AllFreeNovel
Share Us
thirty-four
greyson
The trip across the street to Mr. Cream’s Emporium proved to be equally exciting, us acting like lovesick teenagers staring into each other’s eyes as we devour ice cream cones like we want to devour each other.
My daily gratitude journal will read noticeably different after these last several days. I mentally jot down what I’ll write as I watch her tongue that cone.
1. I’m grateful for ice cream. One hint. Scarlett’s mouth. I’ve never gotten so turned on by someone licking dessert.
2. I’m grateful Theo is at camp. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kid, but him being gone allows me to sexify his mom so much, I’m going to be a new man when he gets back. Or an exhausted one. I’m not in my 20’s anymore, but I’ll sure give it a good go.
3. Scar. I’m not sure I have words. I’m grateful for how things turned out. She’s going to be my wife, tied to me in every important way. She and Theo are all I need.
The cool air swirling in the tiny shop does nothing to diminish the heat radiating throughout my body as I stare at her lips around the melting ice cream. The way she laps at the sweet treat brings forth images of her mouth on my dick last night.
“Okay, birthday girl, time’s up. We gotta go.” I discreetly adjust myself under the table.
“But I’m not done.” She gestures to the half-consumed cone.
I lean in and whisper hoarsely, “You are if you don’t want me to take you out the back door and beg you to run that wicked tongue up and down my cock.”
“What if I do?” Her cornflower hues sparkle as she sucks off the ice cream painting her lips.
“I’m getting fucking hard as a rock in a family establishment, babe.” I plead with my eyes, but she shows no mercy on me.
“You brought this on yourself, bad boy. Keep your eyes on your own ice-cream cone next time.” She smirks before swirling through the frozen chocolate treat again.
“Next time, I’m buying dessert to eat at home.” I grumble despite my obvious infatuation with this woman and her methods of torture.
She wipes her mouth with her napkin and leans back in her chair, tapping her pewter-painted nails on the formica tabletop. “I told my mom about us.”
I tense, gripping the side of the table. “How did that go?”
Scarlett’s mother has always been a sore spot for her. I respect the person who gave birth to her, but she’s never known her daughter the way all of us here do.
“I told her you make me smile like Dad used to make her smile and that pretty much shut her up.” She grins and I can’t resist wrapping a hand around the nape of her neck and pulling her in for a kiss, chocolate ice cream and all.
“My mom asked when the wedding was. See? We’re meant to be.” I wink.
* * *
We pullup to the almost complete TAG Center and gape at its pristine exterior. The white stone offset by wooden support beams gleam, large glass windows clear of any handprints sparkle, and wrought iron fencing sections off the sidewalk from the masterful bright green landscaping.
Kellen begrudgingly did a good job.
“Have you talked to Kellen since the disastrous double date?” I ask, hopping down from the truck. I chuck any jealously away—it has no home anymore.
Coming around to join me, she reaches for my hand. “He texted me and wanted to meet up. I shut him down. There’s nothing more to rehash unless it involves the TAG Center. What he did to you was so unfair. I could kick myself for not seeing through him sooner.”
I spin her around to face me and cup her cheeks. “Please don’t blame yourself. He was charming, I get that. I should’ve said something sooner. I didn’t want you to think I was getting in the way of what you wanted to do.”
Scar rises to her tippy toes and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing a soft, warm kiss to my lips. “I appreciate it, but let’s not talk about him anymore. Show me this present you’ve been teasing me about.”
I snag her hand and haul her into the building, the sharp scents of cut pine, plaster, and paint flooding our noses. I don’t tell her, but Kellen gave me the keys and had everyone take the day off so I could surprise her. Maybe he isn’t such a bad guy, however, he won’t be getting an invitation to the wedding.
“Close your eyes, darlin’,” I tell her once we’ve reached the door to one of the unfinished conference rooms. Most of the rooms are still drywall and concrete flooring, but there are walls up and windows installed—a step closer to completion.
“Don’t let me run into anything,” she says, her hands covering her eyes.
