“We never made it to the Mexican restaurant that night. I’m reasonably sure you know why?”
Izzy clamps her hand over her mouth, afraid her giggles will disturb my customers. “Was that the afternoon I busted you in the hallway?”
I nod, my laughter as loud as hers. “I shouldn’t have teased him. Cormack has patience in abundance. . . until it comes to sex.”
Some of Izzy’s laughter sneaks through the cracks in her fingers. “I can’t believe that was two months ago. Where the hell has this year gone?”
I shrug, completely lost. If you had told me four months ago I was days away from the most amazing weeks of my life, I would have laughed. I was in a hole—a profound one. I didn’t think anything or anyone could make me enjoy life as much as I have the past few months. I was wrong. Cormack changed everything—for the better. That man. . . that man. . . I don’t have a word to describe him adequately. I have many.
Kind. Handsome. Intelligent. Beautiful. Did I mention handsome?
Our trip to Mummo Koti was fabulous, but the two months that followed were even more magical than that. I found a little apartment within walking distance to my bakery that's within my budget, yet stylish. Cormack’s record label is buzzing with excitement about the attention his latest group is gaining, and Izzy and Isaac finally sorted out their shit and became an official couple a little over four weeks ago. Things are golden. Almost too perfect.
I stop looking for the hairline cracks that usually come with perfection when Izzy asks, “Was that your record-setting day? You know. . . for. . .?” Her waggling brows finalize her question.
I nod. “I swear my womb is still recovering from how many climaxes I had that day.”
Izzy sighs in understanding. “Tell me about it. Isaac came four times last night. I’m still thrumming.”
“How many?” I ask, wheezing through the coffee now sitting in my lungs instead of my stomach.
While chewing on her lower lip, Izzy holds four fingers into the air.
I gasp so loud, air whizzes through my teeth. “In a row, or did he take a break in between?”
Izzy looks at me like I’m insane. “Isaac doesn’t break between orgasms.” Her cheeks color as her eyes dash around my bakery to make sure we are without prying eyes.
Confident there is no audience, I whisper, “I thought guys need time for. . . you know. . .down there to pump back up.”
I feel like I'm looking into the mirror when Izzy leans in close to build the suspense. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve taught her my best tricks the past six-plus months. She’s becoming a natural-born tease. “So Cormack has never fucked you so hard once he came, he kept going until he climaxed another two times?”
My throat dries in an instant. Just the thought has me wishing it was closing time.
Cormack and I have stuck to the same routine the past two months as we did the month before we went to Mummo Koti. He wakes up with the sparrows to help me bake before leaving at 9 AM for his real job. He stumbles in my back door around 6 PM, his wobbly steps compliments of his early awakening, not alcohol, then we eat, fool around a little, then sleep. It’s bliss, indeed. I don’t need him to come four times in a row. I just need him.
“Honestly, no he hasn’t, but I have a hard enough time keeping up with his sexual prowess as it is. By the time he does come, I’m so exhausted, I can’t even keep my legs in the air.”
Izzy stares at me, shocked. I return her gaze with an equal amount of vigor. Our frozen stance doesn't last long. As soon as I hear the slightest squeak of Izzy’s laughter, I lose my marbles. We laugh without reservations, not the least bit worried about the suspicious stares we're gaining. It's a few minutes filled with mutual respect and admiration. Izzy is my soul sister. Cormack is my soulmate.
Our immature giggles only stop when an elderly lady sitting next to Izzy touches her arm. “Make sure you hold on to those two fine gentlemen.” Her sparkling blue eyes flick between Izzy and me. “It's rare to find a guy who can pop a cork on a champagne bottle these days, let alone find your G-spot.”
My jaw falls open. I don’t know who this lady is, but I already love her. She reminds me a lot of K, who only left from a week-long visit yesterday. She would be a similar age to K, which I’d guess to be mid-eighties. Her silver hair sits in tight ringlets on the top of her head, and the dreary day hasn’t stopped her from wearing a face full of makeup. She's as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside.
“Suck them dry for every orgasm they’re willing to give,” she advises before strolling out of the bakery with an extra spring in her step.
Her advice has my mind meandering to the start of my marathon fuckfest two months ago. After my accidental announcement of love in Cormack’s private jet, I’ve been reluctant to test his reaction the second time around. I love Cormack, but there is a tiny bit of suspicion in the back of my mind that some of his evasion the weekend we went to Mummo Koti revolved around my confession. Although I’ve tried to talk to him about his vanishing act our first night there, he has done a good job of dodging my interrogation.
Hoping that Izzy’s blossoming relationship with Isaac will bestow upon her a wealth of knowledge my single friends don’t have, I murmur, “I think I’m in love.”
Izzy’s lips furl high as her focus returns to me. “She was pretty cool. I can only hope to be as rocking as her when I’m her age.”
I try to hide it, but the quickest flare of disappointment crosses my face. I love the little old lady as well, but I’m treading in foreign waters here. I need a life jacket, and I need it now.
I can tell the exact moment clarity forms for Izzy. Her lips part as her eyes widen. “Then why do you look so worried? Love isn’t supposed to make you stressed.”
I nearly laugh. I’m not stressed. I’m petrified.
Spotting my greening gills, Izzy clasps my hand in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Does Cormack feel the same way?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, shaking my head. I know he cares for me—a lot—but I’m honestly lost on the rest.
I lick my dry lips, hoping it will aid in the delivery of my next set of words. “I may have accidentally declared my love during an intense. . . orgasmic experience.”
Izzy throws her head back and laughs. She knows as well as I do that declarations of love during sex are a big no-no in my dating handbook.
