Deliciously Sinful (18 page)

She was aching for him. And that ache somehow fed her. Fueled her. She could barely believe how deep she could take him in. He pulled out and entered again, playing with her mouth. She felt the entirety of his orange-flavored dick filling her mouth. She felt the tip of him on the roof of her mouth, sliding farther and farther and farther.

Again he hit the back of her throat.

His hands still on her head, he sank back into the chair. “Fuck, Phoebe. Fuck yeah, girl.”

She wanted to please him. Pleasing him made her satisfied. It heightened her own pleasure. So she swallowed. He moaned. She opened her throat until she was afraid she might gag, but he held her firmly. Just far enough. As far as she could take.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Just like that. Suck my cock like a good girl.”

She ran the tip of her tongue along the outside of his dick, back up to the tip. If it was possible, this time she thought she felt him even deeper than before.

He stilled. Then he pulled her off him. “Come here.”

He guided her to her feet. Her legs were quivering. She could barely hold herself up.

He kissed her. She melted. He held her upright.

She barely felt him tugging off her shirt, her bra, her skirt, her damp panties.

Her naked skin was hot. Her entire body felt like there was a fire burning inside her. A fire of need and want and lust.

She was about to burst into flames.

“That’s a good girl.” Nick urged her back onto her knees. But this time he followed suit, getting onto the floor in front of her. Then he pushed her back so she was lying on the floor, her legs spread out in front of her.

He had another orange in his hand. This time he made quick work of peeling it, and he tossed the bits of orange peel onto the floor.

She closed her eyes. She heard him squeeze the orange and then sticky drops fell on her skin—her breasts, her abdomen, her stomach, her clit.

“Oh my God, Nick. I need you. I need you so badly…”

“Shhh.”

Then he was licking her. Licking orange juice off the tips of her breasts, licking the liquid off her stomach…

“Yes!”

Finally, his mouth was on her clit. He parted her legs, opening her wide. His tongue was swirling, nibbling, tugging…

“Yes, Nick…ohhhh,” she moaned.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes. Hell, yes.”

He paused. Before she knew what he was doing, he was touching her lips with the piece of orange.

After running the orange section across her lips, he pushed it into her mouth. “Chew.”

He climbed back down her body and buried his face between her legs. She couldn’t cry out or moan or scream, not with the orange in her mouth. So she sucked it, drew every last piece of juice out of that piece of fruit. Tasted, sucked, swallowed.

And felt Nick doing exactly the same thing to her pussy.

He didn’t stop. He lapped at her as if her very flesh were a delectable piece of fruit. He spread her pussy lips and licked her. Devoured her.

“Don’t stop, please, Nick…”

“I got you, baby,” he said, and she felt his breath on her wet sex.

Up and down. His tongue explored her from her entrance to her clit. Back and forth. He didn’t let up.

She tossed her head from side to side, not caring about the hard floor beneath her. Nothing mattered except what Nick was doing to her. Making her crazy. Making her cry out for him. Making her beg.

“Oh, God! Oh my God!” She squirmed and twisted under him, but he held her steady.

“I need you, Nick. I need to feel you inside me.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice casual. “You need my dick? Fucking you?”

“Yes! Please…”

“Beg me for it, baby.”

“I’m begging you, Nick. Please,
please
, fuck me now.”

But he didn’t. Instead he continued the assault on her pussy. But this time, as he swirled his tongue around her clit, she felt his fingers probing at her entrance.

“Yes, Nick. Do it.”

“You want to feel my fingers inside you, baby?”

“I want your dick inside me.”

He made a “tsk” noise. “Sassy girls have to wait. But I will do this instead.”

Then she felt his fingers. She didn’t know how many, and she didn’t care.

“Okay, that’ll do.” She arched beneath him.

He fucked her with his hand. He fucked her with his mouth. She bucked against his face.

The climax ripped her apart. All she could do was scream as her entire body convulsed in an orgasm that shattered her into a million pieces.

Her eyes popped open and she saw the ceiling, but she couldn’t focus on it. Or do anything. She felt paralyzed. The climax had been so intense that she couldn’t move so much as a little finger. She could barely breathe.

She wondered how he’d done that to her. He’d known exactly what button to push to turn her into a lifeless corpse.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. “That was…Wow.”

“Yeah?” he said.

