Testing Recipes for Disaster (Emberwood #2)

Chapter 12- Jeremy

“ T hat was a good show,” Lauren said, her voice coming out a little strangled.

“Right. Top tier fireworks.”

My own voice was lower than I intended, and I swallowed to make it go back to normal. This was both exactly what I’d wanted and exactly what I had been trying for so long to avoid. Because now we were alone, I’d willfully crossed a line, and I had no logical escape plan.

There’s got to be some sort of fireworks on a summer night clause that equates to “What happens in Vegas,” I thought. If there isn’t, there should be because this is unbearable .

Laur zipped and unzipped her hoodie awkwardly before clearing her throat.

“Do you want, like, water? Beer?”

Alcohol would do nothing to make my judgment any better, but I also might not survive the evening without something to take the edge off. The edge was sharp .

“Ah, beer, sure.”

I dropped down onto her couch. It was some sort of soft material. Way better than the couch I’d gotten from Craigslist for free.

“Here,” she said, thrusting a bottle at me from as far away as she could stand. “And the cookies you brought. I’m sure fancy cookies and cheap beer are classy in some cultures.”

“Oh, it’s a deeply engrained custom in the Ash heritage. Cheap beer is practically our holy water,” I assured her, taking a gulp in hopes it would dull that edge soon.

She shot a grin at me, a smidge of her rigidity fading.

“Let me get my laptop and notebook, and we can get started.”

I nodded, pulling up the stuff I’d saved on my phone. Upon her return, she looked at the spot next to me and then at the rest of the seating options in her small living room, a desperate look on her face, like a magical solution would appear.

“You can sit on my lap if that cushion is offensive,” I blurted out, however inadvisable.

Giving in was so much easier than resisting, and I was still operating under a fireworks clause.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one looking around like you don’t know where to sit in your own house.”

I shrugged and gulped more of my drink. She narrowed her eyes and sat next to me, though there was a good ruler-sized distance between us.

“Excellent,” I said.

“So, you chose none of the options I sent you, but it’s fine because none of them were right.”

“Technically, Sam sent me photos of cakes and stuff, and I wasn’t sure which of your categories they fit into.”

“She sent you cake photos?! Let me see them.”

“I am making the cake, Princess. Calm down.”

“Do not call me Princess . It’s condescending. And I’m merely surprised . But she did send me bouquets and dress ideas, so I guess I feel fine about it.”

“Sorry, you were acting a little entitled. You know, like a princess. But okay, Cupcake. Let’s get to it.”

She almost growled at me, and I tried to press my lips together to keep from grinning when I passed her my phone so she could see the cakes. It did not work.

“Well, I suppose you’re right that none of my categories fit this look specifically. This is Persephone walking on the edge of the underworld and the world of the living. Sam’s a bit of a genius. It’s the perfect representation of equinox.”

She was talking more to herself than me now, or, at least, I hoped so because I was lost.

“I’m going to nod like that makes sense. I’ve got a general idea of a mash-up between a starry night and dusk-colored florals—like dark greens and pinks and purples.”

“Right. Like I said. Persephone.”

“Right.”

I downed the rest of my beer and got up to grab another, offering to get something for her as well. She only held up her nearly full glass of wine and continued to scrutinize the cake photos. I opened her pink refrigerator and popped the top off my drink when the oven caught my eye.

“Uh, Laur?”

“Yeah. Do you need help with the bottle opener or something?” she asked, irritated.

“Shut up. You have a Bosch convection oven?”

“Yes? I don’t know what’s special about it, but I got it for a steal, according to what they normally list for. Some rich lady on Kelleys Island was remodeling a kitchen in her million-dollar house after it had been redone, like, three years before, I think she said. My years of stalking thrifting chats and Craigslist paid off that day. Pain in the ass to get it here, though,” she mused.

“When you say a steal ...”

“500 bucks.”

My jaw could have been scraped off the ground.

“Laur. Have I ever told you that you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known?”

“No. But that’s not shocking. Are you going to enter a courtship with my oven, or are we going to make a list of venue choices for this Persephone-inspired wedding shower?”

“I will do literally anything you want if you let me bake in your kitchen.”

“Oh. Um, sure, whatever. Are you messy, though? Because I am a tad neurotic about my space.”

“I will clean your entire townhouse. And your car. Jesus.”

I traced the edge of the oven and promised I would see it later before I returned my attention to the mildly annoyed redhead.

“Got it. Venues.”

We narrowed our choices to a couple of restaurants with available outdoor seating and plenty of space heaters, but the most enticing option was the Garrett family deck. It sat nestled in the woods with a creek alongside it and no neighbors behind.

