The Lineup(95)

“Jesus Christ, Dottie,” I mutter while dragging my hand over my mouth. I push her long black hair to the side so I can see her elegant neck, lean forward, and insert my cock inside her while placing kisses along her shoulder blade.

Reaching around, I grab both her tits and play with her nipples, rolling them and squeezing them, loving how a simple touch can spur her on even more. She backs into me, moving her pelvis, riding my cock to her own pleasure. I let her find her pleasure, let her take control, or at least, let her think she’s in control.

“God, Jason, you make me so hot.” She’s swiveling her hips now and lowers her hand to her clit where she plays with it, her cries of pleasure reverberating against the cabinets in the kitchen. “Yes, yes,” she breathes out. “Oh my God, Jason.”

My balls ache as my stomach bottoms out, my orgasm coming out of nowhere. I grab her hips and pump hard a few times before she cries out my name, her pussy spasming around my cock, forcing my own orgasm.

I roar against her back, my hips stilling as I come inside her, moving her hips until I’ve completely spilled every last ounce of my passion.

“Christ,” I breathe against her back, laughing at the same time. “That was unexpected.”

She chuckles. “And unsanitary.”

I kiss between her shoulder blades and spin her around. “All the food is on the other side of the kitchen or in the oven. We’re good.” I cup her cheeks and kiss her on the lips. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” With another kiss, she turns and opens her computer that’s on the counter and says, “I’m going to clean up and then answer some emails. Is dinner almost—”

Ding.

“Ready?” she finishes on a laugh.

“Yup. Now we’re in the important phase.”

“What phase is that?”

“The crisping.” I give her one last kiss, don the pink oven mitts that match the ones she gave me, and check the oven. A wave of yummy ham caramelized in brown sugar and pineapple hits me. “Oh babe, this is going to be amazing. The Carltons are going to pick your proposal based on this meal alone.”

She’s hovered over her computer as she says, “They would be crazy not to.”

“Now we’re going to turn this on broil and let it crisp the edges so we get that perfect texture.”

“I’m going to do a quick rinse off and avoid my hair and makeup as best as possible.”

“Why?” I ask, spinning around as she starts to walk away. “Don’t want sex smell on you?”

“Can you not?” She shivers with revulsion. “God, Jason.”

“What?” I laugh. “Bottle that up in a candle for me, especially if it’s a special-edition Dottie scent.”

“That’s right,” she says, walking away, “Get out all the pervy comments now. Let them fly so you’re on your best behavior when they get here.”

“I’m an ace at these things,” I call out as she disappears. “A fucking ace.”

Keeping the oven door open so I have a trained eye on the ham, I rehearse in my head all the thoughtful questions I came up with to ask Mr. and Mrs. Carlton.

How did you two meet?

Was it love at first sight?

Did you—

Ding.

“What was that?” I ask myself, looking around the kitchen. Am I missing a timer?

Ding.

I check the oven, then the counter . . .

Ding.

My eyes fly to Dottie’s computer. Oh, okay. I chuckle to myself, letting the short panic fade. I have everything timed out, and at this point in preparation there should be no extra—hey, why does that email have my name as the subject line?

I glance at the ham and then turn back to the computer, leaning a little closer.

Does it say Jason?

I squint.

Yup, that says Jason.

Maybe it’s a different Jason . . . or maybe it’s about me and the dinner tonight. Should I look at it?

No.

That’s Dottie’s email. She’ll read it and tell me what it says. Right?

What if she doesn’t? What if she’s too nervous to tell me what it says? I don’t want to disappoint her tonight.

I bite my bottom lip and look toward her bedroom.

Maybe a quick glance, just to get the gist of it.

I step away from the oven but then catch myself.

“No,” I mutter, turning away. “That’s her work email. It’s private. If I need to know the information, she’ll tell me.”

Keeping my eye on the ham, I watch the juices spark inside the oven while the email bores a hole in the back of my head.

It’s calling out to me, tapping me on the shoulder, encouraging me to read it, look at it, practically smell it for information.

“Ah,” I groan, pulling on my hair with my oven mitts.

Just a quick once-over.

I glance at the ham one more time. I look down the hallway—the coast is clear—and then I read the email.

Dottie,

I’m assuming everything is set for tonight. I have all the confidence in the world that you can close the deal.

As for Jason, how did he take the news about your fake relationship? I’m assuming okay if he’s willing to go along with tonight. I still feel uncomfortable about you using him for the dinner, but as long as he’s in the know, that’s all that matters.