He’d moved up beside her and was now looking her in the face. His blue eyes were bright, his spiky hair even messier than normal.

She traced the tattoo across his chest. “Yeah.”

“Well, I hope you’re not too worn out. Because I fully intend on carrying you to the bedroom and fucking you silly for a good two hours.”

A fresh wave of desire crashed over her. How could she be aroused when she’d barely recovered from the most intense orgasm of her life?

And yet she was.

She gave him a look. “You think you can go for hours?”

“I know it, love.”

The word made her heart constrict, and she ignored it. Instead she gave him what he would call a cheeky grin. “Prove it, then, love.”

Y
ou’re going to Los Angeles?” Jesse watched her father throw a pair of trousers into a suitcase.

He looked up. “Why do you sound so shocked?”

Jesse whipped her skirt around her legs and plopped onto her dad’s big bed. “Um, maybe because you haven’t left Redbolt since”—she put a finger to her temple and pretended to think about it—“I can’t remember when?”

He continued folding clothes and putting them into the luggage. “Well, Sherry invited me, and I’d like to go.”

“But what are you going to do there? How long will you be away?”

Looking at her, her dad sighed heavily. Then he walked over, sat on the bed beside her, and took her hand in his. He looked her in the eye.

“Dad? What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

“Jesse, I know things have been hard on you since your mother passed.”

“Well, yeah, but I thought you were doing okay.”

“I am. But I worry about you.”

She pushed a dread behind her ear. “Me? Why do you worry about me?”

“You were young when your mom died. I know it was hard. On all of us.”

“Yes. But, Dad, what are you trying to say?”

“You’re eighteen now. A woman.”

She spoke slowly. “I am aware of that.”

He ran a hand over his head. “This is hard for me.”

“Dad, spit it out. What’s up?”

“I just think it’s time I started living again.”

She was speechless. “You haven’t been? H-have I done something wrong?”

“No, honey. Of course not. You’ve done everything right. I just wanted to make sure you felt secure and safe. I wanted to give you stability.”

“I do feel safe. I do feel secure!”

“I see that. And I see how strong you are, how good you are at the café. And I know you’re going to be okay.”

“Of course I am. What are you saying?”

“I see the woman you’re becoming. Strong and independent. Like your aunt.”

“I don’t understand. What does this have to do with you going to L.A.?”

“It’s time to let you go.”

“Let me go? Go from what?”

“Me. It’s time I cut the strings, so to speak.”

“Wait. Are you saying you…you don’t need me?”

His grip on her hand tightened. “No. I’ll always need you. You’re my sunshine. But I also have a life, and now that you’ve grown up into a wonderful young woman, I’ve realized I can start living it.”

Her mind was spinning. “So, what are you saying? That you haven’t been living because of me?” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Of course not, sweetheart. But for so long my main priority has been you. And spending time with Sherry has made me realize I need to start thinking about myself again.”

“Wow.” She had no idea her father had those kinds of thoughts or feelings.

“You know, you’ll always be the center of my world. But now that I see you can take care of yourself, I’m going to start doing more things for me. Things that make me—and only me—happy.”

“I thought you were,” she said in a whisper. Her throat was closing in a painful clench, and she felt tears stinging her eyes.

Her dad squeezed her hand. “This isn’t coming out right. Honey, I love you.”

“I know, Dad. I love you, too.”

“I love you so much; all I’ve wanted was to make sure you knew you were safe after your mom died. That I was never going to leave you.”

“I know that.”

“And I’m glad. And I don’t want you—” He squeezed her hand even tighter. “I never want you to think I didn’t enjoy and love every single second we’ve spent together.”

Through watery eyes, she just looked at him.

“But now it’s time to start a new chapter.”

“Because of Sherry.”

“No. Not because of Sherry. I’ve just been waiting until I knew deep inside that you were independent enough to be safe on your own.”

“But—”

“You are. And I also see that somehow, in my attempt to create this safe bubble for you, you’ve taken on the role of caretaker for me.”

She stared, totally floored that her dad had picked up on how she was feeling. In fact, Jesse was floored because she wasn’t even sure she’d seen it that way herself. She just wanted her dad to be happy.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I’m happy. It’s taken a long time to move on past the sadness I felt when your mother died, but I’m happy now. And I want to keep going. And I want you to as well.” Now he grabbed both her hands, leaned down a few inches, and looked her right in the eyes. “I want you to be happy. And that means following your dream. Whatever it may be.”

