Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "

Автор книги: J. Daniels

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Fucked?” I smile roguishly. “Baby, I had no idea. I’ll be sweet, yeah?”

She giggles as she lowers her hand, drawing her knees up. “Shut up. No, I’ve never done it without a condom. Ever. I’ve never really wanted to.” She looks down at my cock, her gaze burning. “I want to now.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, sucking on her lip. “I have an IUD.”

I slam the drawer closed. Brooke startles, a laugh bursting from her throat.

I can’t deny I want her this way. That I’ve always wanted Brooke this way. There’s something about this woman that turns me into a possessive Neanderthal. I’m greedy with her. Selfish. I want my cum inside her, filling her, dripping down her leg. I want her to feel it and to tell me how it feels. And I sure as fuck want to be the only man who’s had her like this.

Only me.

Condoms? No, we won’t be needing condoms. I’ll be tossing that pack into the rubbish.

Crawling back onto the bed, I drag my cock up her leg, the tip oozing, smearing over her skin. I kiss between her tits, sucking and licking as I settle my hips against hers.

“Mason.” Brooke spreads her legs wider, lifting up, bracing her weight on her hands and looking down between us. “I want to watch you.”

I follow her gaze, understanding.

She wants to watch me enter her. Fuck, yes. She can watch me all night.

“Baby.”

I grip my cock with one hand, her hip with the other. I slide the tip in slowly, so fucking slowly, stretching her, watching the pleasure build in her eyes, her mouth falling open with a gasp and her teeth biting her lip through a moan.

An overwhelming, earth-shattering heat surges in my veins, burning up my spine. My thighs tense as I lean forward and push in.

Further.

Further.

That’s it . . .

“So good,” I tell her, releasing my cock and grabbing her neck, both of us watching as the last inch disappears inside her tight, slick pussy.

So tight. So fucking slick.

Sweet fucking Christ.

“Mason,” she groans, shifting her hips against me. “Oh, God, please.”

I tilt her head and take her mouth. She falls back. I go with her, laying my body over hers and pumping my hips.

“Fuck, Brooke.”

I kiss her hard, sliding my tongue into her mouth, her soft body melting into me and pressing closer.

“I want to make you feel so good. So fucking good.” I lean back, my forearms taking my weight as I watch her below me.

Her sweet lips parting with shallow breaths. Her cheeks deep in color. And those gorgeous eyes round and realizing exactly what this is.

Us, making love. This isn’t just fucking.

I thrust forward in a slow, heavy rhythm, my gaze never leaving hers. Desperate noises escaping me. Tight, hoarse moans.

I sound frantic to come. I feel frantic to love her, to keep her, to make this last.

To go even slower, show restraint, my thighs burning as I stay unhurried. Brooke’s legs shaking against my hips. Slower . . . good, God, fuck. I can’t. I can’t . . .

My hips begin bucking wildly, the smooth walls of her sex gripping me, tightening around me the harder I fuck.

“Brooke, baby . . .”

Her hand touches my ribs. Her other rubbing along my back. My sides. Her nails clawing at my arse.

I drop my lips to her ear and tell her how amazing she feels. How perfect she is for me. How close I am to coming, and how badly I want to fill her.

“Only you,” I whisper, and she sighs, wrapping her hands around my neck and pressing her bare chest to mine.

She sucks on my jaw, my neck, dragging her teeth along my skin and biting my flesh.

I run my hands up her legs to her hips, pinning her to the bed when she begs me to make her come, to fuck her harder.

To fuck her like I love her.

I pound into her relentlessly, swearing and moaning, telling her to come on my cock and to take it. Me. Everything. That every part of me is hers and it has been since that first day on the footpath.

“God, you owned me. Did you know?” I ask her, laughing through a growl when she’s too delirious with pleasure to answer me. Her eyes closed and her hands seeking anchor.

I palm her tits, squeezing and sucking, pinching her nipples. Biting down when she tugs ruthlessly on my hair.

