I’d just told Simon I loved him. While my snot soaked into his North Face. I breathed in his scent, then peeled myself off of him and headed to the wall to peel off the dough stuck there. Nerves sprang to life, for once working for us. Could I cover? Could I rally?

“Which part?” I asked the wall—and Clive, who had stopped playing with his nuts to listen in.

“That last part,” I heard him say, his voice strong and clear.

“I killed my brioche?” I hedged.

“You really think that’s the part I’m asking about?”

“Um, no?”

“Try again.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Caroline—wait, what’s your middle name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Caroline Elizabeth,” he warned, in a deep voice that unexpectedly made me giggle.

“Brioche is really good, when it’s not flavored with wall,” I blurted, my exhaustion mixing with my confession for an odd buzz. I actually felt a little relieved.

“Turn around, please,” he asked, and so I did. He leaned against the counter, unzipping his snotty North Face. “I’m a bit jetlagged, so a quick recap, if I could. One, you seem to have lost your orgasm, yes?”

“Yes,” I mumbled, watching as he took off his fleece, throwing it over the back of one of my chairs.

“Two, brioche is really hard to make, yes?”

“Yes,” I breathed, not able to take my gaze away from him. Underneath the North Face was a white button-down. Which was good enough on its own, but couple that with the way he was slowly and methodically rolling up the sleeves? It was mesmerizing.

“And three, you think you love me?” he asked, his voice deep and thick, like molasses and honey and all things afghan—blanket, not country.

“Yes,” I whispered, knowing it was one hundred percent the truth. I loved Simon. Big, giant dur.

“You think, or you know?”

“I know.”

“Well, now. That’s something to consider, isn’t it?” he replied, his eyes dancing as he drew near. “You really have no idea, do you?” He spread his hands along my collarbone, brushing his thumbs across the very tops of my breasts.

My breathing quickened, my body sparking to life in spite of myself. “No idea about what?” I murmured, allowing him to press me against the wall.

“How thoroughly you own me, Nightie Girl,” he said, leaning in to whisper this part in my ear. “And I know I love you enough to want you to have your happy ending.”

And then he kissed me—Heart was in heaven—kissed me like it was a fairy tale, even though in this fairy tale I had dough sticking to my back and a cat with a pawful of nuts. But that didn’t stop me from kissing him back as though my life depended on it.

“Did you know I started falling for you the night you banged on my door?” he asked, kissing my neck. “And that I as soon as I started to get to know you, I wasn’t with anyone else?”

I gasped. “But I thought, I mean, I saw you with—”

“I know what you thought, but it’s true. How could I be with anyone else when I was falling in love with you?”

He loved me! But wait, what’s this? He was backing away…where was he going?

“And now, I’m going to do something I never thought I would do.” He sighed mournfully, looking at the stacks of bread on the table. With a deep breath and a grimace, in one fell swoop he knocked them all to the floor. Bread rained down in foil-covered bricks around us, and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard a tiny whine escape as he watched them hit the floor. But then he turned to me, eyes dark and dangerous. He grabbed me and swung me up on the table before him, nudging my legs apart to stand between them.

“Do you have any idea how much fun we’re going to have?” he asked, slipping his hands inside my apron, warm and a little rough on my tummy.

“What are you up to?”

“An O has been lost, and I’m a sucker for a challenge.” He grinned, pulling me to the edge of the table and snugly in to him. With his hands behind my knees, he wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing me again, lips and tongue hot and persistent.

“It’s not going to be easy. She’s pretty lost,” I protested between kisses, worrying his buttons open and exposing his Spanish suntan.

“I’m done with easy.”

“You should print that on cards.”

“Print this—why do you still have clothes on?”

He laid me back across the table as I grinned up at him. My foot hit the flour sifter and sent it crashing to the floor, dusting us thoroughly in the process. Simon’s hair looked like a biscuit, powdery and puffy. I coughed and a plume of flour came out, making Simon laugh out loud. The laughing stopped when I reached down for him, finding him hard, yet still covered in denim. He groaned, my favorite sound in the world.