“But”—she felt tears spill onto her cheeks and she felt silly, like a little girl—“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’ll always be there for you. You know that. And this is just a short trip.”

“I know!” She wiped a tear off her face. “I mean, I know you’re just going for a little while. But…” She didn’t know what to think or feel.

“I just want us both to live. Actually
live
. It isn’t because you mean any less to me. You know that, right, Jess?”

She nodded. For so long she’d been living her life under the assumption that her father depended on her. And, if she understood him correctly, he’d been living the exact same way. She’d been living her whole life around the thought that her father needed her. Here. And now he was saying none of that was true.

“So,” she said. “This means you’re going to L.A. with Sherry?”

Her father stood. “Yes. I hope that’s okay with you. We’re going to leave in the morning. There’s a wine conference in Malibu, and I think it would be an amazing experience to go with Sherry.”

“Of course that’s okay with me.” How strange to have her father asking her approval to go on a trip. Wasn’t it supposed to be the opposite way around? But then, this entire conversation had her feeling as if she were on a roller coaster, the kind where you go upside down and around and everything just drops out from under you.

“Sherry brought this all out in you?”

He shook his head. “No. But she did make me remember what I was missing.” He glanced at her. “
Life.
”

He kept saying that word, and every time he did images flashed through her mind: recipes she’d tried, courses from Le Cordon Bleu, those red shoes she’d “borrowed” from Sherry. Paris.

Life.

Jesse simply stared at her dad as he finished packing. The conversation had left her reeling. And she couldn’t help it. There was one question that was niggling at her, and it wouldn’t go away.

If your dad can live his own life, why can’t you?

Phoebe pulled the tray of brownies out of the oven. She couldn’t help the excited way her pulse raced. They were good. She knew they would be. It had been three months since she’d first started trying the recipe, and now she thought she had her aunt and uncle’s formula down. The recipe hadn’t really been exact, so she’d had to improvise.

Now she truly felt she had a chance of carrying on the tradition of winning the cook-off. She’d just kept making them, making small adjustments with melting the chocolate and the measurements of the butter and the sugar until finally she thought she had it down.

So now it was up to the judges. She placed a piece of foil over the baking tray and untied her apron.

“Ready?”

Phoebe looked up at the sound of her niece’s voice. Then she caught sight of Jesse and Phoebe jerked back. “Jesse?”

Her niece blushed and ran a hand over her very short hair. “Is it bad?”

“N-no!” Phoebe could only stare.

Jesse looked like an entirely different person.

She’d always had remarkable features, but now her face was simply striking. Jesse had cut off her dreads into a stylish, short haircut that showed off the strong lines of her face, the symmetry of her features, and her almond-shaped eyes that were the color of fresh peas in summer.

And, for the first time since Phoebe had known her niece, Jesse was wearing makeup. It was subtle but just enough to bring out her natural beauty even more. A hint of shimmery eye shadow, a touch of eyeliner and mascara, and the barest smidge of blush highlighted the bone structure that was magazine-cover quality. Her lips shone with a natural shade of gloss.

Simply, Jesse looked astonishing.

“Do you like it?” Jesse asked, biting her lip.

“Oh, Jesse.” Phoebe walked out from behind the counter. “You look beautiful.”

Jesse ran a hand over her head. “It feels weird.”

“I’m sure. You’ve had those dreadlocks for years.”

“I know, but I was ready…”

“For a change?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you just did this yourself?”

“No. Sherry did. She did my hair and my makeup.”

Phoebe still had mixed feelings about Sherry, and she wasn’t one hundred percent happy with the way Sherry seemed to be encroaching on her family, but Phoebe pushed those feelings aside. They were selfish. She was making Steve happy.

And Sherry was obviously trying to make Jesse happy, too. Recently Phoebe had sensed undertones of unrest in her niece. Jesse was only eighteen so she was still a teenager, although more and more Phoebe forgot that on account of how it seemed her niece was growing into a woman right before her eyes.

Phoebe wondered what had prompted her niece to make this change in her appearance. She hadn’t just cut off her hair; she’d cut off her dreadlocks. Dreads were a statement. Like a tattoo, or a body piercing, they were a form of self-expression. Now, Phoebe had to wonder, what kind of statement was her niece trying to make?