“Oh, my God,” she pants as she pulls her legs higher, gasping when I reach between us and rub her clit with my thumb.

“Mason,” she moans, clawing at my skin. “Come in me. Come.”

I surge forward, grabbing her face and dropping my head to look at her.

Her pussy clenches around me, and with her lips pressing against mine she falls, gasping and swearing into my mouth.

I fuck her through her climax, my limbs trembling. She tells me she needs to feel me come, “I need it. Please,” and hearing that I break, exploding seconds after she does, a strangled cry catching in my throat.

“Brooke,” I moan, collapsing on top of her, my face rubbing against her neck where I kiss her sweet skin. “Jesus Christ. You’ve wrecked me.”

She giggles, stroking my hair. “You never said it.”

My brow furrows. Curious, I lean back, pushing her sweaty hair off her face.

“I love you.” She smiles lazily, her hands rubbing my shoulders. “I thought for sure you were going to tell me at some point during all that. In the throes of passion. At least while you were coming.”

I lower my gaze to her chin, searching my memory and reeling from the best sex of my life.

“Are you sure I didn’t say it? I feel like I was screaming it just now.”

Her lips pinch tightly together, fighting a grin. She shakes her head. “You didn’t say it.”

“Well.” I slowly kiss her mouth. “Do you know?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“I’ve known for a while now. You may have loved me in that tent, but I think I loved you before that.”

I sit back and slide my cock out of her. Cum oozes from her body, down her slit. My cum. Her thighs glisten with a mixture of our desire.

“Fucking hell,” I groan, rubbing at my mouth, staring. I can’t look away from this.

Something inside of me begins to ache. A strange, foreign need to lay claim to someone, to have a right to them, but not just someone. Brooke. Only Brooke. This sweet, beautiful thing staring up at me. Sexy as shit and unquestionably the most challenging and defiant woman I’ve ever met.

“You’re looking at me like you love me,” she whispers, smiling, her eyes fluttering as she stretches her arms above her.

“Yeah.”

Grabbing her thighs, I wrench her closer, smiling at her precious squeal. I push my hips between her legs again, leaning over her, filling her with one hard thrust.

She gasps, arching off the bed. “God, Mason.”

“Let me show you how I love you, sweet girl.”

Nodding, she grabs my face and kisses me hard and fast, soft and slow.

Just like how I take her.

BROOKE

I open my eyes as I stretch, searching the room for a clock.

I don’t remember falling asleep, and I have no idea how long I’ve been out, but I know it’s late. The curtains amplifying the darkness behind them, casting a heavy shadow over one side of the room. The other lightly illuminated by a lamp on the dresser.

I look over at Mason sleeping beside me.

He’s lying on his back, one arm tucked beneath the pillow under his head, the other relaxed across his stomach, his face turned away. My eyes linger on the lines of his body. The slope of his neck. The smooth swell of his muscles, his trim waist, and the bulge of his cock against the satin sheet.

Mercy. I’m sharing the bed with an Adonis. Again . . . how is this guy even real?

My thighs pinch together. An ache gathers there. It’s nearly painful. I can’t remember how many times Mason and I have fucked tonight. I lost count after he bent me over the kitchen table and spanked me until I came.

My cheeks burn as the memory of his desperate voice fills my ears.

“Oh . . . fuck, Brooke. Fuck! Your pussy . . . ah, God. I need to come. Baby . . . Baby.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

Damn, I love him like that. Wild for me. Fucking like a man depraved, and still giving me those tender moments in between where he kisses my cheek and whispers across my skin.

“You are loved, Brooke Wicks. My adoration for you is endless.”

I smile against my fingers.

I want to absorb him, every flavor of Mason. His sweetness and his ferocity. The gentle planes and sharp, savage angles of his passion.

Why did it take me this long to choose him? To be okay with this? I’m so happy I could burst.

Sliding out from underneath the covers, I pad around to the other side of the bed and grab my jeans, tugging my phone out of my pocket. I note the time.

Eleven-forty-two P.M. .

