Anything You Want (23 page)

She backed up further as he reached out and scooped up a handful of cherry pie filling. She was aware that she was running out of space to retreat. And it ticked her off that she was retreating anyway.

She switched direction and moved around the edge of the kitchen island, pie ingredients once more between them. She scooped up a handful of peach pie filling and threw it at him, attempting to keep him from stalking her.

It landed on his stomach and quickly slid down over the fly of his jeans.

The
prominent
fly of his jeans.

Well,
that
was going to make all of this especially hard to ignore. She winced at even thinking the word
hard
.

Marc was turned on. It wasn’t just her heart racing, her skin tingling, her clothes feeling restrictive.

He stopped moving, but his eyes stayed on her as his hands went to his belt buckle. Her eyes widened as he undid his belt, unbuttoned his fly and unzipped.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“You’re messing up my clothes.”

“I’ll mess up more than that.” She picked up an egg and chucked it at him.

He ducked in time to send the egg into the wall behind him. He didn’t even glance at it as he started toward her again.

She grabbed another egg, this one hitting him on the thigh.

He rounded the corner of the island and she had to catch herself as she slipped in pie filling that had dripped from his shirt. She grabbed the edge of the island, her eyes landing on the rolling pin.

“I’ve been throwing soft stuff until now but I swear—” She raised the rolling pin and turned toward him.

Marc caught her wrist, the rolling pin above his head. “My turn.”

He walked her backward until her back was against the wall. He pressed her arm over her head against the wall and took the rolling pin from her now slack grip. His whole body crowded against her, his thighs pressing into hers, his chest centimeters from the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she struggled to breathe. He smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg, laundry detergent and Marc.

“Your turn?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“You said you liked cherry best.”

Marc smeared the cherry pie filling across the skin above the scooped neckline of Sabrina’s tank top, watching as a cherry rolled down in the valley between her breasts. He wanted to follow that cherry, suck all the sugary goo from her skin, lick it clean…

Then he dragged his hand down the front of her shirt, his palm skimming over her right breast.

She sucked in a sharp breath as he let out a long whoosh of air.

God she felt good. She looked good. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, her lips parted as she breathed. He could feel her pulse pounding in her wrist that he still held against the wall.

And he was doing it to her. She might have been in Luke’s office for far too long and Marc might be reacting to that far too seriously, but here and now she was with
him
and was responding to
him.

He held his hand still over the mound of her breast, willing himself to go slow. But when she moaned and her head fell back against the wall, her eyes closed, he couldn’t.

He moved his palm against the stiff point of her nipple. Her free hand went to his waist and she pulled him closer.

What was he supposed to do now?

“I thought we were fighting,” he said, his voice hoarse. Hell, he’d gladly fight with Sabrina daily. She was gorgeous when she was riled up and she made him feel energized like nothing else did.

“We are.”

“Are you surrendering?”

Her eyes flew open. “Never.”

“How are we gonna know who wins?”

“The first one to beg for mercy of course.” The smile she gave him was almost enough to make him fall at her feet right then and there.

Her free hand went to his fly and pulled the zipper the rest of the way down. Her fingers slid through apple and peach pie filling, spreading the sticky mess across his stomach, up to his chest and down again, lower this time.

Marc felt every cell in his body tighten and knew that he had to keep up or begging was a definite possibility.

He pulled one strap from her shoulder down her arm, revealing the soft pink bra underneath. Without hesitation, he tugged the bra cup down to bare her breast and nipple, which he immediately took into his mouth.

Her hand stopped moving as she arched into him. “
Marc
.”

He loved that. Loved hearing his name from her lips, loved making her gasp and groan and press against him. Loved making her as hot as she made him.

He sucked once, hard, then trailed his lips to the streak of cherry between her breasts. He licked the syrup, lapped up the cherry and continued to the other nipple. He swirled his tongue there, tasting the tang of the cherry and the sweetness of Sabrina mingled in a flavor he would never forget.

Her hand started moving again, this time up and down the steel shaft of his erection.

“God, Seattle.” He pressed into her hand.

“More,” she panted, pulling against his hold on her arm over her head.

She no longer held the rolling pin so he let her go. She quickly skimmed his jeans from his hips and freed him from his boxers.

Her hold on him, skin to skin, was enough for him to think
Mercy, baby, mercy
, but he said nothing, resting his forehead against hers and struggling for control.

As she stroked up and down, he had to mimic the same action and slid his hands up under the short skirt that had been messing with him all night.

He found the edge of her panties and slipped a finger under the elastic band against her inner thigh.

She was nearly bare there as he’d felt the other day. No soft curls, no thatch of hair—one single silky strip and hot, wet folds.

“Yes, please, Marc, please.”

That sounded like begging to him, but he wasn’t about to break the spell. He circled her clit with just enough pressure to have her pressing against him. Then he slid his finger into her. She was hot, tight, perfect.

He pulled back so he could look down at her. Her nipples were hard, rosy from his mouth, the feel of her stroking him was almost enough to make him lose it but the sight of her small hand on him had him struggling for willpower. Her skirt fell over his hand so he couldn’t see what he was doing. But he felt it. All of it.

“More?” he asked, moving to position a second finger at her entrance.

Her eyes slid open and she focused on him. The eye contact hit him in the gut and his cock pulsed in her hand.

“Everything you’ve got,” she said.

“You know what I’ve got.”

She looked down where she held him and squeezed slightly. “Everything,” she repeated.

He slipped the second finger into her sweet tightness but it wasn’t enough for either of them. He slid in and out, but she was ready and he didn’t want her to come without him.

His hand went to her thigh and he drew her leg up to his hip.

“Do we need protection?”

She gave him a smile. “A little late for that.”

“I’m clean,” he told her. Pregnancy wasn’t the only consideration.

