Page 28 of Spicy or Sweet (Wintermore #2)

SHAY

My body all but collapses onto the bed at the plastic click of the harness clasp. The sound sends a zing of anticipation through me every time I hear it, and I’m already on edge and sensitive from the three orgasms she’s given me tonight.

Something feels… different. Noelle has seemed off all day, and I’m in denial about what that means. She tried to talk about it earlier, and I shut her down, because we have less than a week of working together left, and I’m not ready to think about what comes next.

There are three outcomes I can see, each one getting less likely.

The first—and most likely—scenario in my head is that filming wraps, Noelle goes back to being run off her feet at work, and gently breaks that she doesn’t have time for us to keep hanging out.

I don’t think she’ll go back to hating me—I hope not, anyway.

If she does, I might just have to move in with Nico and never show my face around here again.

I find it hard to see an outcome where this friendship or whatever we’re calling it is maintainable as it is, but that’s still more likely than the third scenario: she wants more than casually hanging out and hooking up. The idea that she would want that, with me of all people, is laughable.

But things have felt less casual lately. The boat trip, telling her parents about us, the late nights and early mornings, the way she just watches me sometimes… It’s fucking with my head, telling me there’s a tiny, minute chance she wants this like I do.

And I don’t think I can risk the heartbreak of asking her and being let down. That’s why I changed the subject earlier, when I could tell she wanted to talk about what comes next. Denial is as safe as it gets right now.

And denial doesn’t feel half bad when it involves Noelle’s fingers digging into my hips as she pushes the smooth dildo into me with a curse.

“Oh, fuck,” she groans, her fingers pressing almost painfully into my skin. It feels incredible.

Noelle’s toy collection is bordering on hoarding, but no complaints from me.

I’ve enjoyed everything we’ve tried, though that probably has more to do with who I’m trying them with than the toys themselves.

Her collection puts the fifteen-year-old rabbit I found at the back of a dingy lingerie store at the mall to shame. I’ve been missing out.

This particular one seems to be a favorite of hers, though.

The harness itself is much simpler than the ones she has on her wall—a mix of pleather, elastic, plastic clasps, and a few decorative chain links—but she favors it over the fancier ones, and she makes my mouth water every time I watch her put it on.

It has two pink vibrating dildos, one for each of us, and Noelle explained that every movement I feel, she feels. And it feels fucking incredible. Every brush of the silicone inside me is like Noelle is striking a match, over and over again, until we’re consumed by flames.

She leans over me, covering my body with hers, pressing a kiss to the back of my head as she fucks me.

I push up on my arms with difficulty, and she runs her hand down my torso.

She brushes her thumb over my nipple, gently at first, then not at all.

She pinches, and I cry out, clenching her flannel sheets.

Christmas sheets, of course. I’ve gotten so used to falling apart in Noelle’s collection of Christmas bedding that I’m worried I’m going to have a Pavlovian response to the extra Christmas decor that pops up in Wintermore come November.

Noelle pulls me up to my knees, my back pressed against her front, her hand clasped gently around my throat. She’s not squeezing or restricting my airway in any way, but the fact that she could… Fuck. My head falls back against her shoulder, and I clench around the dildo, my legs shaking.

She thrusts into me as her fingers find my clit, and my vision goes black for a split second.

“Oh god,” I moan, pressing my body back into her.

“You better not be giving god credit for how good I’m making you feel, sweetheart,” Noelle whispers in my ear, her breath tickling me.

She lifts the hand around my throat so it’s cupping my chin and turns my head so she can press a kiss against my burning cheek. She drags her lips down, over my jaw, and into the curve of my shoulder, nipping my skin with her teeth, then blowing cool air over the spot.

The quick rush of sensation tips me over the edge, and I tumble into bliss. My body lights up, and I can feel Noelle everywhere, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head to the marrow in my bones.

I’m vaguely aware of Noelle crying my name, her arms looping around my body and tightening as she falls apart.

We both slip forward, falling against the mattress, a trembling, breathless mess, but the new position only presses the dildo harder against my G-spot, and another wave of pleasure rocks through me.

I’m weightless, floating outside of my own body, my mind empty of everything but Noelle. She pulls out of me, and I cry in protest, but it dies on my lips when, a moment later, her tongue is all over my pussy.

“You. Taste. Fucking. Incredible. Sweetheart.” She punctuates each word with a lick before rubbing her tongue over my clit.