I flatten a hand to my stomach. Geez. No wonder I’m starving. I skipped dinner. The only thing I’ve had since lunch is a banana fosters cupcake and some tequila.

Grabbing Mason’s shirt off the chair on my way across the room, I slide my arms through the soft cotton and slip it over my head. The hem reaches my thighs. It smells like detergent and a faint hint of cologne. I bury my face in the collar.

Yummy.

I step into the bathroom to relieve myself and wash my hands. I gape at my reflection.

Jesus. Did we fuck in the middle of a tornado?

My hair looks atrocious. Matted and sticking out every which way. Some pieces still damp with sweat.

I tame the long strands with my fingers and gather them over one shoulder into a braid, securing the end with the elastic band around my wrist. I rub underneath my eyes to remove the smudges of makeup and pinch my cheeks.

There. Major improvement.

When I open the door and step back out into the loft, Mason is awake, lying on his side facing the kitchen, his weight braced on his elbow and the sheet gathered around his waist.

A plate of food sits on the bed in front of him. Grapes and cheese, by the looks of it. Maybe some raisins.

He pops a piece of fruit into his mouth and sucks on his finger. “Nice shirt,” he says, smiling.

I tug on the hem. “Yeah, you know. If we’re doing this whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing, I’m allowed full access to your wardrobe. Don’t be surprised if several comfortable pieces go missing.”

“If?” He tilts his head. “You love me, and there’s still an if?”

The peaceful look on his face doesn’t mask the restlessness in his voice. The tension crusting his words. I hear it. He worries I’m still unsure, or maybe that I’m slowly backing off and changing my mind, but I’m not.

And I hate that his brain automatically goes to that place.

“No. No if’s. We’re doing it.” I move across the room and climb onto the bed, kneeling beside him. I snag a grape off the plate. “Don’t tell Joey because he’ll never shut up about it, but he was right.” I shrug. “I want to keep you.”

The biggest, most contented smile pulls across Mason’s face.

I laugh around my grape.

God, he’s adorable.

“Say that again.”

I lean forward and kiss his mouth. “I want to keep you.”

“Mm.”

“And I really, really want to suck your massive cock.”

He moans, sliding his hand to my neck. “Jesus. You just got me real fucking hard, Brooke.”

“But, I want to eat first.”

I jerk away, smiling at the look on Mason’s face. The heaviness in his eyes and the slack in his jaw.

I pop a cube of cheese into my mouth and gesture at his crotch. “Let me know if things become painful for you. I can eat fast when motivated.”

He presses a hand against the sheet. “Fuck. My balls. What’s wrong with you?”

Throwing my head back, I laugh and then squeak when he squeezes my side. “Oh, my God. Do you hate me? I’m sorry. I’m just so hungry right now. Here.” I feed him a grape. He begrudgingly takes it. “Eat up. Your balls will be fine.”

Grabbing my wrist, he presses a kiss to my palm. “Let’s hope.”

We eat the food he’s set out for us, pulling another bunch of grapes out of the fridge when we run out. Mason laughs when I make a pile for myself on the plate, stealing all the cheddar cubes and leaving him with the remaining raisins.

“I don’t eat those,” I tell him. “Unless they’re covered in chocolate.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

I struggle to contain my amusement. “Oh, God. You were that kid at the birthday parties who hovered over the veggie tray, weren’t you? Trying to get your little mates to eat carrots instead of chips and cookies. Bless you. Were you bullied, sweet boy?”

He pulls me against him and tickles my side until my eyes water and I cry out for mercy. He kisses my cheek and steals a cheese cube, grinning.

I grab a water for us to share and return to the bed.

“So, that class tonight. Have you taught something like that before?” I ask, washing down my grape.

“No, but I’ve wanted to. My sister, Ellie has Down Syndrome. She’s the reason I got started in yoga.”

I lower the bottle to my lap, searching my memory for the information Mason’s already given me on his family.

Seven sisters. Mason being the baby of the group.