Rule 2: Never declare your love when your knees are wrapped around your ears.
“Shut up,” I demand, slapping Izzy’s arm.
I’m not really angry. It's awkward admitting my flaws to anyone, but if I can’t be honest with my best friend, who can I be honest with?
“It was more the fact he didn’t say anything back. I know he heard me because he stopped thrusting, but not a word seeped from his lips. Not even a ‘thanks.’”
Izzy laughs even harder. “One, you would have been mortified if he said ‘thanks.’”
With a grin, I nod. That's very true.
“And two, maybe he thought you said it in the heat of the moment. Have you said it to him outside of the bedroom?”
I shake my head so fast, my brain rattles. “I’m too petrified he won’t say it back,” I blubber out before I can stop myself.
Izzy sighs like she's watching her favorite Disney princess get married. “If he didn’t say it back, would it change how you feel about him?”
I take a moment to consider her question. My verdict never alters. “No. I’d still love him,” I eventually reply. There is not a thing in the world Cormack could do that would stop me from loving him.
Izzy’s brow arches high. “Well, there you go. That's the answer to your question. You have to tell him.”
I’m about to grill her on her double standards, but the quick thrust of her hand steals my words. “Hi Kettle, my name is Pot.”
After accepting her handshake, I pull her across the table. I shouldn’t enjoy her eyes flaring in panic, but I do.
Her worry disperses in an instant when I say, “I love you, stinky butt.”
Her mouth gapes, faking shock, before she replies, “I love you too, Mrs. Magoo.”
I spent the rest of my afternoon pondering my conversation with Izzy. I don’t have anything to lose by admitting I love Cormack. . . other than him. I guess that’s why I'm scared? I’d rather hide my feelings from him than lose him. I need to stop being so selfish. What he's giving me is more than enough, so why do I need more? Three words won’t change our relationship for the better. It can’t get any more perfect than it already is.
Cormack’s hand darts down to squeeze mine when I tighten my grip around his waist. With the wind being a little nippy, two leather jackets are the only things separating us as he weaves his bike through the streets of his estate. He promised to take me riding this weekend.
Forever honest, he kept his promise.
When Cormack takes a deep whiff of my hair, I arch a brow, silently demanding he answer my wordless question.
“As sweet as honey.”
My high shoulders slump. “Oh, thank god, because that was disgusting.”
He laughs. He can—it wasn’t his hair that got covered with cow dung when we whizzed past an overloaded cattle truck. My body and face were protected by the gear Cormack makes me wear when we go riding, but my long locks weren’t so lucky.
For a man with a queasy stomach, he did a remarkable job removing the evidence from my hair the past thirty minutes. He shampooed and conditioned my hair three times. He also paid dedicated attention to the regions of my body not affected by stinky cow products, most notably my thrusting chest and achy nether regions.
“Remind me to tuck my hair into my helmet from here on out.”
He nods in agreement before switching off the faucet.
His quick exit from the shower stops when I murmur, “Finished already?”
He returns to his position so fast, I’m confident he’s suffering from whiplash. I love his eagerness. We’ve been together a little over three months, and he’s still as eager as the day we met.
“Is there something I’m forgetting?” His voice is more innocent than his rapidly rising cock. “I cleaned you top to toe, then toe to top. I might have missed a few areas, but the shower gel says it's for external use only. Believe me, I checked. Multiple times.”
He leans in close, causing my lungs to take stock of their oxygen levels. Things are about to get breathless.
“Do you have other areas you’d like me to clean, Harlow? Are you feeling dirty?”
The prompts of my body are accurate. Just the way he said my name made me giddy, and I’m not going to mention his last question. Words won’t do it justice. You need to hear how he said it to fully understand its power.
“I’m still a little dirty,” I admit in a purr.
With the smile of a man who can’t get enough, he switches the faucet back on. He directs the spray at me, his eyes envious of each droplet of water careening down my curves.
“Then I better get back to work. I can’t promise to clean you, then leave you half-dirty.”
He starts at my neck, his thumbs stroking, his lips nibbling. His lips slowly drag down my collarbone before trailing across my breasts. “Hmm,” he groans against my nipple. “Even a truckload of poop can’t alter your sugary scent.”
My breathing shortens when he takes my hard, pink pebble into his mouth. He sucks gently, his tongue circling the bud. “So tasty.”
Just as the warmth of his mouth overtakes the water pumping from the showerhead, he switches his attention to my other breast. He explores it with the same dedication, his movements slow and precise. We don’t always fuck, but we’ve never gone this slow before.
I grow concerned I said my private thoughts out loud when he cups my face to give me a slow and tender kiss. I melt into his embrace, mesmerized by the love displayed in his embrace. He’s not in a hurry or being fueled by lust. He is savoring. Devouring. Utterly consuming me.
By the time he draws back, my heart is double its size. I love the way he looks at me, like I'm worth my weight in gold. The sentiment pumping through my veins is so thick, it has no choice but to seep from other orifices—including my mouth. “I love you.”
Cormack freezes in the same manner he did the last time I uttered these words. When his eyes bounce between mine as if he's waiting for me to say more, I take up the task. “Do you have anything to say?”
“Do you?” His reply is short, but the smile it arrives with makes it seem like so much more. “No praise for my bathroom fixtures, body, or any other item within a one-mile radius?”
He catches my fist mid-swing, raises it to his mouth, then kisses my knuckles. His gesture is as innocent as they come, but the love in his eyes can’t be matched. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?” Although he's asking a question, he continues talking as if he didn’t. “I never wanted to fall in love until I spun around and saw you. I love you too, Harlow. So very much.”