Dessert, indeed.
Many times, Braden and I have indulged in dessert.
But if I think too much about that right now, I won’t be able to stop squirming against the tickle between my legs.
“Mom’s elderberry pie,” I say. “My favorite.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had elderberry pie before,” he says, “though my mother made gooseberry pie once. I remember thinking it was kind of sour.”
Mom smiles. “Now that takes me back. I haven’t had gooseberry pie in years.”
“What’s a gooseberry?” I ask.
“It’s a green berry,” Mom says.
“Green? A berry?”
“Yeah. You can still find them in stores with the canned fruit sometimes, but I haven’t seen a fresh gooseberry since I was your age, Skye.” She turns to Braden. “Elderberries are tart as well, but don’t you worry. I use a fair amount of sugar in this pie, plus the whipped cream will add sweetness as well.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious. Something doesn’t have to be sweet for me to like it.” Braden smiles.
He’s smiling at my mother. That smile that I hardly ever get to see!
Calm down, Skye. Being jealous of your mother is all-out ridiculous.
He quickly maneuvers his gaze to mine, though. His words echo inside me.
Something doesn’t have to be sweet for me to like it.
He’s not talking about the elderberry pie. He’s not talking about my pussy, either, as he’s spoken soliloquies on how good I taste.
No. He’s talking about me.
My personality.
I’m not sweet.
Fine. Neither is he.
Braden takes a bite of the pie, chews, and swallows, never taking his eyes off me. “Delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.” My mother grins.
But he’s really not talking about the pie.
I squirm. I’m tingling all over, and my heart is thundering. I take a piece of pie, hoping I can get it to my mouth without it landing in my lap. My hands are shaking.
The pie makes it past my lips, but it has no flavor. The only flavor on my tastebuds at the moment is Braden.
The texture of his full lips touching mine.
The spicy taste of his tongue entwining with mine.
The salty and musky flavor of his cock inside my mouth.
I’m as horny as I’ve ever been, almost near orgasm…and I’m sitting at dinner with my parents.
This isn’t going to work. Braden has to leave. How am I supposed to figure myself out when all my body does is respond to him? He’s not even touching me, and still I want him. Still my body cries out for him.
I cry out for him.
I finish my pie, still not tasting it. I help my mother clear the table, and when everything’s in the kitchen, she turns to me.
“Go have fun with your friend,” she says. “I’ll take care of this.”
I nod.
Fun with your friend.
If she only knew.
Chapter Twelve
When I return to the dining room, Braden and my father are walking out.
“Where are you staying?” my father asks.
“The hotel in town,” he says, grabbing his phone. “I’ll call a cab.”
“Don’t be silly.” Dad smiles. “You can stay here. We have the room.”
“Thank you, but I don’t want to put you out.”
“If you insist,” Dad says, “but you don’t need a cab. Skye can drive you.”
Both of them glance at me.
“Uh…yeah, sure. I’ll drive you.”
If Dad knew what my body was doing at the mention of driving Braden to a hotel, he’d take back his words.
“Thank you, Skye,” Braden says. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Keys are on the hook,” Dad says.
Our days of only one car were over by the time I hit high school. Dad and Mom each have a car now, and then of course there’s Dad’s pickup, but I never counted that.
But those are the keys that are on the hook.
“I’ll see if I can take Mom’s car,” I say. “I don’t like driving the truck.”
“Suit yourself. My car’s in the shop for a tune-up.” Dad holds out his hand. “Great to meet you, Braden. I hope we’ll see you again.”
“I hope so, too.” Braden shakes my father’s hand and then turns to me. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I head to the kitchen to get the keys to Mom’s hatchback. Has Braden ever ridden in a hatchback?
Maybe. When he was a kid.
I suck in a breath and jingle the keys. “Ready?”
“I am. Thank you again for dinner,” he says to Dad, “and please tell your wife thank you as well.”
“I absolutely will. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
Sir? I’ve never heard Braden refer to anyone as sir.
Interesting.
We walk out, and I lead him to Mom’s light blue hatch. “No luggage?”
“I dropped everything off at the hotel and took a cab here.”
“Not a limo?” I can’t help asking.
He doesn’t respond, and I don’t blame him. I’m being a brat, and I know it.
I unlock the car and get into the driver’s side. Braden slides in beside me, his long legs scrunched up. He fiddles with the knobs on the side of his chair until it slides back into a more comfortable position.