his hands to hold me open and shifted the other between my legs, wrapped his fingers around my balls, and pulled them lightly as he continued to ravage my ass with his tongue.

I let go of the edge of the counter and began to pump my erection, the orgasm building already.

Joel grunted and then growled between licks. “That’s it, Andrew. Work yourself.” Another lick. “Tell me before you come. I want it.” Then his hand left my balls, and he stretched me open, tongue fucking me as deep as he could go.

I rocked against his face, jacking myself off, feeling the burn of the orgasm build as his wet tongue shoved deep, his rough beard scraping the skin of my ass.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m going to come; I’m going to come.”

He gripped my hips and forced me around so quickly I almost slipped with my sweats restricting the movement around my knees. Joel shoved me back against the counter as he smacked my hand from my dick and engulfed it with his mouth and began to suck me off.

As much as I wanted this to last, it was less than ten seconds before I was crying out again, giving him warning in case I’d misunderstood. “Joel, I’m coming. You’d better—” It was too late. My orgasm surged through me, setting my cock on fire.

Joel let out a sound between a grunt and growl as I came, the vibration heaven against my dick, and he pumped harder, taking me in as deep as he could.

I stared down at the hottest sight I’d ever seen. The most gorgeous man I’d ever been with, on his knees, taking every surge of my come down his throat, sounding just as desperate for it as I’d been for his tongue in my ass. I reached down, gripped his hair, and held him as I fucked the last bit of my load into him, his fingers digging painfully into my hips once more.

Just as my orgasm started to fade, Joel pulled off my cock and stood. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” I thought he was going to kiss me, but he bent to pick something up off the floor. A condom. “Turn around.”

I did. Holy fuck, I did. Turned around, braced myself, and arched my ass toward him, not giving a shit if I looked like the most desperate comewhore in the world.

He smacked my ass, once, just as he had before. “That’s my man.” He paused and slid on the condom. He didn’t use lube, having already gotten me prepared with his tongue. He lined himself up, gripped my hips again, and shoved in.

My cry was louder this time. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I figured my neighbors could hear. I didn’t fucking care. He was too much. Too thick, too sudden, not enough lubrication, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. He held on tight and fucked and fucked and fucked.

“You love me using your sweet ass, don’t you?” His words were barely more than growls, but he was right.

I did. I arched even farther, and he nearly howled in triumph. “That’s it! Take your man.”

His pounding increased. The smacking of our skin mixing with the grunts, growls, and panting filled the kitchen.

Then he cried out his release, the rhythm of his thrusts stumbling. Shoving deep, holding still, and then thrusting again and again, as he came.

I closed my eyes and wished the condom were gone. That he really was emptying into me. Pouring himself into my body. Owning me while making us one.

A final shudder and his hands left my hips and crashed down beside mine on the counter, steadying himself. His chest and stomach, slick with sweat, heaved against my back.

We stood there, trembling and locked together for a few more moments. Eventually, he kissed my ear again and then whispered, “Was that part included in that cookbook of yours?”