I know he’s mentioned Ellie. I remember her name, but he’s never told me much more than the fact that he’s close with her.

“I’ve never met anyone . . .” I pause, considering my wording. “With that before. How is she?” I shake my head, my hand covering half my face.

Christ, she isn’t sick, Brooke.

“Sorry. I don’t know a lot about that.”

His face softens with a gentle smile. “She’s good. Really good. She lives close to my parents’ house with a few roommates. That way she has her support, but also her independence. It’s good for her. My mum drove her a little nuts, I think.”

“Mums can do that,” I chuckle, offering him the water after he sets the empty plate on the night stand. “How did Ellie get you interested in yoga? Does she do it too?”

“She did. Once.” He takes a sip of the water, making a face. “Not really her thing. But, when she wanted to try it out, I gave her a lift to the studio. She didn’t have her license.”

“That was your first class too?”

“I just watched. It was for people with disabilities. But I signed up for my own class the next day.”

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen.”

I smile, thinking about a younger version of the man I’m staring at. A sweet boy helping his sister, and in the process, discovering a passion that would lead to a career.

I imagine Mason’s face as he takes on the role of spectator, watching a class like the ones he teaches from a perch on the wall. His blue eyes magnetic, engrossed in the movement and discipline of the instructor. Soaking it all in and connecting with it.

“I think it’s really great, what you did. Amazing, actually.” I kiss his jaw and fall back onto the bed, my head hitting the pillow. “Does Ellie like cupcakes? Or does she eat like a caveman too?”

He smiles, capping the water and tossing it. “She loves cupcakes.”

“Mm.”

Maybe if we ever visit Australia together, I can make her some.

“So, speaking of sisters, Juls is having me over for dinner Friday night. Do you want to go with me? It could be our official coming out as a couple debut, or whatever. If you’re busy, that’s okay. It isn’t a big deal or anything. It’s just dinner.”

I stare at my fingers as they twist together on my stomach.

Way to play down your looming sadness, Brooke.

Geez. Why do I already feel disappointed? As if the possibility of Mason having other plans that don’t involve me is too depressing to even consider. We don’t have to spend every weekend together. He’s allowed to have a life without me. Visit his own family without me . . .

Or, he could opt for not having a life without me and that would be terrific too.

Mason rolls over, kneeling between my legs, his large hands pushing up my shirt, his shirt, and stroking my torso.

“Brooke, do you have any idea how desperate I was to know you? To spend time together when this all started between us? That hasn’t changed. I’m quite obsessed with you, if you haven’t noticed. I want anything you’re willing to give me, especially if it’s something you’re asking me to take.” He squeezes my hips and rubs my thighs. He bends to kiss my stomach. “I’m yours. My body, my soul. All of my time is yours.”

I slide my fingers through his hair. “Okay,” I quietly reply, my heart beating so loudly I barely hear my own voice.

“And anything involving you is a big deal to me.” He looks up, a playful smirk lifting one side of his mouth. “You were worried I’d be busy?”

I shake my head, fighting a smile. “Maybe.”

“You think too much, Brooke. You make yourself nervous and unsure when you don’t need to be.” He kisses my rib. “Ask me again while you’re sucking my dick.”

“What?” I laugh, watching him push back onto his knees. Ask him again? “You already said yes.”

“Pretend I didn’t. You won’t be so worried about my answer if you’re focused on making me come.” He fists his shaft. “Plus, I just really want you to suck me. Ever since you put that image in my head about fucking your pretty little mouth.” He moans, pulling on his cock. His eyes burning down my body and lingering between my legs. “Come on, sweetheart. Before I flip you over and take you on your knees.”

I inhale sharply.

Shit. To stall or to act. Suck him off or be fucked.

Both options seem equally compelling, but the longer I stare at Mason stroking his cock, the easier my decision becomes.

“Lie down. You’re going to want to be on your back for this.” I sit up and strip off my shirt, tossing it off the bed.

