Page 57 of Play the Last Track
I like knowing that I’m the one who gets to feed her, that I’m the only one who gets to see the way her face lights up and her eyes roll back when she really likes something.
So when I pull up to the house and hear the music, my first thought is that she’s invited Ivy over and she’s having a girls’ night. The second is that she’s decided to get drunk.
I never expected to find this. I lean on the hallway frame that opens up into the kitchen and living room. Music blasts through the speakers connected throughout the house—Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’.
There’s flour all over the kitchen countertop. Eggs, cracked and discarded off to the side. A few mixing bowls are piled in the sink. A bag of icing sugar lies on its side, and a box of sprinkles leans on a plate, the contents spread across it. I take a deep inhale. Cake. Or maybe, cupcakes. Definitely something chocolate.
Katie’s back is to me, her ponytail swaying from side to side as she dances around the kitchen. Her hips shake, and when she turns, I can see the chocolate-covered spoon in her hand. She actually sings aloud, matching the music perfectly before taking a break to stick her tongue out and lick the spoon.
I can’t help my laugh, and the sound carries across the music, loud enough that she spins, eyeing me. She smiles, chocolate stuck to the corner of her mouth, and I think a little on her cheek.
She sings about needing a man and a love that burns hot enough to last, the spoon held to her mouth as a microphone. She smiles at me, curling her finger and beckoning me into the kitchen. I drop the bag from my shoulder and cross the distance, meeting her just as the chorus hits, which she belts at the top of her voice. My arms encircle her waist, and I spin her. She laughs, holding her spoon microphone in the air as I lift her off her feet. When she’s back on the ground, I take the spoon from her and throw it into the sink, grabbing both her hands. We dance. The music is so loud, I can barely hear my own thoughts, but her laughter cuts through with ease. She spins when I hold an arm up, lowering into one of the messiest dips, and her smile is so wide I think it might actually crack my chest open.
Before Katie, my routine was the same. I came home, I unpacked, and I showered. I ordered or made a boring dinner. I watched game tape. I went to bed.
Now, I come home and I’m with her. That’s all I need.
We dance to Whitney until the song ends and changes to something else. Katie wriggles free from me and goes to her phone at the other end of the counter, turning the music down. When she spins back around to face me, the smile is still intact. So is the chocolate.
“What happened to my kitchen, Rockstar?” I laugh as she makes her way back over to me. When she’s close enough, I tug her into my arms.
Katie looks around. “What? I’m baking.”
“I can see that.” I nod, dropping my forehead to hers. “How was your day?”
I feel her stiffen in my arms, but I just pull her in tighter and wait for her to relax again. I know that I likely won’t get anything out of her tonight. The baking, the music, the dancing. She is likelytrying to forget whatever happened today while she was at the bar, so I don’t push.
I gently press a kiss to her lips, murmuring against them, “You destroyed my kitchen. Looks like a flour bomb has gone off.”
“The cupcakes will be worth it. Trust me.” She smiles and then leans up on her toes to kiss me properly. I sink into the taste of her. Our mouths move in unison, and her arms curl around my neck, hands tangling in my hair.
When we break apart, I kiss a path over her cheek, then I lick the leftover chocolate that she missed. Katie giggles, and I swear to god, it makes me hard.
Fuck.
My fingers dig into her hips, and I drag her around, pressing her against the island bench. She squeals when I grab her ass and lift her onto it, fitting myself between her legs. She tightens her thighs around me and lifts her ankles, crossing them behind my back and locking me in place.
I smile against her lips, biting down on her bottom lip.
“What flavor are they?” I say, pulling back and sinking my hands into her hair.
“Chocolate and gingerbread,” she replies, smiling widely. “It’s Christmas soon. I want to get in the spirit.”
“They smell delicious. How long have they been in the oven?”
“Almost done, maybe another minute?”
I reach around and gently uncross her ankles. Stepping away from her quickly, I bend to turn off the oven, leaving the cupcakes inside. When I step back between her legs, I don’t give her time to think. My hands cup her cheeks, and my mouth devours hers.
She tastes like chocolate, ginger, and sugar. It’s sweet, and she’s right, it tastes like Christmas. Our hands explore one another’sbodies. Mine settle on her thighs, still wrapped around me, and I pull her to the edge of the bench. She’s in shorts and a long-sleeve tee, a V-neck in the fabric showing a peek of her breasts. I run my tongue down her neck and over her collarbone, and moan when I realize she’s covered herself in icing sugar.
“You’re the messiest baker in the world,” I say against her skin as I lick, and suck, and kiss any exposed spots. “You have icing sugar dusted all over you.”
“I may have had trouble opening the bag,” she replies breathlessly.
“Mm,” I hum. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and she tugs, guiding me back to her mouth. My tongue dives in, and I immediately get another hit of the chocolate. “I think I might have to fuck you on this counter, then I can cook you dinner.”
“Yes.Yes,” she moans as my fingers tug her shorts and panties to the side. I run a single finger up through her folds, finding her soaking. Her mouth opens, and I bite down on her lip as I push inside her. Immediately, she clenches around me.
