Page 8 of SCRUMptious

I did not do casual sex. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

While most of my colleagues back in Los Angeles only managed to find time for random hookups—usually with each other—I knew all too well how fleeting life could be and the older I got, the less I wanted to waste my time on men who weren't interested in a long-term commitment. Maybe it was archaic, but I wanted a husband, two kids, one dog, and a house surrounded by a white picket fence. A couple of years ago I thought I'd found it too, but the man who I'd assumed I'd grow old with had unceremoniously dumped me when he'd gotten his ex-girlfriend pregnant—again. Apparently, they'd had a lot of unfinished business to attend to and my feelings hadn't factored into the equation.

Shrugging out from Donal's arms, I put some distance between us. “I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I can't dothis.”

“What happened? What did Isay?”

When he took a step forward, I raised my hand to stay his approach. “To quote the incomparable Kelly Clarkson, I do not hookup.”

For a few seconds Donal stared at me, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed in confusion. “I don't even know what that means. What does Kelly Clarkson have to do withus?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “The fact that you don't even get the reference is a huge reminder of how much older than you I am. That song was on the radio non-stop the summer of2009.”

“I was a teenager back then and not exactly into the pop princess scene,” he answered, his hands resting low on hiships.

“Exactly. And I had an apartment, a full-time job, and a whole host of responsibilities. Which reminds me, how old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-two. Why? How old areyou?”

I groaned. “Take a wild guess.” This ought to be good, I thought, as he studied me with a curious sort of intensity.

“I was going to say 26, but as you're making a huge deal out of what an old lady you are, I'll go with 29. No fucking way are you a day over thirty.” He said thirty like it was a foul, dirty word … like women who'd reached the big three-oh were tainted goods.

And even with that unknown insult hanging between us, I couldn't help the small smile of satisfaction that tugged at my lips. I'd always looked young for my age, but for Donal to think I was nearly the same age as he? Bless my genetics and a lifetime's worth of Oil of Olay usage.

“Oh you sweet, sweet boy,” I said with an amused laugh. “You don't even know how wrong youare.”

His brows furrowed in consternation and his jaw ticked. “Stop calling me boy. I thought I made it clear to you I am all man.” He cupped his rigid cock, and my gaze dropped to take in the sight. When I raised my eyes back up, he was smirking, satisfied at my inability to keep my eyes aboveboard. But then all at once his expression turned inscrutable and he said, “Besides, how would you like it if I called you an old lady all the time? Not that I know your actual age since you still haven’t toldme.”

I swallowed around the dryness in my mouth. “I’m 32,” I answered, my jaw raised in defiance as I kept my eyes trained on him, waiting for his reaction.

It wasn’t what I expected.

Donal planted his hands on his hips and shook his head in dismay. “That’s it? That’s what you’ve been making such a big fucking deal about?”

“I’m ten years older than you!” I pointed out with exasperation.

His eyes raked over me and he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth as silence hung heavy between us. Eventually, he said, “I don’t care, Lauren. I like you, and I wantyou.”

Something about the way my name sounded on his lips had my stomach doing somersaults. Most of the time he called me chef, but when he really wanted to make a point or gain my attention, he used my proper name. And I liked it. So, somuch.

Against my better judgement, I allowed myself to wonder what he’d call me while we were fucking. How it would sound as a whispered growl as he slid all the way into me, his strong body over mine. The truth was, I liked him too. And I wanted him. My god, how I wantedhim.

But…

“Are yousure?”

So much for not hooking up, my subconscious sneered.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I answered back as Donal’s eyes dropped to the bulge in his sweats and then flicked backup.

“What do you think?”

Still, a woman had to be reasonable … despite some very unreasonable thoughts.

“There are ten years between us, Donal. I don’t have the same body I did when I was your age.” I laughed cynically. My god, I remembered hating my natural curves when I’d been 22. What I wouldn’t give now to look like that again. “I’m warning you,” I continued, my eyes flicking between his. “I have stretch marks and cellulite.”

Donal stepped into my space and pulled me flush against him, his palms kneading the soft globes of my ass. “And you’ve got an arse I want to bite, like a delicious, ripe peach.” He squeezed one more time—hard—and then his hands skated up my sides to circle my rib cage, his thumbs sweeping back and forth along the underside of my breasts. “And tits that I want to suck on until they’re heavy and full and your nipples are hard as diamonds.” To illustrate his point, he brushed his thumb over one of those nipples, and it pebbled into a tight bud. With each swipe of his finger, I felt a tug in my core and my pussy growing damp with desire.

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