Mason slides his hand possessively over my breasts as we switch positions. He settles on his back, feet crossed at the ankles, his arms tucked beneath his head, and his cock lying heavy on his stomach.

I fist him at the base, spreading his legs wide with my knees. “How do you like it? Rough? A little teeth? Do you like your balls played with?” I take him into my mouth as much as I can. I cup his balls and fondle them.

If he doesn’t like it, he will by the end of this.

“Fuck,” Mason hisses through a groan, his body tensing.

He runs his hand along my cheek, pressing his thumb to the corner of my mouth and sliding it inside, feeling his cock against my tongue. His lips part.

I lick the underside of his shaft, swirling my tongue around the head and wetting him fully. I slide my hand up and down his glistening cock as I lap at his balls.

“Ah . . . God, Brooke.”

“Mm,” I moan, taking him into my mouth again and sucking vigorously.

He hits the back of my throat, again and again, cursing with his hands fisting my hair. Tugging gently.

I suckle at the head and smear a drop of precum on my lips, slowly licking it off.

His thighs jump. His chest rising and falling swiftly. I look up into his eyes and gasp around his length. He looks wracked. His eyes are electric, round with shock. The blue irises swelling and blackening with desire.

He told me his body was mine and this is what he meant. I own him right now. He isn’t fighting his pleasure. He isn’t holding back his reaction to me and what I’m doing to him. I ask Mason what he likes and he curses while staring, mesmerized, marveling in the wet seal of my flesh with his.

He’s giving me this. Trusting me with this part of him. With every part. Knowing I’ll care and adore him in the way he deserves, or at least hoping I will.

I will. God, I will. I want him overwhelmed. As far gone as he makes me feel. And I won’t stop until I get him there.

I gently press my teeth into his length. He thrusts off the mattress.

“Fuck!”

“You like that?” I teasingly ask, wrapping my hand around his cock and slapping it against my tongue. “What about this?” I lean over his body and rub his slick head over my nipple. The hardened peak shimmers with saliva. The soft skin between my legs grows wet. My breath catches. “Oh, God, Mason, do you like this?”

He fists my hair and growls. “Baby.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper, kissing his shaft. Licking it. “You want to come? I know you do. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

I drop back down and swallow him, raking my nails up his stomach to his ribs while I bob my head. I work fast, then faster, sucking hard and taking him deep. His thick member swells in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I gasp when he tugs my hair and smile when his hips begin jerking in tiny movements off the bed.

“Brooke,” he groans, thrusting more boldly now. His cock fucking my mouth in earnest.

I reach between my legs and brush my clit. My quiet moans don’t go undetected.

“Fuck, yeah. God, do it, baby. Look at you. Rub that pretty little pussy for me.”

Mason’s filthy mouth, the throbbing of his cock against my tongue, and the hoarse way he says my name gets me there in record time. My desire drips down my hand. Releasing his shaft with my other, I stroke over his balls and press my finger against the smooth skin just below.

He inhales a sharp breath. His body arches off the bed. “Ah, God . . . fuck! Fuck, I’m gonna come. Baby, I’m gonna come.”

I move my fingers against my clit until my legs shake and my climax burns up my spine. Mason pulls my hair and floods my mouth. I swallow between moans and whimpers, sucking on his head.

Holy fuck, I think.

“Holy fuck,” he says, breathing heavily and rubbing my scalp.

With a heavy sigh, I collapse on top of him, my head lifeless on his thigh and my body half sprawled across his legs and half tangled up in the sheets. I close my eyes, sighing when he wraps me up and pulls me to his chest, cradling me there.

“Filthy girl,” he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to my mouth and cheek. “My filthy fucking girl. I’ll go to dinner with you. I’ll go anywhere, yeah? You don’t need to ask.”

I squeeze his neck. I bury my face there and smile. “It’s ‘cause I can suck a good dick, right?”

Laughing, he pulls the covers over us, tucking me close.

Mason never argues my lighthearted reasoning. Or maybe he does and I’m too drunk with happiness to hear him.