“Fuck, Caroline, I love your hands on me,” he said through his teeth, dipping his mouth to my neck and leaving a trail of white-hot kisses across my skin. His tongue swept out across me, underneath the edge of my apron. Hands quickly found the bottom of my tank top, and it went sailing across the room, into the kitchen sink. Within seconds, a pair of shorts found themselves swimming alongside, quickly followed by a pair of jeans and a white button-down.

The apron? Well, we were having a little trouble with that one.

“Are you a sailor? Who tied this knot, Popeye?” he seethed, struggling to get it undone. In his struggles, he managed to knock over a bowl of orange marmalade glaze, which now dripped down the table and on to the floor. My contribution was to flip over a carton of raisins while I craned my neck trying to see the knot behind me.

“Oh, screw the apron, Simon. Look here,” I insisted, snapping the front of my bra and tossing it to the floor. I pulled down the top of the apron, arranging and propping up my cleavage. Pie eyed, he looked at my now-naked br**sts and went in for the kill. I was pushed roughly back on to the table once more, his insistent mouth now dragging down my neck, attacking my skin like it had done something personal to him and he was exacting his revenge. And a lustful revenge it was.

Dipping a finger into the marmalade puddle, he traced a path from one breast to the other, circling and pressing the sticky into my skin. Bending his head, he tasted one, then the other, both of us groaning at the same time.

“Mmm, you taste good.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t making hot wings. This could be a different story—wow, that’s nice.” I sighed as he responded to my smart-assery with an actual bite.

“These would be extra spicy.”

He laughed as I rolled my eyes.

“Want me to get some celery to cool you down?” I asked.

“No one’s cooling down in this apartment, not anytime soon,” he promised, grabbing the jar of honey from the nearby counter and pulling aside my apron. Without missing a beat, he got my panties all wet. And not in the way you think, although there was that…

As I watched, he poured the honey all over me, covering my panties and making me squeal. He stood back to admire. “Look at that, those are ruined. They’re going to have to come off,” he said as he came close again. I stopped him with a marmalade foot.

“You first, Mr. Man,” I instructed, nodding at his flour-covered boxers. He raised an eyebrow, and dropped the boxers. Standing na**d in my wreck of a kitchen, he was insanely cute.

In that instant, Heart, Brain, Backbone, and LC lined up on one side of the playground. They beckoned for Nerves, waving her over like a game of Red Rover. I looked at Simon, na**d and floury and perfect, and I sighed with a giant smile. Nerves finally, blessedly, scampered over, and we were finally all on the same page.

“I f**king love you, Simon.”

“I love you too, Nightie Girl. Now lose the panties and gimme some sugar.”

“Come and get it,” I laughed, sitting up and sliding my panties down my honey-dripped legs. I threw them at him, and they hit his chest with a loud thwack, the honey dripping everywhere.

“We’re going to need one helluva shower after all this,” I remarked as he wrapped me in his sticky arms.

“That’ll be round two.” He smiled, picking me up and carrying me to the bedroom, my body aligned with his, only the apron between us. And that wasn’t going to keep us apart for long.

Did I need an O? I mean, was it necessary for life? Being near Simon, being so close to him, wrapped up in his arms and feeling him move inside me, was it enough?

For now, it was. I loved him, you see…

He dropped me on the bed, and I bounced a little, rolling sideways and making the headboard bang a bit.

“You gonna bang my walls, Simon?” I laughed.

“You have no idea,” he promised, and scrunched my apron out of the way as I sighed and threw my arms over my head. I lazed backward, with a giant smile on my face. His fingers walked down over my tummy, my hips, my thighs, finally reaching me. After a gentle nudge, I let my legs fall open. He licked his lips and sank to his knees.

