I honestly did my best not to ogle her, but I lost that battle after about ten seconds. She was dressed more casually than I’d ever seen her: skintight black leggings with bright purple leg warmers straight out of an 80s jazzercise video, and a bright yellow tank top that was intentionally way too big, knotted under her breasts to show her entire midriff, the whole thing hanging off of one shoulder, showing a violently orange sports bra. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail low on her neck and draped over her right shoulder. She had a white handprint on each ass cheek, flour on her cheekbones and dusted across her nose.
The woman was stupid fucking sexy. Those leggings were basically just black nylons; so tight they were like a second skin, showing off the strong curves of her legs and highlighting
the thick, juicy, upside-down heart-shaped perfection of her ass. And the top? Even a sports bra and baggy tank top couldn’t hide the bulging, heavy roundness of her enormous tits, and the way she had the tank top knotted up right under them to show off her torso from diaphragm to hipbones. She had fit, toned flat abs and a narrow waistline—she had an honest-to-god hourglass figure, and I had to fight a fucking hard-on every moment she was around.
Mostly because every time I looked at her, I remembered meeting her for the first time at the hospital all those months ago. We’d all been there visiting my dad, but she had not hesitated ducking into an empty room with me. My intention had been to slip on a condom and just fuck her on the bed, or even up against the wall, but she’d had other ideas. Such as pushing me down into the cheap, uncomfortable hospital recliner beside the door, yanking my jeans down around my ankles, and wrapping those plump lips around my cock. She’d had on lipstick that was a bright, vivid scarlet—I remember that very clearly because when I went home and took a shower, I’d had that red lipstick smeared in messy rings on my cock.
Shit. I’d been home for less than two minutes and I already had a semi. I was forced to think about forest fires, and bald, angry principals and sad puppies to get it to go away.
Of course, Izzy sauntering away from me didn’t help, because those handprints on her butt shook and jiggled and swayed with every step, hypnotizing me, begging me to put my hands on those handprints.
I had to suppress a snarl as I followed her around the island to the stove, where the goodies were. “Can I grab a couple cookies?” I asked, reaching for them.
I got whacked across the hand with a spatula. “Ah-ah-ah!” Kitty said, giggling. “Not yet. They’re not cool yet.”
I had to stop myself from snatching the spatula from her. “I don’t care. I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m fuckin’ starved, and I need those cookies.” I reached again for a cookie.
And got my hand smacked, this time by Izzy. “No! They’re for a fundraiser at Ink tomorrow morning. You can’t have any!”
I did snatch the spatula from her. “Just gimme one, goddammit.”
She lunged for the spatula, and I held it out of reach, not bothering to hide the fact that my eyes were following the bounce of her boobs.
“Give that back!” she snapped, jumping and grabbing it from me, whacking me not just once more, but twice with it. “And quit leering at me, you bloody caveman!”
I grabbed a cookie off the tray and danced out of reach before I could get my hand smacked again. “I’m taking one whether you like it or not. And if you wear clothes like that, it’s because you want to be leered at.”
She stopped, one hand on her hip, the other clutching her wine glass, eyes blazing. “That is the most disgusting, chauvinistic, sexist bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life, Ramsey Badd. Surely you can’t be that much of an unevolved Neanderthal, can you?”
I lifted my chin in defiance. “You like being admired, and you know it.”
“I dress to look nice. I dress to be comfortable, to feel good, and to look good—for myself. Not for asshole men like you to stare at me.”
“You wear pants so tight I can see every dimple on your ass, so I’m gonna look.”
Izzy narrowed her eyes at me. “I do not have dimples on my ass, fuck you very much. My ass is smooth as silk, and you’re just pissy because you can’t have it.”
I was tempted to throw our little hospital rendezvous in her face, but with Kitty and Juneau around I didn’t dare—and I think she was gambling on that. We had an unspoken agreement that, as far as anyone else knew, it had never happened, and that we wouldn’t acknowledge it to one another.