I’m so sensitive that I’m gone with the first touch, pulling the bedsheets so hard that I feel the corner pop off the mattress, as Noelle draws the fifth?

Sixth? Orgasm of the night out of me. I’ve lost track at this point.

My body is liquid, a pliant puddle. Noelle moves around with ease as she lies down beside me and nudges me until we’re both on our sides, nose to nose.

“Holy shit,” I pant. “I don’t think I’ve exerted my body this much since high school.”

My vision is hazy, but I’m pretty sure she raises her brows. “Damn. We had very different high school experiences.”

“I did triathlon,” I say, halfheartedly tugging the ends of her hair.

“My previous comment still stands. Head elf of the Christmas Club, remember? I wasn’t exactly an athlete.”

I laugh, but I’m still so out of breath that it comes out more like a wheeze. “I imagine in a town like this, head elf is a role more coveted than quarterback.”

“Oh, yeah. I was a big deal around here.”

“You still are,” I point out, and she wrinkles her nose.

“I can’t imagine you in high school,” I continue, changing the subject, because I know how uncomfortable the weight of Wintermore’s expectations makes her.

“Don’t get me wrong, I can absolutely imagine you as head elf, but I can imagine you doing that now, too.

I know you’re a lot younger than me, but I guess it just feels like you have everything figured out.

Like you’ve always had everything figured out. You’re so sure of yourself.”

“I’m pretty sure of myself, that’s true,” Noelle agrees.

She cups the side of my face, absentmindedly drawing her finger over my cheek in a way that makes me think she’s playing connect-the-freckle.

“But I don’t have everything figured out.

Honestly? I feel like I have exactly nothing figured out right now.

” Her finger stills on the freckle beside my mouth. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything,” I murmur, and I think my heart might beat all the way through my ribcage and out of my chest, because I don’t think I can handle her telling me she doesn’t want to do this anymore right now.

“I think…” She hesitates, biting her lip and scrunching up her face. It’s adorable. “I think I kind of hate owning the bakery.”

That is… not what I expected her to say.

“Shit,” I respond, because I’m not sure what else to say. “What do you hate about it?”

“Everything?” she replies, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling.

I mirror her, taking in the twinkling glow-in-the-dark stars.

When I asked about them, she said she and Rora had them in their rooms as kids, and she wanted to keep them with her when she moved out because they remind her of Rora.

“Okay, maybe not everything,” she amends, “but I feel like I’m being stretched in a million different directions every day, and I never get to just bake.

When I do bake, I’m rushing so much that I don’t enjoy it, and the baking is what I wanted to do, you know?

And I know admin is just part of owning a business, I get it, but that’s not really the problem.

I spend most of my time out front because people get disappointed if they come in and I’m not there.

I understand how lucky I am, and that the town has been nothing but good to me, but god…

Do you ever wish you could just bake and not worry about all the other stuff? ”

Her eyes are dull, like tumbled sapphires, and I want nothing more than to put the sparkle back where it belongs. I scoot closer to her, lifting my arm over her and running my hand down her back. Her eyes flutter closed.

“I’ve worked in a lot of kitchens over the years.

Honestly, I thought the biggest perk of owning my own place in a small town would be getting to spend more time engaging with people and immersing myself in the community.

But it’s been lonelier than I expected. I’ve spent so long keeping to myself, scared to put myself out there, that now I pretty much never leave the kitchen. ”

I worry that Noelle will think it’s stupid. After all, her problems are out of her hands, and mine have been because I’ve been holding myself back, but when she opens her eyes, she just looks concerned for me.

“I know it’s easier said than done, but you should let people in.

The people here really like you, sweetheart.

Trust me, more people than I can count have spent the past few years trying to convince me you’re nice.

They were right, obviously, but don’t tell anyone I said that,” she warns, scowling so dramatically that I can’t help but laugh.

“Noted. But you’re also right, if it helps. I know I need to let people in more.” I brush my thumb across her lips. “I’m sorry your dream isn’t what you thought it would be, mon délice.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been lonely since you moved here,” she replies before pressing a kiss against my thumb.

Truthfully, I’ve been lonelier since before I moved here. Philippe and I were nothing more than roommates for a while before we called it, and even before that, I never felt truly fulfilled. But now… “I don’t feel so lonely anymore,” I say. Noelle’s eyes light up, and my heart skips a damn beat.