Chapter 33

With the music up, Cilla didn’t hear the back door open. She was engrossed in the details of the cake she was working on and didn’t notice the man standing in the doorway.

Jon stood silently, watching and listening. She was humming as his own voice blared from the radio in the corner as he studied her. She looked so damn sexy with her hair pulled haphazardly back and a smudge of flour? frosting? something across her cheek.

He crept quietly over to the table; his shadow fell across her workspace. She looked up and dropped the fondant she had been working with. “Jon!” She smiled as she wiped her hands on her apron and moved to turn the volume down on the radio. “What are you doing here?”

He walked over and pushed the door into the shop open to take a peek. The gate was down across the front of the door and he didn’t see anyone. “Where’s Sid?” Cilla took a pull from the bottle of water she had opened earlier. “He left about an hour ago. I closed up early to work on this cake.” He closed the space between them, “so we’re alone?” She nodded, “yes.” She eyed him carefully, “why?”

As the song changed he pulled her close, swaying slightly. “You left last night after we’d hardly had five minutes alone.” He stroked her cheek lightly with his thumb, “I’ve wanted you since before you left.” She raised her eyes to meet his and the heat there sent her pulse racing, “really?” He nodded and laid his lips lightly on hers, “I might lie about some things Sweets, but never to you.”

He kissed her again, “and never about this.”Their bodies swayed and circled as their lips nipped and tasted. Jon pressed Cilla against the wall; his eyes sought and held hers. The need glittered in the gray, that slight bit of blue darkened. She needed him; needed to be needed as much as he did. His mouth found hers and took as much as it gave.

Cilla did need him, but not here. She couldn’t let it happen here, with her hands on his chest she pressed him away from her, “not here Jon.” His fingers idly toyed with the tie on her apron, “why not, here’s good.” His mouth kissed away her denials and complaints. “I need you Sweets, here, upstairs, on the stairs, on the couch, in your bed.” His hands stroked over her, “I’m leaving in a few days for six weeks. I want, no I need to take this, take you with me.”

At his words she relented. She let him peel her apron from her, let his nimble fingers slide her shirt away. When his mouth found her breast and his tongue laved a taut nipple, she couldn’t remember why she had fought against it. When his fingers slid inside her pants, inside her wet heat and shoved her to that first peak, she stopped thinking all together.

He was pushing her, but he couldn’t help it. He needed her, needed her scent, her touch, her essence to get him through and he couldn’t remember the need ever being so intense before. She wasn’t fighting him, he felt her give in to it and he exploited it. With his mouth and hands he pushed her again, holding on as she trembled in his arms.

When her tremors eased he opened his pants and, pulling her leg up to his hip, he thrust up into her, groaning as she fisted around him. This was what he needed, to feel her, all of her, all around him. He moved in her, hard and fast he drove her to a third peak, letting himself fall with her. This is what he would think of, her coming apart in his arms, on the long nights ahead of him when he was alone in a big empty hotel bed.

“Jon?”

She felt his warm breath at her neck as he kissed his way to her mouth, “you okay Sweets?” She nodded as his eyes came into view, “way better than. What got into you?” He eased out of her and set her leg on the floor. He closed his eyes, he couldn’t tell her like this. He didn’t answer her as he righted himself and helped her with her clothes. He didn’t answer her as she put her kitchen to rights and he followed her up the stairs to her apartment.

When he followed her into the bathroom and she started the shower he still hadn’t said a word. As they undressed and stepped into the steamy water together she finally couldn’t take the silence anymore. As the hot water sluiced over them she asked again. “Jon, you haven’t said two words in the last half hour. What got into you downstairs?”

He pulled her to him, stroked a hand through her wet hair, pressed light kisses to her forehead, his eyes meeting hers. “I love you Cilla.”