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Those are the real highs, even more so than unraveling over her naked body and watching her cheeks flush with pleasure while my sweat drips onto her.
Not to understate how fucking incredible that part is.
Today we’re driving to a farmer’s market. It’s hosted bi-weekly at a nearby farm, with venders from all over the area setting up shop. There’s locally grown produce, meat, dairy, baked goods, as well as sellers of artisan knick-knacks.
The place is packed when I pull into the parking area. Not a surprise that so many people had the same idea as us, given how beautiful the day is. It almost has the atmosphere of a local fair, with couples, families, and kids of all ages running around.
I take in a deep breath of the fragrant, rustic air when I step out of my car. The deep, earthy smell of fall mingles with the sweetness of the baked goods and the floral scent of the produce laid out on tables.
Summer rounds the car from her side, and my heart skips a beat when I see her. The way her long, shapely legs clad in black tights swim out from underneath the billowy hem of her roomy sweater is downright breathtaking.
With her hair tied back in a loose, messy bun and a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, she’s the epitome of casual. But put her up against any A-list movie star wearing six figures on her back, and any man would be a fool not to pick Summer.
Am I biased? Maybe. That doesn’t mean I’m not right.
Her hand slides into mine, our fingers interlacing, as we walk around the stalls. Locking my hand in hers just feels so good. So right.
“Oh! I know what we should do today!” Summer exclaims, turning to me with an excited smile.
I dip my lips close to the shell of her ear to answer, “Pull over on one of these empty roads on the drive home and do it in the backseat?”
Summer thwacks me in the chest, though the pink shade in her cheeks tells me she’s far from averse to the idea. “Get your head out of the gutter, Hudson. We should bake a pie. From scratch.”
“Like, scratch, scratch? Our own filling? Our own crust?”
Her head nods excitedly. “Yeah! It’ll be fun. Even if it’s a disaster.”
There’s a stand selling pantry goods. Flour, sugar, everything we could need to try to construct a pie. There’s a pile of apples right next to us, beautiful and splotchy red, giving off a delicious scent.
Baking an apple pie with my girlfriend on a beautiful, sunny fall afternoon? Yeah. That does sound pretty good.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
Summer’s so cute in her excitement as she pulls up a recipe on her phone. We meander around the market, buying everything we need, and a bunch of other stuff that catches our eye.
On the drive back, I bring up my original answer to Summer’s question about pulling over and screwing like crazy in the backseat. She just hits me again and scolds, “How can you be thinking about sex when we have a pie to bake?”
“With you looking like you do right now, very, very easily.”
I’m able to keep it in my pants for now, though. We get back to my place and get to work on the pie, chopping apples, mixing up the filling, and rolling our piecrust flat.
Summer really tests my self-control when she grabs my wrist and slowly licks off a glob of the thick pie filling that’s on it, though.
When the pie’s constructed and we pop it in the oven for forty-five minutes, I scoop Summer up in my arms the second the oven door’s shut.
I don’t know how the pie’s going to turn out, but forty-five minutes is damn sure enough time to march her up the stairs to my room and remind myself just how sweet she tastes.
43
SUMMER
“Summer! You’re here!” If Hudson’s slurred speech didn’t give away how drunk he is right now, the wobbly way he gets his legs underneath him as he rises from the table certainly would.
He takes a big stride towards me and wraps me up in his arms, pulling me so close and tight to him that my breath wheezes out of me like I was an old accordion.
I laugh into his chest. “Hudson, you’re totally wasted.”
“Mhm,” he acknowledges casually, only squeezing me tight and rocking me back and forth in the hug.