“Me too.”

“Let me in.”

She didn’t let go of him, but her other hand dipped under her skirt and she moved her panties to the side, baring herself. Then she guided the tip of his cock to her entrance.

“Everything you’ve got,” she repeated.

He dipped his knees, his other hand cupped her ass and he surged upward, sliding into her.

Her head fell back again and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Marc had to take a second to breathe, sheathed deep inside of her, to keep from pumping twice and coming. When he felt a glimmer of control, he moved, pulling out, then sliding home again.

That lasted for two more strokes.

“More, harder,” she whispered, her eyes shut. Sabrina was gripping his shoulders, her pretty breasts bouncing softly as he flexed, her inner muscles holding on tight. And he wanted to hear her shouting his name and lots of
oh
yeses
and see her looking straight at him.

“Look at me. I want you to know who’s making you come harder than you’ve ever come,” he said, squeezing her ass, grinding her against him.

“I know it’s you,” she breathed as she opened her eyes. She wet her lips. “Of course it’s you.”

Maybe it was the
of course
or the way she was looking at him—like she’d never felt like she did right now—or maybe it was that she always drove him crazier than any woman ever had no matter what they were doing, but Marc felt his release immediately start building.

No. He wanted her to come first. She
had to
come first.

He reached between them, found her clit with his thumb and finger, stroking the sweet spot as he pumped into her.

She gasped, then her breath hissed out between her teeth and he felt her muscles begin to contract around his length.

“Come on, Seattle.”

“I’m… Marc…
Yes
.” The final word was more or less a shout.

He couldn’t hold out any longer. He thrust into her, pressing her into the wall, stroking deep until the climax roared from the depths of his gut through him and into her.

He held her up against the wall for several long moments before she wiggled and he let her feet slide to the floor.

“Dammit,” she breathed as she pulled her bra and shirt back into place.

He blinked down at her. “Excuse me?”

She frowned up at him and then shoved him back with her hands on his chest. “It just had to be you.”

“What had to be me?”

“The best sex I’ve ever had.”

He wasn’t sure if grinning was okay, since she was looking more ticked off than satisfied.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re the best I’ve ever had too.” It was the complete truth and he was less surprised than he would have guessed. There was a chemistry, a passion between them he’d never felt before.

“No, that’s not any consolation.” She brushed the font of her skirt smooth, looking annoyed.

“You wish it had been bad?” He too pulled his pants back into place.

“Kind of.”

He knew what she meant. They were in a mess. Speaking of which—

“You can’t leave like that.” He gestured at her pie filling covered shirt. “We’ll have to do laundry.”

The timer on the counter went off and he headed for the sink, washed his hands, then grabbed an oven mitt on his way past the center island.

He heard a snicker behind him and by the time he’d pulled the second pie out and had it on a cooling rack Sabrina was full-out laughing.

With a smile he turned. “What?”

She waved her hand. “Is there anything you can’t do? You even timed the sex perfectly so the pies wouldn’t burn. And I’m guessing those pies are as good as the sex.”

He tossed the mitt on the counter and leaned back against the counter with a smile. “Thanks. And I didn’t time the sex. I didn’t plan on that at all. Up until you picked up the rolling pin I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “Liar. You’ve been thinking about it since you took your shirt off.”

“Is that when you started thinking about it?”

She hesitated and Marc found himself irrationally interested in the answer.

“Honestly?” she finally asked.

“Let’s try it.”

She looked down at her toes. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking about it since Wyoming.”

He loved that answer. And hated it.

All at once it hit him—this wasn’t one-sided. This wasn’t just in their heads. They weren’t avoiding it. What they’d just done against the wall was very anti-avoiding, in fact.

Which meant it wasn’t ignorable.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You are a pain in the ass,” he told her.

“What?”

He lifted his head and gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry. But it’s true. Before you called the other day, everything was good and easy and fine.”

“And now?”

“Well.” He gestured toward the wall where he’d taken her minutes before and where he’d definitely like to have her again. “Technically, I just did my best friend’s fiancée. That’s not fine.” It had, however, been easy. Far easier than it probably should have been. And it had been very, very good.

She frowned at him. “But that’s what you want, right? To mess everything up, to complicate it and confuse everyone so we don’t know what the hell to do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

“Okay, me. If I’m confused by you I can’t be confident that I’m doing the right thing with Luke…”

“What are you doing with Luke?” He forced himself to relax as tension seemed to grip every muscle in his body.

“Getting married.”

“
Maybe
.” There was no way in hell she was marrying Luke.

“It’s what I
should be
doing.”

“What you should be doing is packing for your trip to Nashville.”

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Ah, yes. Nashville. You think I’m leaving.”

“You are.”

“That makes taking your clothes off with me a little easier doesn’t it?”

He frowned at her. Nothing about any of this was
easy
.

An hour ago, the thought of her leaving had made him feel sick. Now…well, it was anything but easy.

He was making pies in the middle of the night because he couldn’t even sit still, not to mention sleep, since he’d read the letter about the singing contest in Nashville. Between imagining not seeing her every day and wondering what was happening in Luke’s office he was so wound up that all he could do was cook. The pies had to be done so he was taking comfort in at least being productive while he went crazy thinking about her getting on a plane. Ironic considering he’d tried to force her to get on one not even a month ago.

He knew it was best if she left. He wouldn’t have to hide his feelings from Luke and walk around in a constant state of need when she was in the restaurant. It was best for her, for sure. This was her shot. And it was best for Luke. No way was Sabrina the right woman for Luke. Especially after what had just happened against Marc’s kitchen wall.

Not that he blamed her. There was no stopping whatever this was between them. But if she had
that
with him she couldn’t have it with Luke. This kind of connection didn’t just happen with every other person.