Part 20 (2/2)
I s.h.i.+ver, pressing my thighs together as Dean slips out of me and reaches for a napkin to clean us both up. He gives me a lazy, satisfied smile-so beautiful with a flush cresting his sharp cheekbones, his dark hair messy, his eyes warm and sated.
Without letting go of me, he turns and takes a chunk of apple from the pie and holds it to my lips. I open my mouth and accept the warm, sugary slice, redolent with cinnamon.
”I love you,” I breathe.
”I'm really glad to hear that, beauty.” Dean lowers his head to kiss me, his mouth sweet and sticky. ”Because you're the apple of my pie.”
I smile and wind my arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.
The phone rings.
Dean tightens his grip on me. ”You are not allowed to answer that.”
”Good, because I don't want to.” I slide my tongue across his lower lip.
The machine clicks on. A man's voice breaks into my haze.
”Liv, it's Roger Jameson calling about the Airstream trailer you were looking at for your party truck. I think I can work out a deal for you. Give me a call if you're still interested.”
I suppress a flicker of interest and concentrate on kissing my husband, but the intrusion of the call has cooled our heat. With a resigned sigh, Dean pulls slightly away from me.
”Now you're taking on another project?” he asks.
”Allie and I have been talking about it for awhile. A birthday party truck that-”
”Yeah, you told Archer. And Archer told me.”
”Well, he offered to do the engine work, if we can find a used pick-up,” I explain. ”We have enough for a deposit, but we're also hoping for a loan to help buy the trailer. Except I'll have to increase the amount to include the restoration.”
”And who's going to do the restoration?”
”Allie and I.” I wince inwardly at the disapproval flas.h.i.+ng over his face. ”In our spare time. It'll be cheaper than hiring someone else to do it.”
Dean sighs. ”Liv, for the love of G.o.d, would you please let me buy you the truck and hire someone to restore it for you? If you take on one more project, I'm putting my foot down.”
I run my hand over his jaw. ”Well, I do kind of like it when you put your foot down.”
He frowns. ”I'm serious.”
”So am I.”
”Let me buy you the d.a.m.ned truck.”
”We already applied for the loan, Dean.” I s.h.i.+ft closer to him, not wanting to remind him that he also just took on a new responsibility as director of the train project. ”Besides, even if it does work out, we won't get started until later this summer, and I'll be done with the festival by then. So it's not like I'd be trying to do it right now along with everything else.”
Dean doesn't look terribly mollified. I can see him bristling with the urge to argue, but to his credit, he only gives me a grudging nod.
”I'm watching you, Mrs. West,” he mutters. ”And I'll give you this one, but it's clear you haven't yet learned your lesson.”
”Maybe I need a time out.” I slide my hand down his muscular torso. ”A big, thick, long time out...”
Renewed heat flares in his eyes as he lowers his head to slant his mouth across mine. Cinnamon, sugar, apples, and Dean. Again, I let the rest of the world fall away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
DEAN.
There's one thing better than a good plan. A good plan that works.
And though I haven't yet devised a plan for getting Liv to let me buy the birthday party truck, my other plans are working out very well. So well, in fact, that I divide my time during the next few days between fielding ideas from architects and seismologists about how to stabilize the monastery and thinking of ways to keep my wife hot and needy. This is not, as it turns out, nearly as much of a disconnect as one would imagine.
I plan another erotic encounter, breaking up the day by calling Liv a couple of times and warning her not to touch herself. I swear, the order alone gets her going, like she's been told she can't have a bite of a fresh-baked cookie-tempting, mouth-watering, and off-limits.
”Are you in your office?” I ask, lowering my voice an octave.
”Yes.” The word comes out on a breathless sigh that makes my d.i.c.k twitch. ”Are you?”
”Uh huh. Door's locked?”
”Just a sec.” A pause fills the line before she says, ”It is now. I'm working on payroll.”
I can see her sitting at her desk her eyes starting to darken with need, her skin flushed and lips parted. She's wearing a purple Wonderland Cafe ap.r.o.n, but beneath that her nipples are pressing against her white s.h.i.+rt, and any minute now she'll start to squirm...
”Unb.u.t.ton your s.h.i.+rt,” I tell her.
There's a rustling noise beneath the sound of her breath. ”All the way?”
”Just enough so you can reach into your bra and fondle your b.r.e.a.s.t.s.”
”G.o.d, Dean.”
”Do it.”
A small moan escapes her, followed by heavy silence.
”You'd better not be touching your p.u.s.s.y,” I remark.
”I'm... I'm not. But I want to so badly.” She pulls in a breath. ”We're working with this band called Slice of Pie for the festival, and I was listening to some of their songs earlier so we could come up with a playlist and-”
”You're really not allowed to talk about work.”
”No, this isn't about work... I mean, I was listening to this song about cherry pie, in the sky, hoping it will drop from high, juicy and hot, gimme a lot... and oh my G.o.d, Dean, it's so wrong but I was getting incredibly aroused thinking of baking you a cherry pie and imagining what you'd do with all that sweet, drippy filling...”
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