He touched and tasted me as he had in Spain, but it was different. It still felt amazing, but I was different. I was relaxed. Twisting and turning his fingers, he found that spot, the one that made my back arch and my moans grow deep. He groaned into me, causing me to arch off the bed again, his lips and tongue finding me once more, deliberate. My hands sought my breasts, and as he watched, I teased my nipples, bringing them taut once more.

Again, I had the distinct honor of feeling his mouth, his wonderful mouth, on me. I seized up, my entire body tensing at the sizzle of energy that ran through me, and then I relaxed once more. I started to feel, really feel everything going on inside at that moment. Love. I felt love. And I felt loved…

Here in the daytime, where nothing could be hidden, everything was on display—and covered in messy stuff—I was being loved by this man. No fairy tale, no waves crashing, no flickering candles. Real life. A real life fairy tale where I was being loved by this man. And I mean looooved by this man.

Tongue. Lips. Fingers. Hands. All of it dedicated to me and my pleasure. A girl could get used to this.

I could feel the sweet tension begin to build, but this time my body received it differently. My body, perfectly in tune for once, was ready, and in my mind, behind closed eyes, I saw myself begin to approach that cliff. In my head, I grinned, because I knew this time I was gonna catch that bitch. And then? Really amazing things began to happen down below. Long gorgeous fingers pressed inside me, twisting, and curving, and finding that secret spot. Lips and tongue encircled that other spot, sucking and licking, pressing and pulsing. Tiny pricks of light began to dance behind my eyelids, intense and wild.

“Oh, God…Simon…that’s so…good…don’t…stop…don’t…stop…”

I groaned loud, louder, and then louder still, unable to contain the sounds I was making. It was so good, so good, so very, very good, so close, so close…

And then the screaming began. And it was not my own.

Out of the corner of my eye, I became aware of some kind of furry missile racing across the floor.

Like some kind of pussified dive bomb, Clive ran at Simon, leaped, and dug into his back, attacking him from behind.

Simon ran from the bedroom into the hallway, then back in again, Clive still latched on like some kind of rabid coonskin back cap that would not shake off. He had his arms—does a cat have arms?—wrapped around Simon’s neck in a way that under other circumstances would have seemed like an adorable cat hug. But right now, he meant business.

I ran after them, na**d except for my apron, trying to get Simon to slow down, but with those ten claws digging deeper in, he continued running from room to room.

The irony that Simon was literally trying to run away from pu**y was not lost on me.

If I could have watched from outside, rather than being involved, I would have peed myself. As it was, I was having a hard time stifling myself listening to Simon’s screams. I really must love him.

Finally, I backed them both into a corner, turned Simon around, resisted the urge to squeeze buns, and pried Clive loose. I quickly headed out to the living room and deposited him on the sofa with a thunk, patting him on the head once as a thank you for the defense, unwarranted as it was. Clive responded with a prideful meow and began licking his whiskers.

I went back into the kitchen to find Simon, still huddled against the wall. I appraised him, his eyes wild as he leaned against the wall, wincing at his back. My gaze was drawn lower. Unbelievable.

He

Was

Still

Hard.

He saw my eyes travel down his body, reminiscent of the first time we met face to face. He nodded sheepishly.

“You’re still hard,” I blurted, breathing heavily as I tried once more to untie my apron.

“Yeah.”

“That’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing.”

“Ah, fuck,” I huffed, giving up on the knot.

“Yes, please.”

I paused for a split second, then whirled the apron around to my back in one swift movement. I leaped across the room, my apron flying behind me like a low-rider cape and crashed into him, driving him up against the wall as I assaulted him. He caught me as I wrapped around him like a feisty blanket, kissing him furiously. My nails raked down his chest, and he gasped.

“Your back okay?” I asked between kisses.

“I’ll live. Your cat, however…”

“He’s protective. He thought you were hurting Mommy.”

“Was I?”

“Oh no, quite the opposite.”

“Really?”