Page 12 of Mountain Man's Mail Order Treat

We often tried to make jelly as a family. Our two middle schoolers loved helping me. We even gave them a dollar for each jar they finished. We never had to pay much because they usually got bored and wandered off a few minutes into the work.

“Okay, this one’s ready,” Jareth said, bringing over a pot of jelly that had been cooling on the stove for a good half hour.

“If we keep this up, soon you’re going to be better at this than I am.”

“Never. But you could set up manufacturing for this.”

I shook my head again. “No way. What makes it great is that it’s homemade. Once you get into mass production…well, it just isn’t the same.”

Besides, I had a team. A group of high school kids helped me out at the shop, mostly packaging things up and stockingshelves. But gradually, I’d turn this part of it over to a small group of trusted employees that I’d train on my processes.

For now, though, I was making this in my kitchen on a Friday night because we’d sold out of strawberry, the most popular flavor. The annual motorcycle rally was happening next week, bringing hundreds of people into town for the long holiday weekend.

The moment the last jar was sealed and the clink of the lid echoed on the counter, I felt him come up behind me. His arms slid around my waist, fingers sticky with sugar and strawberries. He pressed a slow kiss to the back of my neck.

“We could take a break,” he murmured against my skin.

I leaned into him. “And do what?”

His hands skimmed over my hips, then lower, the heat in his touch unmistakable. “I can think of a few things.”

I turned around in his arms, my gaze flicking to the still-warm pot of jelly beside us on the island. “You said it yourself. This is much easier without the kids.”

His smile turned wicked. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking?”

I nodded slowly. “I want you. Right here.”

That was all it took. He reached for the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head in one swift motion. My bra followed a second later. I shivered as the air met my skin. But then his hands were on me, his mouth hot and hungry against my collarbone.

“You smell like strawberries,” he said, pulling my nipple between his lips.

“You can thank the jelly.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

He grabbed a spoon from the counter, still warm from stirring, and dipped it into the pot. I watched, breathless, as he lifted a scoop of glistening red jelly and let it drip slowly ontothe swell of my breast. The contrast of heat and sticky sweetness made me gasp.

Then his mouth followed. He licked a slow, deliberate path up my skin, groaning low in his throat.

“Fuck, you taste good.”

My jeans hit the floor, and his weren’t far behind. We twisted around until my back was against the island, laughter mixing with moans as he lifted me, sat me on the cool counter, and spread my legs.

“Don’t move,” he said.

I didn’t dare.

He dipped his fingers back into the jelly, this time trailing it along the inside of my thigh. The heat of it made me writhe, but when he lowered his mouth to lick it clean, I nearly came apart.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” I gasped.

He looked up from between my thighs, eyes dark and glittering. “You started it.”

Then he buried his face between my legs and licked a slow, torturous path through my slick heat. His tongue was relentless, circling my clit with just the right pressure before dipping lower, tasting me deeply. The contrast of the warm strawberry jelly and my own arousal sent shivers of pleasure through me, my hips arching off the counter.

“Jareth…” My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him exactly where I needed him.

He groaned against me, the vibration making me cry out. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider as he worked me with his mouth—sucking, teasing, and devouring until my entire body tensed, pleasure coiling tight.

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