Not really sure why we’ve both insisted on holding to that arrangement, but we have for the past year. People may suspect something happened, but I know I haven’t breathed a word to my brothers, or cousins, or anyone else about what happened. In fact, the only reason I know it happened at all is my memory of it, and even that could be chalked up to a fever dream, or some kind of warped fantasy.
However, standing here facing off against Izzy, a still-warm and gooey chocolate chip cookie in my hand, I knew exactly what she looked like under those leggings. I knew what her creamy pale thighs looked like—and I knew she was probably commando under those leggings. I also knew she kept her pussy waxed totally bare, and I knew she liked to scream…loud. I knew she came more easily and more readily than any woman I’ve ever laid eyes, hands, or mouth on—and fuck, if I could get her naked and alone for, say, two hours, I could probably make her come so hard she’d pass out.
Fuck it. Seriously, fuck it.
I took two long steps toward her, stopping to stand directly in front of her, mere inches separating us. I sank my teeth into the cookie, staring at her the whole while. I ate the whole thing in two bites, licked chocolate off my thumb and forefinger and then smirked at her.
“Trust me, babe, I know exactly how silky smooth your ass is,” I whispered. I felt a rush of guilty bemusement at the sharp gasp she gave me, and the way her hazel eyes flared wide. “That’s not something I’ll forget.”
“You bastard,” she hissed.
“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed?” I went on, definitely pushing my luck. “I’m not. You tasted sweeter than that fucking cookie.”
“I knew it!” Kitty crowed. “You guys did screw!”
Izzy whirled on her friend. “We did not.”
I leaned against the island. “She ain’t lying. We didn’t fuck.”
Izzy glared at me. “You can just shut up,” she snapped. “You’ve helped enough. Now get the fuck out of here.”
I smirked. “Sorry, babe, but this does happen to be my apartment.”
“Don’t call me babe!” she snarled, stepping up into my space. “And fine—we’ll leave. Come on, girls. We’re taking this baking party somewhere else.” She whirled away.
Kitty and Juneau exchanged glances.
“Ummm, Izz?” Juneau said, making an apologetic face. “We kind of…can’t. We have a batch of cookies in the oven, three batches cooling, and two more ready to go in. We’re kind of committed.”
Izzy groaned, tilting her head back. “Dammit.” She glared daggers at me. “You had to show up and ruin everything, didn’t you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t see how I ruined anything. The cookies are fantastic.” I snagged another one and sauntered away. “Seriously, babe, these are fuckin’ delicious.”
“QUIT CALLING ME BABE!” she shouted.
I paused in the hallway. “Gonna make me?”
She growled, and I felt a rush of arousal at the fierce look in her eyes, the wild, angry way she stomped down the hallway toward me, every curve bouncing and jouncing. “You, Ramsey Badd, are a fucking asshole.”
I smirked. “Yup, ’fraid so.”
Her hand flashed up and smacked me across the face—and fuck, it stung, but I forced myself to not react.
“Oooh,” I taunted. “You slapped me. I’m so upset!”
She howled in rage and went to slap me again, but this time I caught her wrist. “Let me go!”
I stared her down. “You get one for free, because I’m being a dick. But that’s all you get for free.” I held her wrist a
nd dragged her closer to me, until our bodies met—her breasts and my chest, our hips, our thighs, everything but our noses. “I’m sick of the game, Izz. I’m sick of pretending nothing fuckin’ happened between us. It did, and I enjoyed the shit out of it. Hell, I’ll be the first to admit I wouldn’t mind revisiting what happened.”
I paused, and let the silence draw out, let her shake and tremble in anger and arousal.
When I continued, it was in a whisper only she could hear. “I’d like to get you totally naked next time, though. If I can make you scream the way I did with just my tongue…? Ohhh, honey. I got ten fingers and a big fat cock—I could make you scream so loud the neighbors would call the cops.”
“You big, stupid, arrogant son of a bitch,” she snarled, yanking at my grip.
“Got most of that right—I’m big, I’m arrogant, and I’m a son of a bitch, literally and figuratively. I ain’t stupid, though.” I slowly, gradually released the pressure on her wrist, letting her go. “And Izzy?”
