Page 66 of Pucked Up Plans
It’s the third bouquet I’ve gotten from him. The week he was sick, he had them delivered right as the others died.
“You’re welcome.” Cognizant to not rattle the blossoms in my hand, he pulls me into him. “You smell incredible.”
“I hadn’t planned on showering until later tonight but managed a bath with the extra time you saved me not having to do pickup.” I debate about how honest I want to be with him. Deciding to go for it, I add, “Took under five minutes to get myself off knowing you were coming over.”
A groan unleashes from deep within him. Shutting his eyes, he hangs his head back. “And now I’m hard. I didn’t need to picture that, Tate. Not when I can’t kiss you properly.”
My good mood spoils. He’s completely right. We can’t risk the girls seeing us being intimate. It will send the wrong message. Especially because this is all still so new.
And he could decide at any moment you aren’t what he wants.
The timer sounds from the kitchen.
“I made sourdough pretzels.” I hand him the flowers. “Replace the old ones with these, will ya?”
“Sure.”
He follows me to the kitchen, his presence so large in my small space.
“How was your day?” Walsh disposes of the wilted stems in the trash can and arranges the new ones in the vase. He takes several tries to get it exactly the way he wants. “Remind me to take out the trash before we leave.”
He never leaves without doing some kind of chore. Never asked, but always appreciated.
“Thanks,” I return with a smile. “Saves me a trip to the dumpster this weekend.” I open the oven door, checking on the pretzels. They need one more minute, so I shut the door and set the timer. I’ll get too lost in Walsh and forget about what’s in the oven. “Work was frustratingly annoying. All kinds of mumbled jargon I couldn’t make out and too many unfamiliar words tospell. I’ll have to catch up on more stuff tomorrow after the party. How about you?”
I lean up against the counter. Walsh sits at the table, positively edible in his Aspenridge hoodie and sweats. He must have run a brush through his hair today because it’s not as disheveled as usual.
“That sucks. I spent the entire day in the library, attempting to write a paper for my sociology class and failed miserably. I have no ideas about how to help our community better themselves in terms of socioeconomic groups.”
I chuckle, not understanding. “Yeah, I’ll stick with nephrology.” His expression turns inquisitive. “All things related to the kidneys and renal systems.”
“Shit, it’s hot when you talk medical terms.” His eyebrows waggle. Hotness overload.
Heat creeps up my neck when the timer beeps again. I exaggerate my ass wiggle as I bend over to remove the pretzels.
“Stop tempting me, Tate. A guy’s only got so much self-control.” His throaty voice emboldens me further.
“I know a lot of medical terms. A lot.” To demonstrate, I list the ones sounding the sexiest. Or that’s my intention in my head. “Toxicology. Rheumatoid. Corpora cavernosa.”
The last word not even out of my mouth, he hops up, caging me against the stove. His chest rises and falls, his heavy breathing hot on my neck. He presses his semi-hard dick into my stomach.
“When can we start those blow job lessons? ’Cause that dirty mouth of yours needs to be thoroughly punished.”
Shit. I didn’t anticipate his dirty words.
His closeness, coupled with his erection, lights all the nerve endings ablaze. An inferno raises my internal temperature to boiling. My breath quickens as anticipation prances through me.
“Mommy, are the pretzels ready yet?”
At the sound of Aubrey’s voice, Walsh backs up. I immediately feel the loss of him. As much as we can’t get caught, having him pressed up against me stirred something deep within, a promise of more. A want for more. No, aneedfor more.
“To be continued.” My racing heart slowly calms down.
The girls come dashing into the room.
“Hands washed?” They both nod enthusiastically. “Have a seat at the table.” Lennon follows my direction while Aubrey throws her arms around my legs.
“This is such a great day, Mommy. Thank you, thank you.”