When she was this focused, Lauren’s energy was electric. I was fairly certain that I’d experience a shock if I touched her. God, I wanted to touch her. Her hoodie had been forgotten, and she had on a flimsy excuse for a tank top, the lace of her bra easily distinguishable under the fabric.

Stop staring at her tits .

“Well, that seems like the most obvious answer. Besides renting some tables and heaters, it would be mostly free, and it’s close, and we could take our time setting everything up,” I offered.

“And it comes with the added bonus of my mother giving me unsolicited advice the whole time,” she said, taking a deep breath. “But yes, that seems to make the most sense. Plus, if we’re buying something permanent like solar lights or dishware, my mom will probably pay so she can keep them. I’ll deal with the comments for that.”

“Your mom’s like the nicest lady ever,” I countered, never having heard a mean word come out of the woman’s mouth.

“She is. Therein lies the problem. She... she so desperately wants me to be happy. And that’s supportive and wonderful, but it’s a lot of pressure to try to appear happy all the time.”

“I guess I get that. I’ll run interference for you, then.”

She shot me a grateful smile before we moved on.

“Email the list or the links or ‘pins’ or whatever, and I’ll get everything sorted. You want an afternoon tea?” I asked.

“Mhm. Ending at sunset. It’ll be gorgeous. We won’t do only tea, but there will be pretty teacups. And champagne and wine and sparkling water with berries and finger sandwiches and what do you think... macarons? The lavender cookies? Do you think we need a cake, too?”

“I was thinking petit fours in blues and purples with pink and cream flowers on top. And edible glitter at Sam’s request. She said no big cake for the shower.”

I heard Lauren mutter a curse under her breath.

“What, do you not like that idea? I’m open to suggestions; I’ve never even been to a wedding shower before.”

“Ugh, you’re so obtuse,” she grumbled. “Don’t make me compliment you. Your head won’t fit through the door on your way out.”

“I’m willing to risk it. Compliments from you are becoming addictive.”

“It’s a great idea, okay? You’re rapidly becoming an asset to this whole process instead of a hindrance, and I don’t’ know if I’m happy about it.”

She let her eyes drift over to me and then rolled them at the huge smile now residing on my face.

“Tell me more about how perfect I am.”

I reached forward to grab the last cookie from the plate and awaited her words.

“I said the idea was—what?! No. We’ve discussed you taking the last bite of things, Jer. That was my cookie, and I don’t have anymore! You can make more.”

“I have no recollection of this discussion. And I’m pretty sure the accepted legal precedent is that possession is nine-tenths of the law, and well, this cookie is in my possession.”

I took a gluttonous bite and let out a moan.

“I’ll show you possession, you selfish ass,” she claimed, and she lunged for the cookie.

Unfortunately for her, my arms were much longer than hers, and I easily held it out of her reach, though now we found ourselves in the predicament of her leaning across my lap and the smell of her shampoo invading my senses. She did not seem as affected by said predicament because she doubled down, planting her knee painfully into my thigh and reaching again for the cookie. With one hand on her waist, I held her at bay and stretched my arm up.

“You are positively feral this evening, Laur. Accept defeat with some dignity.”

She huffed out an angry sigh and sat back, now fully straddling my lap, her knees bracketing my thighs. My dick twitched at the immediate images flashing in my head.

Fuck .

Flirting—and even snuggling—was one thing, but this kind of proximity was entirely another, and my brain was empty of all rational thought. She crossed her arms but seemed to realize the situation and moved to slide back to her cushion. I wrapped my left hand firmly around her thigh and kept her exactly where she was, the cookie now forgotten on the side table.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Being a selfish ass,” I answered, my voice heavy with the knowledge that she hadn’t consented to the fireworks clause.

She inhaled sharply, waiting for me to continue.

“Do you think... that the Fourth of July, with the fireworks and whatnot, creates some sort of portal where two people can do stupid, absolutely unwise things, and there be no real-life consequences the next day?”

My fingers traveled as I talked, my thumbs tracing the bottom of her ribs over the joke of a shirt, and the goosebumps that broke out across her skin made my heart run away with the horses stampeding through my chest cavity.

“I believe Sam has mentioned some kind of astrological occurrence on the Fourth that does exactly that, yes.”

Her voice was still hushed, her green eyes locked with mine, each of us begging the other not to pop this bubble. I wanted her so badly there was every chance I wouldn’t last forty seconds if she touched me, but it would be worth the embarrassment.

“That makes perfect sense.”

“Obviously.”

We had come to the end of the road for our banter, and my body acted before my brain caught up. I grabbed her ass firmly and pulled her into me, my face now level with her tits, but I was a gentleman and looked up, her red hair falling over her shoulder and forming a curtain, like we were hidden from the reality of this decision.