She yanked her wrist away. “What?” she huffed.
I moved in, telegraphing my intentions so there would be no doubt, no mistake, no confusion. Just so it was clear—I didn’t slam my mouth against hers; it wasn’t a kiss so sudden she couldn’t have pulled away.
But she chose not to.
She watched me close in, her eyes on mine, still angry, but now the anger was laced with conflict: it was in the subtle way she parted her lips speaking of arousal, the way she sucked in a breath speaking of readiness.
I slanted my lips against hers, slid my tongue along her lower lip, nuzzling, shifting my mouth, brushing my nose against hers, and not quite firmly latching our mouths together.
She actually, literally, growled like a trapped wildcat and pushed up against me to finish the kiss, and she was the one to turn it hot, to make it aroused and erotic, her tongue slashing against mine and my tongue being sucked into her mouth. Her fists knotted into my hoodie, hauling me down and refusing to relent from the kiss, refusing to back away or give up. Classic Izzy.
For my part, I growled into her mouth and tasted her tongue and bit down on her lip as she hauled me down. I couldn’t help a huff of amused, aroused laughter from rumbling through my chest, which quickly turned into a groan of frustrated need as she pushed against me, flattening those big soft melons of hers against my chest, pressing her hips into mine, a moan of her own escaping as she felt the evidence of how this kiss was affecting me.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, placed a hand on the back of her head; my right arm was tight around her waist, cupping her right hip, and when she moaned into my mouth, my hand slid, entirely of its own accord, around to grip her ass cheek.
She pushed her hips against mine, and then huffed into my mouth as she pulled her lips away from mine, briefly touching her forehead to mine.
And then she backed away, lips firming into a thin hard line, eyes narrowing. “Now you know what you’ll never have,” she said, her voice sharp and snippy.
I just laughed, a harsh, sarcastic chuckle. “Who you think you’re teasin’, sweetheart?” I smirked at her, licking my upper lip suggestively. “Yourself, as much as me, that’s who.”
She growled, sounding more than ever like a pissed off wildcat. “Fuck you.”
“Is that a promise?” I reached up and brushed a dusting of flour off the bridge of her nose with the pad of my thumb. “You know what sucks for you? You can’t even do a dramatic exit right now, ’cause you’re in my house. I’ll tell you what—I’ll save you the effort and go into my room, and I’ll stay there till you girls are done baking. I’ll even offer to clean up after you, if you leave me some cookies and brownies.”
She had nothing to say to that so she whirled around, stomping—or rather, flouncing—back toward the kitchen.
I waited until she was at the end of the hallway, and then called her name. “Izz?”
She turned with a haughty look in her eye. “What, Ramsey?”
“I’ll be thinking about you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t waste your time. I know I won’t be thinking about you.”
I just laughed, opening my bedroom door. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a shitty liar?”
My reward was another of those maddened wildcat snarls, which only prompted me to laugh all the more as I went into my room and closed the door behind me.
I found myself licking my lips as I flopped onto my bed. The question was…
Which was sweeter—her lips, or that cookie?
2
Izzy
I knew I was being ridiculous as I stomped angrily back into the kitchen, but my blood was boiling. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever made me so mad—well, short of Tracey, the Evil Stepmother From Hell, but she was a special kind of vile. Average, non-Satanic people simply didn’t have the ability to affect me emotionally the way Ramsey was currently affecting me.
Kitty and Juneau were rolling dough into balls and pretending to not have heard any of the preceding events as I stormed into the kitchen. They both slowly, warily, lowered their spoons and dough balls to the counter.
“Ummmm…what just happened, Izzy?” Kitty asked.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I mumbled, doing my damnedest not to take my ire out on my best friends.
Juneau peered at me through narrowed eyes. “Izzy…” She slid closer to me, a ghost of a smirk dancing across her features. “Did you and Ramsey…?”
“No.” I kept my eyes on the cookie dough, but wasn’t really paying attention to what I was doing.
Juneau burst out laughing, and then immediately stifled it. “You did!”