So drunk I feel dizzy, spinning more and more out of control. Falling further into this blind madness where, as long as he holds on to me, I feel safe and steady.

Our usual coffee time together is skipped the next morning. For good reason.

Every time I attempt to get dressed, Mason bites my neck or pinches my nipple, stripping off my clothes and entering me in one hard thrust. We fuck on the bed, in the chair, against the wall by the window. Minutes turn into an hour, and after he leisurely fingers me against the shower wall and comes on my ass, we stumble out together and frantically scramble into our clothes.

Him, loose shorts and a fitted gray tee.

Me, my jeans and blouse from yesterday.

Nothing screams wild sex all night like the repeat of an outfit. At least I wear it well.

After kissing Mason goodbye, and then really kissing Mason goodbye, with frantic mouths and greedy hands pulling at clothes, again, I cross the street and enter the bakery just before it’s time to open.

Joey looks up from behind the display case. He grins at my attire. “Ah, you know, I miss the days of a good hoe stroll. I used to rock those back in my early twenties.”

I roll my eyes and move through the shop. “Did you deliver?”

He holds up a pink cinch bag.

Sweet. My clothes.

“Thank you so, sooo much. You brought me panties, right?”

Joey hands me the bag. He lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, I brought you panties. There are jeans in there. Freeballin’ and denim doesn’t mix. Trust me.”

“Tell me about it.”

I shift on my feet, wincing at the odd sensation between my legs. Joey laughs quietly beside me.

“I’m going to go upstairs and change. Where’s Dylan?”

I roam into the kitchen and look around the room, expecting to see her sitting at the worktop since she’s not up front like she usually is in the mornings. I haven’t seen her since before she left for her doctor’s appointment yesterday.

Joey trails behind me. “She’s upstairs. She’s been waiting on you to get here so she can talk to us.”

I glance back over my shoulder. “What? Why?”

“Fuck if I know. I tried getting it out of her when I got here this morning but she wouldn’t open the door for me up there. Can you believe that? She sent me a text saying she’s only saying this once, whatever it is. Shouty capping me and shit. Girl, please. I don’t need that kind of attitude before seven A.M. .”

I climb the stairs with Joey following, my mind trying to come up with a scenario that would explain Dylan not being present in her bakery.

I remember when she was pregnant with Drew and it was nearing her delivery date. She was exhausted all the time, mean to everyone, walking around here like a slap-happy zombie. Joey and I convinced her to sleep in a couple days a week and leave the morning baking to me. I thought she was going to fire us both for that suggestion, but she must’ve been past her breaking point and too tired to argue. With little convincing needed, she agreed and soon became much more pleasurable. Everyone was happy.

Reese especially. Lord, was she cranky around him. Threatening his manhood with notes she made Pete deliver. Swearing up and down that she was not having any more kids.

And now look at her. Kid number three on the way. Reese pushing for more. They’re both gluttons for punishment, in my opinion.

I knock on the door at the top of the stairs. Dylan mumbles something from behind it, and I twist the knob, swinging it open and stepping into her loft.

“Oh, now it’s unlocked. I see how it is,” Joey spits behind me.

Dylan lifts her head from the magazine she’s reading.

She’s in what looks to be one of Reeses’ shirts, a baggy University of Chicago tee that stretches across her belly. Her back is against the headboard of her bed. Her feet still under the covers.

Huh. Maybe she is opting for lazy mornings around here. But shouldn’t she be asleep?

“What’s up, cupcake?” Joey leans his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He jerks his head. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“What’s the point?” Dylan quietly asks, pinching her eyes shut through a slow shake of her head. She looks between the two of us. “I’ve been ordered to stay off my feet. Permanently.”

“What?” I move closer to the bed. My bag of clothes hits the floor. “What do you mean, stay off your feet permanently? You aren’t allowed to come downstairs at all?”

“Seriously?” Joey questions behind me.

How can she stay off her feet? She runs the bakery. She’s Dylan, of Dylan’s Sweet Tooth. She does all the wedding cakes and every other awesome thing we produce.

