Page 24 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

So, I do just that, leaning against the counter and nursing the glass of wine he poured me as we chat and I watch him cook. I find his speaker and connect my phone so I can play music.

“What in the hell is this playlist?” he asks after the fifth song.

“Just my liked songs,” I say defensively.

“We just went classic rock to showtunes to alt rock to Noah Kahan to 90s hip hop.”

“And? Isn’t everyone’s general playlist like that?”

“Aye, but who just listens to their general playlist on shuffle? That’s chaotic.”

I laugh. “I thought you liked a little chaos.” I boost myself up onto the counter behind me so I can sit.

Ben’s lips purse. “Your arse on my counter is not very sanitary.”

“You’re not using this counter and your chairs are too far away.” I drink my wine and keep my eyes on him to watch his smile grow as he shakes his head.

“Fine.”

He keeps cooking, but eventually comes to stand in front of me.

“What?” I ask.

“Spread your legs.”

“ Excuse me?”

He chuckles. “I need a spoon. You’re sitting over the utensil drawer.”

I bite my lip. “There were other ways to say that, you know.”

But I do as requested and open my legs wide enough for him to reach between them and pull open the drawer.

Even with that, my long skirt falls over the open drawer.

With a delicate hand, he lifts it, retrieving the spoon.

He pushes the drawer closed, and I close my legs, feeling the need to squeeze them shut now.

I cross my legs instead, hoping it a more natural gesture.

Ben goes to stir his finished couscous, moving it off the burner.

“Let that sit,” he mutters to himself, moving on to the chicken in the oven, peeking inside. “Few more minutes.”

He turns back to me and says, “Drawer.”

I uncross my legs and spread them again so he can open it. He pulls out another spoon, but accidentally brushes it against my bare leg. The sudden coolness sends a shiver up my spine. He notices, eyeing where the spoon touched me.

His voice low, he asks, “What was that?”

“It was cold,” I explain.

“Yeah?”

He brushes the spoon over my skin again, and again I shiver.

He smirks, moving it to my other leg. My body reacts again, but no longer to the cold, a trail of sensual hunger following the smooth metal.

He grabs another spoon, setting it to the side before he crowds me, closing the drawer with his hip, and settling into the space between my legs.

“You like this?”

I swallow, admitting, “I don’t hate it.”

He runs the spoon down my cheek, dragging it over to my lips and across them. A dull ache pulses through my entire being. When he lets it leave my lips, I involuntarily dart my tongue out to wet them. His eyes catch on my mouth, focusing in .

Then he moves away so swiftly that I need a moment to catch my breath.

That spoon gets discarded in the sink as he picks up the other one he set out.

The new spoon dips into the saucepan, then he taps his finger into the spoon before putting that finger in his mouth for a taste.

Ben muses over it, then plunges the spoon into the sauce again, but this time, he swivels toward me.

He places himself again in the space between my legs and whispers, “Try,” before dipping the spoon into my mouth. I am hit with a bold lemon and herb flavor. Delicious.

The pleasure must show on my face because his mouth quirks up. “Good?”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“You’ve got a bit…” His thumb finds the corner of my mouth, swiping across it gently to rid any remnants of the sauce.

However, instead of wiping his thumb on a napkin, he dips it into my mouth.

My tongue brushes the pad and then I find myself sucking lightly.

What did I say about him not putting his fingers in my mouth anymore? Glad I specified in public .

His eyes are fixated so heavily on my lips. Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I give him a subtle nod.

He accepts that nod and moves in, pulling his thumb to my cheek and finding my lips with his.

I melt into him as his mouth opens on mine, our tongues meeting.

Fuck . I knew I wasn’t romanticizing our first kiss from all those months ago.

My legs cage his waist, pulling him closer as his hands get trapped in my hair.

His mouth is like lightning. Shocking, intense, shattering.

His lips move to my neck, skating kisses across my pulse.

“Ben,” I heave.

“Hm?” he murmurs into my skin.

“What are we doing?”

He draws away, glancing up at me devilishly. “I’m kissing your neck.”

“Okay. Cool.” I pull him back up to my lips, tongue plunging into his mouth as his grip glides down to my hips. I drag my fingers through his hair, grasping on tightly as he devours me. God, I’m obsessed with his hair, so thick, soft, and coarse.

His fingers find the base of my oversized sweater, moving underneath to brush against my bare skin.

His hands are warm, sending fire through my body.

I need his hands all over me. We separate so I can pull the sweater over my head and toss it to the side.

