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Black Swan Affair(9)

By:K.L. Kreig

I’m just pulling out a fresh batch of choux from the oven when the garage door opens indicating Kael is home.


Kael is home.

To our home: a modest two-story, shafty, old Victorian house that was once mine, which we now share together. As man and wife, not a couple of roomies.

Wow. It will take me a while to get used to that.

Growing up, Kael and I spent so much time together it was as if we practically lived with each other anyway. This is no different, Mavs. Except it is. He’s now sleeping in my bed, naked, not camped out on the floor in a pile of blankets and pillows, watching reruns on TV Land until we fall asleep.

When I hear his footsteps, I keep focused on the double cream I started to whip, calling over my shoulder, “Hey, how was your first day back at work?”

I feel the warmth of his body heat right before he molds his front to my back. Heavy hands land on my hips at the same time his lips land on my exposed throat. “Long. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I tell him softly, knowing it’s what I’m supposed to say.

“Whatcha making?” he breathes in my ear. “My mouth is watering.”

I try to forget how much he sounds like Killian when I answer, “Religieuse. I’m thinking of putting it on the menu, but I need to perfect the crème pâtissière first.”

I’m on my third batch of the custard. The first one curdled. The second one didn’t set quite right, but this time, I think I’ve finally perfected it. Too bad I did it half-cocked.

“God, I love it when you go all French on me, Mavs.”

I laugh, but it comes out more like a huff when he places another hot, openmouthed kiss on the very back of my neck. My stomach flutters a little when his teeth clamp my skin. When he runs his tongue along the line of my throat to my ear, I can’t suppress a light moan.

“You smell incredible. Like sugar and nutmeg. And maybe a little wine.”

“MaryLou came over.”

“Mmm. That explains everything.”

“Want a glass?” I sound breathy and needy and apparently it’s all the encouraging Kael needs.

“No. I want something else entirely.”

He reaches around and scoops up a finger full of custard. The gooeyness disappears out of view and I think he’s going to taste it, but I jump when he begins to paint the cool crème along the length of my shoulder.

It’s hot today. And so damn humid. August in Iowa can be intolerable. Temps are nearing a hundred degrees. The heat index just an hour ago was one hundred ten. It’s so hot the air conditioner is working round the clock and it’s still not keeping up.

So I have my frizzy hair thrown in a messy tangle on top of my head and a short, strapless sundress on trying my best to keep cool, but now my internal temp just shot up ten notches. Not only is Kael nibbling his way along my collarbone, his right hand snakes underneath my dress and tunnels into my panties.

“This is so fucking good,” he murmurs hungrily. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the filling or the finger he’s pushing north.

“Kael, what are you doing?” I squirm, responding to his touch. My mind may understand I’m sleeping with my best friend, but my body…she’s not confused in the slightest. She’s drunk. Thanks to said drunkness, now she’s horny. And she wants the devastating pleasure he’s offering. Even if it is weird, I’ll admit Kael is a very talented lover.

“You know…I know you so well, Maverick.” Hot breaths fan my cheek and fall down my neck, doing nothing to quell the goose bumps now blanketing me. “I know you can’t sit still longer than five minutes. You bite your nails when you’re bored. You’re a tomboy who’s strangely addicted to lip gloss and carries around thirty-two varieties in your oversized purse.”

“Oh, shit,” I gasp when he joins another finger with the first. I’m starting to get very wet and very pliable.

“But for as much as I know about you,” he husks, “I don’t know what makes you drip with desire. I don’t know what makes you so fucking hot you’ll combust in my hands.”

His fingers leisurely move in and out as he talks. It’s as if he’s trying to learn every bumpy ridge inside me. Or drive me wild. When his thumb starts lightly grazing my clit, my head falls back against his shoulder. Wild. Definitely wild.

I should stop this. Stop him. I shouldn’t want this…should I?

“I want those secrets, Maverick. And your body will tell me everything I need to know.”

His caress is whisper soft as he traces a line across the top of my dress, over the slight swell of my breasts. It’s slow and languid and makes my skin tingle. I hold a breath when he dips shallowly in to tease a puckered areola before tugging one side down, freeing a breast, which now feels swollen and achy.