The Lake House Had One Bed Left for Our Parents' Wedding Week, So I Shared It With My Soon-to-Be Stepbrother novel · Chapter 16 of 24

Chapter 16: Oven Light

The oven light was the only light on in the kitchen, and it made everything look like a church.

It was two in the afternoon.

The curtains over the sink were pulled against the sun, and the whole house had gone quiet and gold.

Judy had taken my father, six cousins, and a station wagon full of folding chairs into town for his suit.

She had left behind two people and four cherry pies.

"They come out at three-ten," she'd said at the door, handing me a dish towel like a sword. "Not three-eleven. You two stay here and be furious at each other where I can't hear it."

I'd said I would try.

Now I sat on the counter beside the stove with my sundress up around my thighs.

Jack stood between my knees with his hands flat on the Formica on either side of my hips.

"Three-ten," he said.

"We have an hour and ten minutes."

"That's not nearly enough."

"Then stop talking."

He kissed me.

It was slow, and it was thorough, and it tasted like the coffee he'd stolen from my father's mug.

He kissed me until my back hit the cabinet behind me and my heels hooked behind his thighs.

"She wants us at opposite ends of the table tonight," I murmured.

"Let her."

"She wants us to watch each other."

"Kate." His mouth slid down my throat. "I'm going to watch you for the rest of my life. Tonight I'd like to watch you in a kitchen."

I laughed, and the laugh turned into a gasp when his hand slid up my thigh and pulled the cotton of my underwear aside.

"No," I said.

"No?"

"Not yet. Take it off me."

He peeled it down my legs, slowly, and dropped it on the floor.

Then he went on his knees on the linoleum.

Looked up at me from between my thighs with the oven light behind him like a halo.

"Cherry filling," he said.

"What?"

"Judy said not to touch the second tray. It's cooling by the window."

"Jack."

"She didn't say anything about the bowl."

He stood, crossed to the sink, and came back with a wooden spoon, dark red and glossy, still warm from the saucepan.

I stared at it.

"You are not."

"I'm very much going to."

He drew the spoon down the inside of my left knee.

It was hot, sticky and sweet, and I jumped.

"Hold still," he said gently. "You're doing so well."

He painted a slow line up the inside of my thigh.

He painted another, and by the time he set the spoon in the sink I was shaking.

He put his mouth on the first line, low on my knee, and licked it off.

"Mm," said Jack. "Lemon, and a little almond. Judy's good."

"Don't talk about your mother while you're."

"Fair."

He worked his way up.

His tongue was hot, and the cherry was sticky, and every swipe of his mouth left a trail that cooled in the air.

He kissed and licked and sucked at my thighs until the sweetness was gone.

By then I was gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, breathing.

He reached my hip.

He reached the crease where my leg met my body, and he stopped there, with his breath on me.

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