Page 1 of Dessert Flirt Repeat
Chapter1
Becca
“Becca baby, what in the world are you doing?”
I take in the expression on my boyfriend’s face, how his gaze is fixated on my whipped cream–covered breasts. Except instead of the hungry look I expected, he looks…confused? Wow, yeah. Confused.
I push aside the doubt and flash what I hope is a sexy grin. I can understand the momentary confusion. Ben isn’t used to seeing me like this, all sexed up. I’m standing in our living room, buck naked save for the dollops of whipped cream on my boobs and my hoo-ha.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I take a step toward him, shimmying my hips a little. A tiny teardrop of whipped cream falls to the dingy hardwood floor of our apartment.
His eyebrows crash together as he gazes between my legs. A hard swallow moves down his throat. He blinks furiously, like he’s still trying to make sense of why I’m standing there covered in Reddi-wip.
I’m not normally a doll-myself-up-in-whipped-cream kind of girl. That’s something a sexy, super confident vixen would do. Me? I’m pretty much the exact opposite of that. I’m as “girl next door” as they come. Yoga pants, hoodies, sneakers, and other comfort wear are my uniform. And as much as I wish I could prowl around with the unflappable confidence of a sex goddess, that’s not me. Save for tonight, the sexiest thing I’ve ever done is surprise Ben with a few matching lace bra and thong sets for his birthday, Valentine’s Day, and our anniversary. If vanilla were a person, it would be me. Even my blonde hair and light skin denote simplicity. One-note. Bland.
But I’ve had enough of being vanilla. Vanilla is exactly what our life has been the past few months, and I’m tired of it. It’s summertime, which means I’ve been slammed at Sweet Cheeks, the ice cream shop I own in the LoHi neighborhood of Denver. For the past nearly three months I’ve been working fourteen-hour days making ice cream, serving customers, marketing my business, and doing all the behind-the-scenes stuff, like paying bills and fixing whatever equipment craps out in the shop. My life has been a nonstop stream of cream, sugar, and waffle cones, and as a result, I haven’t been the most attentive girlfriend. Our romantic life has been hurried I love you’s and quick kisses in passing while Ben is on a work call or before I run to the shop, which is located on the first floor of our apartment building.
That’s why, tonight, I wanted to surprise Ben, to be the exact opposite of the sweet and sensible woman he’s been with for the past almost three years. He’s mentioned to me before that nothing is sexier than when I’m naked, so that’s what I want to deliver: nudity with a bit of whipped cream as a fun little cherry on top. That’s the ice cream part of me coming out. I can’t help it.
When I think about how we’ve gone from getting kicked out of movie theaters for making out in the early days of our relationship to two workaholic thirty-year-olds who barely peck on the mouth before passing out due to exhaustion in bed, there’s a stinging in my chest.
This isn’t the life I want. This isn’t the kind of girlfriend I want to be.
I’m on a mission to change that. I’m determined to go all out, to show Ben that I can be a sex kitten who can’t get enough of him, that I’m still thoughtful and romantic and wild for him.
I step up to him and slide my palms against his chest. I’m careful to keep a couple inches of space between us. He’s wearing a suit, and I know that even the tiniest smidge of whipped cream on the fabric will result in a trip to the dry cleaners.
“Do you know what today is?” I tiptoe up and gaze into Ben’s gold-green eyes.
The furrow in his brow eases. He swallows again. “Um, no…”
“It’s Naked Saturday,” I say, my voice raspy and low. I start to unbutton his dress shirt.
“Oh. Is that, like, an official holiday?”
I smile up at him. “I know I haven’t been the most attentive girlfriend lately, so I want to make it up to you with something spontaneous. And sexy.”
His shirt falls open, revealing an expanse of peaches and cream skin. I lean down and press a soft kiss to his chest. I take my time, trailing slow, soft kisses down his stomach.
“Happy Naked Saturday,” I whisper between kisses.
Ben hisses out a breath. “God, Becca…”
His ab muscles flex under my kiss. I smile to myself as I plant another kiss right above the waistband of his pants and reposition so I’m on my knees. That ragged breath means he’s turned on.
When I start to undo his belt, he grips my shoulder. “Wait.”
I take in the worried look on his face, how he’s gone pale. “What’s wrong?”
He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Then he shakes his head. His expression turns pained. I hop to my feet and grab his hand in both of mine.
“Honey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
Eyes pressed shut, he shakes his head. A beat later he opens his eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
He pulls his hand out of my grip and gestures between us. “This. Us. I can’t do this anymore.”
