Page 152 of Butterfly Effect

Wade releases an extended breath from his nose. “I can’t wait for this season to end.”

Somersaults roil in my stomach. “Is that so?”

He confirms with a hum. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t wanna hang out with you every moment instead.”

“Please. You’d be bored watching me do stuff like this” —I motion around the kitchen, to the bowls of batter and frosting, the strewn-about muffin pans, cupcake liners, icing bags and piping tips— “all day.”

“Sounds perfect.” One final kiss is placed at my temple as he lets go, then swipes a botched Pacific opal from the countertop. He settles into a barstool facing me.

“Speaking of perfect,” I remind myself. “Did you hire someone to fix up my dad’s nursery?”

He freezes mid-chew, guilty as the day is long. An audible swallow follows. “Yes.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.” His shoulders shrug. “I know your dad means everything to you,” he adds between bites, “If he’s happy, you’re happy. And that’s all I care about.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.

My doubt about his commitment dissipates to wonder and hope.

“This is delicious, by the way.” It’s an off-the-cuff statement as if he didn’t simply admit he only cares about my happiness. “Would you ever bake professionally? ‘Cause you’d crush it.”

I shake away the surge of emotions. “Nah. I enjoy baking—don’t get me wrong—but it’s a creative outlet. Figuring out new flavor combos, baking a batch from scratch, and learning new decorating techniques. It’s a stress reliever. But on a small scale. Mass production stresses me out. I would not be having a fun time if I had to churn out dozens of cupcakes every morning, in exactly the right amounts that would ensure profits.”

“Understandable,” he agrees, sucking a daub of frosting from his thumb. “I’m still waiting on this supposed life-changing grilled cheese of yours.”

“As soon as I’m done making these…” I point to the two dozen unfrosted cupcakes cooling on a rack. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

His expression lifts, gaze dropping from my face to my flour-smattered apron and back up again.

“You look good behind that counter.”

I lift a coy shoulder and accept the compliment. “Thank you.”

Wade reclines and stretches, the hoodie lifting enough to show off the deep arches forming a v and flanking his abs. Drool collects in my mouth. I chew on my lower lip as he props an arm on the back of the barstool, running his eyes over me again. “You’d look even better bent over it.”

He’s right.

I look pretty damn good with him pounding into me from the back, hands crushing the cupcakes that didn’t meet the quality standards, nipples smothered with the pale green and pink icing. Wade looks even better, panting and groaning, the sinews of hisneck taut with restraint. Veins bulge atop his hand wrapping my throat, handsome face heavy with lust.

The phone screen fogs with my humid breaths. It’s not recording, but I wish it was. Could’ve used it for cold, lonely nights.

My eyes bolt shut when he slams his hips against my ass, sliding in and out of my wet pussy at a pace that has my thighs burning from holding steady. I cry out a pitchy laugh.

“Give it to me,” he orders, tilting my hips until whimpers dribble from my mouth. The angle is delicious, jarring. “Give me what’s mine.”

“Fuck me right, and I will,” I throw over my shoulder.

Wade growls, circling his wrist with my ponytail and yankinghard. My head tosses, and my back arches, tight like a bowstring, as he fucks me harder and faster. “Like this?”

“Yes.” I see-saw at the edge of a cliff, ready to be thrown off. “Yes, yes,yes.”

When his movements go sloppy, I’m afraid I’ll lose momentum, but one mild squeeze around my windpipe and I’m gone. I clamp down, pelvic walls nearly cramping as my cursing turns to nonsense. He finds a rhythm once more, pushing in to stretch and fill me so deeply that cartoonish stars mar my vision. My jaw locks open, and a barbaric noise accompanies the peaking orgasm. As a flash of light blinds me, Wade stuffs part of a cupcake into my mouth, muting my screams. He bottoms out with an inhuman bellow.

His grasp on my neck remains as the moist crumb of the cake and icing sticks to my swallow.

“Goddamn, Boehner.” The counter cools my overheated skin as his cock twitches and softens inside me. “A heads up about choking me with the cupcake would have been nice.”

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