Page 5 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

Before she can finish the sentence, I grip her panties and peel them down her legs.

Then, I drop them to the floor and kneel beside them.

Her thighs quiver and her fingers delve into the hair at the sides of my head.

She scoots closer to my face and spreads her legs wider.

She pulls me in. I inhale. Her scent invades my senses.

Then, I flick her clit with my tongue. She jerks on the counter and moans.

I worship her with my tongue, my teeth, and my lips.

She rolls her hips, pressing her clit into me.

She moans, “Not enough… I need your fingers… I need more.” Ever her servant, I add two fingers to her pussy and move them in and out while toying with her clit.

She gasps, “More… Give me more, Chase.” I add a third finger and curl them inside of her.

She bucks and rides my face and my hand while she holds my head hostage.

Her hips raise, increasing the tempo. Curling my fingers again, I hit the spot she loves and bite her clit at the same time.

She screams, “Chase… Ohhhhhh, Chase… Fuck… oh fuck… Chase… ” She practically convulses.

When she’s spent, she slumps back on the island.

Her head lolls to the side and she says, “Now… fuck me, baby.”

Oh, I will, Roxy.

It's not gentle. It’s two people, desperate for each other, who come together again and again.

She’s bouncing on the island top as she plants her feet on the tile.

Her knee smacks me in the pec, and I grunt and grab her legs, throwing them over my shoulders and holding onto her thighs as my cock slides in and out of her pussy and my balls slap against her ass.

Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter as she meets my thrusts.

Moving my hips faster as she moans and rolls her head from side to side, I grunt, “I’m about to come baby. I can’t hold back.”

Smiling, she reaches between us, rubbing circles on her clit.

She pinches it and her stomach quivers. “Come for me, baby.” Her thighs tighten, and she comes…

again. Her orgasm and quivering pussy muscles trigger my own release.

Grabbing her thighs so tightly I’m going to leave marks, I pump into her once more.

My cock swells and I come deep inside of her.

When we can both breathe again, I laugh. Her brow rises though she smirks. As I come back to reality, I glance down and really start to laugh. Her cake is smeared all over both of us. Cake and ganache are everywhere. Literally everywhere.

A slow clap comes from the doorway and we both quickly look toward the sound.

Trent is red faced but he smirks and rubs the back of his neck and glances at the wall.

“Uh, I just came down for some tea. I did not expect the show. But uh… good job, I guess. If I’d paid for tickets, I wouldn’t ask for a refund.

I think I’ll just go back to my room and drink tap water though.

” Turning, he heads for the stairs, calling back, “I’m assuming you’re going to clean all that up and like Clorox the counters before morning. Night.”

Roxy and I look at each other. I grin. She blushes, but then, she laughs.

“How much do you think he saw?” she asks.

Slapping her thigh, I pull out. It makes a squelching sound. Laughing harder, I mutter, “Uh, probably enough.”

Grabbing the fork from beside her hip, I scoop some cake from the island, bring it to my lips, and eat it.

She just stares at me.

So, I lean in and kiss her.

Like, kiss her .

It’s tongue and teeth, slow but intense. She kisses me back, and then, she stops, pressing her hand to my chest.

Her hand rises to her mouth as she wiggles to sit up. She closes the sides of her robe.

“Roxy, don’t. Don’t… ”

I freeze as she hops off the counter and walks out towards the bedroom, cake still coating her back, ass, thighs, and the entirety of the island.

She doesn’t look back.

I stare at the empty kitchen that looks like a cake bomb just went off like it might explain what the hell just happened.

A bomb did go off. Its name is Roxy West.

This was a fracture but we’re both going to break.

It’s just a matter of patience and trying not to surrender before she fully succumbs this time.

ROXY

He didn’t come back to our room last night.

I don’t speak to him all morning. Not because I’m mad but because I’m terrified.

It’s not that we had Roxy and Chase sex on the island in the kitchen last night.

It’s not the way he looked at me like I hung the moon and baked the cake inside it.

It’s that I cannot stay away from him. I literally cannot. When we are together, we are untamable.

Wanting Chase has never been the problem.

It’s what happens after . It’s me losing myself.

I’m no longer a single person… I’m part of a pair.

It’s my needing him and being unable to be without him.

He gives me space. Of course, he does. He’s frustratingly good like that.

He cooks breakfast, serves coffee to the other couples, and goes along with Sasha’s “relationship affirmations” exercise even though I know he hates being emotionally cornered before noon. But he never pushes me. He just watches from a distance.

Quiet. Calm.

Like he has all the time in the world and he’s just waiting for me to turn around.

I spend the morning with Sasha, Whitney, and Bree pretending to care about sage bundles and relationship moon charts. I don’t care about any of it. But being here with them means I don’t have to think about what happened in the kitchen last night… with Chase.

They ask me what my biggest romantic regret is.

I almost say his name.

That would be a lie. I don’t regret loving Chase.

I almost say me.

But instead, I just smile. I lie and say, “Buying a white couch with a sangria margarita habit.”

They laugh.

I don't.

Night falls.

Everyone heads to bed early after too much wine and margaritas and one very graphic group game of “Never Have I Ever.”

I drank too much and now I’m emotionally compromised.

All I want is Chase. My husband.

I know exactly where he’s sleeping… and it’s not in here with me. He muttered about taking the small empty room across the house.

I stand outside his door for ten whole seconds. Then, ten more. Without knocking, I open it and go in.

He’s sitting on the bed in gray sweatpants, shirtless, flipping through a notebook that definitely contains either love letters or pornographic recipes.

He freezes when the door opens and looks up, startled.

“Rox—”

“Shut up.”

I close the door, cross the room, sit on the bed, and say the three words I’ve been swallowing since I walked out of that kitchen last night. “I love you.”

He drops the notebook to the bed.

I don’t let him speak. “Don’t say anything.

Just… let me talk.” I rush to get out. He nods but his hands are clenched at his hips.

His dreamy eyes are locked on me like I’m the last good thing on earth.

“I hate this. Being apart. I always hate it. Every single time. I pretend I’m fine.

We both know I’m not. I wear your shirts because they smell like you and remind me of every night we don’t sleep. ”

His throat works. “Roxy…”

I hold my hand up to shut him up. “I hate that I know the exact tone of your laugh…. the way you cook when you’re stressed… the fact that you still keep the cayenne next to the oregano just to piss me off. ”

I breathe. Hard. I whisper, “I hate that it feels like home when you’re near me. It always has. Even when I push you away. And you always let me. You just ride the waves of my crazy and wait for me to calm down. You are my home, Chase. I fucking love you and I don’t know why the fuck you love me.”

I kiss him. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s desperation. It’s grief and longing and God, I missed you and I love you.

His hands cup my cheeks, and he kisses me back like he’s been dying of thirst and I’m water.

His hands find my waist. He caresses my neck. His love finds my soul.

We undress quickly and come together, finding the rhythm only we have. We fall apart in each other’s arms. He kisses me as we come and it’s perfect. When we both settle back to earth, I curl into his chest and whisper, “I don’t know how to stop loving you, Chase.”

He whispers back, “Then, stop trying to.” And he kisses the side of my head.