Ben aims for my lips again, but pauses before reaching his destination.

“Is that a tattoo?”

I follow his eyes to the French script on the side of my ribs. “Clearly.”

“I like it.” His tender fingers brush over the inked skin, admiring. “What does it mean?”

I huff out a sigh, wondering if this is really the time to talk about my tattoo, as I say, “‘Chacun voit midi à sa porte.’ Literal translation: ‘everyone sees noon at their door.’ It means: everyone sees things in their own way.”

I yank his lips back to mine as he smiles into the kiss.

Eventually, his mouth trails away, moving to my neck again.

This time, he travels down from my neck until he is kissing the top of my breast. Then his lips are tracing over the hard point fighting its way through the thin fabric of my bra.

His hands skim over the lace, gently tugging it down so those lips can meet my tight and pinching nipple.

His mouth is soft, tongue gliding over the peak, then he is gently sucking.

“ Fuck , Ben,” I breathe, hand lacing through his hair, holding him to my chest. His teeth lightly scrape over my nipple, making me whimper. Vaguely, I think I hear something, but I hardly acknowledge it, distracted by the overwhelming sensation of his mouth on my breast.

But then I hear it again. Knocking. And Isla’s voice shouting, “Ben! We’re here!” Knocking again.

“Ben,” I say. Then more firmly, tugging his hair. “Ben.” He pulls away, staring up at me in a daze. “Your sister is here.”

“My sister?”

Isla knocks again.

Then he stands up straight and says, “Shite. My sister.” He fixes my bra so it is again covering me, then fetches my sweater, tossing it my direction.

Isla continues to knock, yelling out Ben’s name.

“Just a second!” he yells back.

I pull the sweater over my head, feeling flushed and a little dazed myself. “I’m going to the bathroom to fix myself up. Re-tuck my sweater.”

His head bobs. “Okay. Okay.”

Isla knocks again.

“Hold on!” Ben yells, looking around in a panic. I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to open the door with the semi he has going on.

I slip away and into the bathroom. My hair is a mess. I run quick fingers through it in an attempt to calm it down. I re-tuck my sweater into my bra so it appears cropped. I need to buy one of those crop-tuck things. Oh hell, my underwear is soaked through.

I hear Ben open the door at last and Isla proclaim, “Finally! Jesus.”

Ben clears his throat. “Sorry. Cooking.”

Rachel laughs. “We saw you and Linny through the window very much not cooking. ”

Isla cackles. “We had agreed to keep that to ourselves, love!”

Well, no point in hiding now that I’ve put myself back together. Though there is still a pulsing in between my legs that I am begging to dull. I exit the bathroom at that moment, saying, “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

Rachel tips her head at me. “We didn’t see anything. Just a lot of kissing and moving.”

Isla shrugs off her coat, tossing it over a chair. “Aye. Still saw too much, in my opinion. Maybe invest in some curtains that close?”

I slip next to Ben, letting him put his arm around me and falling into our act of normalcy even though, oh my god, we were just making out, which is far from normal for us.

“Maybe don’t go peeping in other people’s windows? Feckin’ pervs,” he jokes. He presses a kiss to my head that causes a pang in my chest, then pivots to go take his chicken out of the oven. “Did you bring the wine I asked for?” he calls, setting the tray of chicken atop the stove.

“Naw,” Isla says. “I saw a red I wanted instead.” She pulls out the bottle as evidence.

Ben exits the kitchen, eyes wide. “That is not—I had asked you to get a Sauvignon Blanc. That won’t go with the chicken.”

Isla looks defiant, but Rachel immediately caves, pulling out another bottle of wine from her own bag. The Sauvignon Blanc. “I can’t do this. Here you go.”

Ben takes the wine gratefully, pressing a kiss to the stem. “I like you better than my sister,” he says to Rachel. Or maybe to the bottle of wine.

Isla smirks. “Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t help it. I bought the red for me for another time.”

I take the bottle from him. “I’ll open this. ”

I open the bottle to pour four glasses of wine as Ben finishes up dinner. I ask Rachel how her Ph.D. program is going, and don’t understand a word, but she seems passionate about it. I like that. Also, the way Isla looks at her when she’s talking about it is adorable. She loves her so much.

As per usual, a longing settles in as I mourn something I will never have.

“Linny,” Rachel says, pulling me from my grief, “do you remember that night we ran into you all those months ago outside the café?”

I don’t recall what she’s talking about.

“In August,” Isla adds, seeing the confusion on my face.