Kitty looked at me more closely, then—specifically, at my mouth. “HOLY SHIT! You kissed him!”
“Did not.” Again, I knew I was being patently ridiculous—my lipstick was certainly smeared, and my lips were probably swollen. It had been a hell of a kiss.
Kitty stood in front of me and grabbed me by my arms. “Isadora Styles. It’s us. Don’t lie to us.” She wiped at the lower edge of my lower lip with her thumb. “Your lipstick is messed up, and your lips are swollen, and I’ve never seen you this flustered.”
My eyes snapped up to hers. “I’m not fucking flustered!”
She just arched her eyebrows. “Oh no? When was the last time you yelled at me like that?”
“I’m not yelling!” I yelled.
I looked down at my hands and realized I’d rolled enough dough into a ball to make a cookie nearly a foot across. In an annoyed sigh, I tore the ball in half and then in quarters, and then rolled the pieces into balls, and set them on the baking sheet. And then, out of sheer desperation to keep from screaming, I shoved the fourth quarter of raw cookie dough into my mouth.
“Sorry,” I said, around the mouthful of dough. “I’m being a bitch.” Although, it sounded more like: Saw-hee. I’m be-uh a bih.
Kitty covered a grin with her hand. “Izzy. Just…just talk to us.”
I finished chewing and swallowing, my head ducked down, trying to breathe slowly and calm my pulse. “He makes me furious. I become unreasonably angry for little or no reason at all.” I toss my ponytail behind my back. “I don’t even get it. All he has to do is—is look at me and my blood boils. He strings two words together and I go insane. It’s embarrassing.”
Juneau laughed as she resumed rolling cookie dough into balls. “Oh boy, do I understand that. Remington has the same effect on me. I’ve been dating him for a year, and he can still make me crazy like that.”
Kitty laughed too, taking the trays out of the oven as the timer beeped. “I think it’s a Badd thing: all Badd males have an innate capacity to make you unreasonably angry with a single look.” She set the hot trays on the counter and slid the prepared trays of cookies into the oven and reset the timer. “Bast, Bax, Brock, the twins, all of them can do that. Xavier not as much, or at least not in the same way. He has a bunch of odd little quirks that can be infuriating sometimes, though. A
nd god knows Rome has the ability to make my head explode.”
“I hate it, though,” I said. “I’ve always prided myself on staying pretty even-keeled most of the time.”
Kitty and Juneau exchanged long, meaningful glances, and then both burst out in hysterical laughter. Kitty, gasping, bent over double, stumbled over to me, and wrapped me in a slow, tender hug that somehow managed to be gallingly condescending.
“Ohhhh honey,” she murmured. Yep, her voice was dripping with condescension. “You are the least even-keeled person I’ve ever met.”
I frowned at her, pushing her away. “I resent that, Katerina Maureen Quinn,” I snap.
She arched an eyebrow at me. “Ooh, the full name,” she said, faking a shiver of fear. She cupped my face and kissed my forehead. “Isadora, sweetheart, darling, my best friend. You are not even-keeled at all. You’re excitable, spastic, impulsive, and unpredictable. And that’s part of why we love you so much.”
“I—” I cut myself off, mouth flapping. “Okay, fine. But how often do I get truly angry at anyone?”
She rolled a shoulder. “You’re right—you don’t get actually, truly angry all that often.”
“That’s all I meant—I’m even-keeled in that I don’t get angry, and Ram just makes me so—fucking—angry. And I don’t like that.”
“It’s because you like him,” Juneau said.
“I do not. I hate him.”
“At this point?” Juneau grinned at me. “It’s basically the same thing.”
“That’s stupid,” I said. “Hating someone and liking them aren’t even remotely the same thing.”
She snorted. “Do you even remember eighth-grade crushes?”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, sure, but we’re not in eighth grade anymore. I’m thirty years old.”
“Doesn’t mean you’ve matured past that emotionally, though.”
I looked up from cookie prep and frowned. “You’re calling me an emotional eighth grader?”
She nodded. “Yep.”
I glared. “Well, screw you too.”