Her fingers tugged gently on my hair, her nails trailing deliciously along my scalp, and I pressed my lips to hers, half expecting her to leap off my lap and disappear. But she didn’t. She opened for me and traced her tongue along mine, a hint of lavender and honey still between us. It took everything I had to let her explore and set the pace. I matched her pressure and intensity as it became more demanding, her breathing shallow and quiet, contented sounds dropping from her mouth.

The lacy bra she was wearing was practically begging to be pulled down, forcing her breasts up on display. I groaned before tugging a perfect pink nipple into my mouth and sucking, relishing her gasp and the harder tugging on my hair that followed. Almost involuntarily, and by that I meant completely on purpose, I rocked up against her center, wanting her to know how fucking hard I was under her.

“Keep doing all of that,” she murmured.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

I turned my attention to her other nipple and held her hips tightly, grinding her against me. Her shorts were so very thin, and it made no sense why I still had jeans on.

“Damn it, why is it hot when you say it now ?”

That made a laugh rumble out of my chest, but she swallowed it with a kiss, her pace now hurried. I tugged at her shorts, and she stood, shimmying out of them. Lauren looked well and truly undone, her bra askew, her hair wild, her lips pink.

“You’re fucking perfect,” I got out before I pulled on her hand to bring her back to my lap.

She stopped short and dropped to her knees instead, working on my pants.

“Hey, hey, Laur...”

She stopped and looked up, and I almost died inside from seeing her at that angle. This would be fueling my shower sessions for months.

“This can just be about you. I can stay exactly like this and make you feel good. I don’t want you to think I expect—”

“On the rare Fourth of July portal night? You must be joking. I’ve been dying to see if your confidence is earned or not for months. Now, take off your pants.”

I almost called her ‘princess’ again, but I wasn’t sure it would accomplish me being inside of her faster, so I settled for complying with her request.

“Get back over here,” I insisted this time, knowing that if she so much as breathed on my dick, it was over. I needed a minute to think about chairs or recite a recipe in my head.

You are not a fucking fourteen-year-old boy. Get yourself under control.

She straddled me again, and I let my hands roam freely while I kissed her, appreciating parts of her body I only usually ogled from a safe distance. I tugged at the ends of her long hair gently, pressing her chest further into me and baring her throat. I sucked and bit my way up her neck, simultaneously wanting her to keep wiggling and stop for a second. I went back to a spot that had made her shiver and bit lightly again. Her hand, having made its own trail over my body, reached down and gripped me firmly through my boxers. She groaned, and I laughed.

“Is my confidence earned or not? And please lie if the answer is not.”

“I wish I was lying,” she bit out breathlessly. “It’s not fair. Please tell me you don’t know how to use it, and this is about to be a wholly disappointing experience.”

“You want me to fail to get you off.”

“It would be so helpful.”

She couldn’t hold back her grin then, and she gripped me again without warning, making something unintelligible leave my mouth.

“I did say I would do anything to use your oven, but I can’t, in good conscience, do that.”

Instead, I brushed over her underwear with my fingertips.

“And I’m doing something right because you’re so wet, Laur.”

She opened her mouth like she was going to offer some sort of alternate story, but I pulled her panties to the side and sunk a finger inside her, effectively ending her sentence.

“Well played,” she got out, now back to gripping my hair and widening her knees to give me some room.

I kissed her more roughly and added a second finger, finding her g-spot and staying there, my thumb taking over circling her clit. My mind was racing from her letting out breathy moans and gasps in my ear, wondering if she was loud when she came, and hoping she was.

“Don’t stop,” she directed, and I ensured that I changed no variables in that moment and let her ride my hand.

“ Fuck , Jer,” she let out as she shuddered around me, her nails almost painfully digging into my shoulders.

I pulled back when she slumped against me, wondering if she’d leave our no-consequences bubble in her post-orgasm state, but she still wasn’t leaping up or tensing like this was a mistake.

“You’re so hot, baby,” I said into her neck, not sure where the baby came from. It sort of popped out, and I expected her to call me on it.

“Jesus. Are you making your voice lower on purpose?”

“I don’t think so? This is just my voice.”

“Damn it. Why does everything you say sound so fucking good?”

I took it that the question was rhetorical because she pulled off my shirt quickly and unhooked her bra. I ran my fingers over her nipples and pinched slightly, listening for any indication it was too hard, but her tiny gasp and instant hardening between my fingertips indicated that it was just right, actually. I did away with my boxers and guided her underwear to the floor.

The Fourth of July, with its magical astrology, had become by far my favorite holiday.