Page 72 of The Gingerbread Bakery
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Annie had thought about Mac a lot over the past decade, far too much, actually, and she had imagined similar scenarios to this one more times than she would ever admit. The fact that Mac was a frequent star in some of her most favorite fantasies was certainly not something she had ever said out loud. But this, this moment right here far surpassed anything she had imagined.
At some point she'd ended up with her back against the wall, her leg still draped over Mac’s shoulder and his face still buried between her legs. He was licking and sucking and groaning like a man possessed. From somewhere outside of her body, Annie vaguely considered that his knees probably hurt from those tiles and that his scalp probably hurt from the way she was using his hair as reins to move his head where she wanted it. But Mac was undeterred.
Worship was the only word to describe what he was doing.
And he had been right. He was very good at this. She fully believed that he did not leave women unsatisfied. Annie felt a brief stab of jealousy at the thought of the other women he’d practiced this skill on, but mostly she was just thankful that he had.
‘Mac,’ she gasped, the pleasure building and he looked up at her, his eyes dark, his hair a mess beneath her fingers. He looked as wrecked as she felt. Unraveled. Unmoored. Maybe this was a mistake? How would they ever come back from this?
‘Take it,’ he said. ‘Take what you want, Annie.’ Mac’s desperate plea brought her back to the present.
Take what you want.She wanted this, didn't she? Mac on his knees for her. She rolled her hips using Mac’s tongue to get the exact pressure she needed. Mac groaned, the vibration adding to the sensations rioting through her.
‘Do that again,’ she bit out, unable to stop. She couldn’t. Not now.
He did what she demanded, sending pleasure coursing through her body. His voice rumbled against her. Her heel dug into his back. Her toes curled. She was going to come like this, with Mac’s mouth on her clit and his hands on her hips and her back against his wall. She was going to come with her heart a confused mess and Mac looking up at her like he wanted more. Like he was here, and he wanted everything.
‘Again.’ Annie rocked against him. And the pressure and tension and heat built inside of her. Another groan, another rock of her hips against Mac’s perfect tongue and Annie was unraveling, the orgasm rolling over her in waves so intense she couldn’t stand. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t think. Mac held her up, pinning her to the wall as he lapped every bit of pleasure from her body.
She was boneless, sliding down the wall as Mac was standing, scooping her up on his way.
‘God, Annie,’ he was saying, his voice next to her ear, but Annie could barely take it in. ‘That was so amazing… so fucking beautiful,’ he murmured against her skin as he lifted her up.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked even as she snuggled her face against his neck as he held her. ‘I’m not staying here for the night,’ she said as Mac carried her out of the kitchen.
‘Okay, darling,’ he said.
‘I’m serious. I’m not staying.’ Annie’s voice was drifting closer to a whisper, exhaustion overtaking her. She'd been working so hard on this wedding and on her business and on resisting Mac. She didn't think she could do it all anymore. And it was sonicein his arms. Maybe she could give in just for tonight.
Even as she claimed she wasn’t staying, Mac was carrying her upstairs. She’d never been upstairs, and her curiosity woke her up a bit. He carried her into the first room on the right.
‘Is this your parents’ old room?’ she asked as he lowered her onto the bed.
‘No, I turned two of the smaller bedrooms into one bigger one for me. It seemed too weird to take my parents’ room.’
Annie nodded. That would be weird. The room was a good size, but Mac’s enormous bed took up most of it.
‘This bed is huge,’ she said, running a hand over the plaid bedspread.
Mac shrugged. ‘I like to spread out.’ He turned and started rummaging through his closet.
The rest of the room was tidy but lived in, a leather chair in the corner was draped in a small pile of shirts and the dresser had a coffee mug from this morning still sitting on it. Little details of Mac’s life that Annie never thought she’d see. The walls were a moody, navy blue, but one was covered in colorful framed postcards and travel posters, reminders of all the years he was gone. Annie refused to think about the packet of postcards she still had under her bed, the ones she should have gotten rid of a long time ago.
Mac emerged from his closet and tossed Annie a pair of sweatpants and an old lacrosse T-shirt. ‘You can wear these.’
‘I’m not staying,’ Annie repeated, tugging on the pants. She couldn’t cram herself back into her jeans at this hour.
‘Okay,’ Mac said, still looking at her like he wanted to keep her. It was unnerving.
‘I’m glad you moved out of the basement.’
‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘Yeah, I mean it was cool when we were teenagers, but a grown man living in the basement would be kind of creepy. Wouldn’t be a great place to bring women.’
‘I’m glad you’re concerned about where I might bring women,’ Mac said with a smirk, leaning against the door frame of the closet.