Oh, no. This won’t work at all.

“Nope. I’m stuck in this bed for the next two weeks. I can only get up to pee.” She tosses the magazine beside her, dropping her head back with an annoyed grunt. “The doctor is concerned about my blood pressure spiking the way it is. He said Blake is fine, but apparently keeping to a stool most of the day isn’t doing enough. I have to be completely off my feet. That means no baking, no coffee time with you two, nothing. I’m going to go crazy up here.”

“Aw, cupcake. It won’t be so bad.” Joey walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. He takes Dylan’s hand. “It’s only for two weeks. The shop will be fine. You know Brooke and I can handle things. And I’ll load you up with gossip magazines and your favorite snacks. Don’t worry.”

Dylan weakly smiles. “I know you two can handle everything. I’m not worried about that. I’ll just be bored up here and missing out on all the fun.”

Handle everything? Everything? Is she insane?

I move to the foot of the bed so they both can see me. My hands squeezing my hips. My face pinched in disbelief.

“Excuse me? You’re not worried? Why not? You should be worried. What about the wedding cake scheduled for next weekend? Now that poor bride is going to have to find someone to fit her in on short notice. That’s not happening. The only person around here who does that is you. She won’t have a cake. And you know she’ll tell all her friends about the bakery that canceled on her last minute. We’ll be ruined.”

Dylan looks from Joey, back to me. Not a trace of anxiety in her casually amused smile. “She could have a cake.”

Joey nods in agreement.

What? WHAT?

My mouth falls open. “Oh, really? Is Ryan making it? Did you pass all your stellar decorating genes down to her?”

“Brooke, come on.” Joey angles his body so he’s facing me. “You’re fabulous at baking. You can totally knock out a wedding cake by yourself. There’s no need to cancel.”

“Are you both out of your mind?”

They must be. There is no way I can tackle a wedding cake by myself. Nor do I want to. I can’t imagine disappointing someone on the day most girls dream about. I’ll be heartbroken if they hate it.

“You make cakes all the time.” Joey waves his hand. “This one will just be taller and with more flare. I don’t see the big deal.”

I glare at him. His blue eyes widen.

“I make birthday cakes, Joey. Farm animal ones, with fat ass pigs and cows with cute little faces. I don’t do shit like you’d see on The Knot. I can’t do spun sugar and delicate piping. Christ, all the edible flowers I’ve ever made, Dylan has gone behind me and redone.”

“That’s only because you get frustrated with yourself and eat them.”

I turn my attention to Dylan after she speaks. My teeth clenching. “Because they look horrible!”

“You are seriously overreacting.” Joey stands from the bed and winks at Dylan. “I’m heading downstairs to open. If you need anything, text me. Don’t get up.” He motions in my direction. “And calm her ass down please. She played the crazy card yesterday and cussed out a bunch of kids at Grinders. We don’t need a replay of that.”

I scoff and stare at the wall. “I wasn’t directing it at them.”

I would never do that. Not unless they were really pissing me the fuck off.

The loft door squeaks open, followed by the sound of Joey’s heavy footsteps trailing off.

With a closed fist, I press against my forehead, my eyes shutting as I remember how amazing this morning started out. Stress-free and filled with mine and Mason’s hungry moans.

Now I’m so anxious I’m ready to chew my fingers off. Awesome.

“All right. If you don’t think you can do it, then I guess we’ll have to cancel,” Dylan says, staring at me with her eyebrow raised.

My stomach tightens and drops. I lower my arm to my side but keep the fist.

“But, I personally don’t think we need to. I know you can do this, Brooke. I’ve seen some of the cakes you’ve created, and your detail work is beautiful. Joey’s right. You are a fabulous baker. You’re just nervous.”

“I’m more than nervous.”

Tasting bile in my throat, I begin pacing the room, feeling Dylan’s eyes on me as I wring my hands out.

I’m a fabulous baker. My detail work is beautiful. I can do this.