Never Said I Didn't by Purelyamuse

So . . . remember when I posted this? Um, a year ago. Well, yeah. Sorry about that. I wrote the whole story a year ago, and then it sat there while I wrote other stories, editied other stories, and posted other stories. Well, I'm happy to say Never Said I Didn't has finally been beta'd and edited, and it is all ready to go! I will start posting this baby on Friday and will update twice a week. Thanks for following me and reading my words and being generally awesome.

And in thanks for being awesome, another teaser (this is not from ch 1, just fyi) . . .

Perfect banner by @TwistedLea

“Wanna go to my room?” I ask, but she denies me.

“Your dad’s not an imbecile.”

“Wanna get some toilet paper? The bathrooms are low. It’s all the way out in the garage. I bet it takes us awhile to find it. We could be gone a whole, oh,” I say, glancing at my non-existent watch, “five minutes, I’d say.”

“You’re a dork,” she says.

“You love it, I know.”

“Never said I didn’t. Cookies?”

“Yes, please.”

“Any requests?” She begins rifling through cabinets and gathering the basics: flour, sugar, baking soda.

“Gran’s oatmeal raisin.”

“Okay, on it.”

She gets started, getting all the supplies, and I stand in her way. What else am I going to do? She begins stirring ingredients in a heavy metal bowl on the counter, her right foot pressed against her left knee, like always. Only this time she’s wearing black and white striped socks. She looks like a zebra. A flamingo zebra.

I watch her carefully, enjoying her in my kitchen, making me delicious treats. I taste the dough as she goes. I’m a tasting expert. Gran Swan always told me I was, and she never lied. She even said Bella would someday learn all of her best recipes. That’s turned out to be true; these cookies are on that list.

I clean off my spoon, the sugary goodness dissolving on my tongue. I share my thanks with Bella by brushing her neck with my lips. She leans her head back on my shoulder, exposing her neck. I kiss her there more forcefully, and she grips the countertop. I want to turn her around, lift her up onto it, and press myself against her. But I can’t because my dad is still shuffling pages of the newspaper in the living room.

So I have to get creative. The island is blocking his view of our lower halves, so I aim there. I wrap my hands around her waist, my chin pressed to her shoulder, and she starts on the cookies again, this time mixing in the raisins. As she stirs my hands wander, timidly brushing up and down her ribcage, then following down her tiny waist to her full hips and lower still. I get both hands nearly wrapped around her thighs and squeeze when she lets out a little squeak.

She exhales loudly and brushes her hair back. “What were you saying about toilet paper? You needed some, right?” She pushes me toward the pantry which leads to the garage, and once we’re through the door, I’m pressed against the shelving, being molested. Hell, yes.

She presses her hands to my chest and kisses me, full on the mouth. She’s not playing around one bit. I wrap my hands around her back to pull her close, but she slaps them away.

“Okay, stop touching me. I'm making Gran's cookies, and your dad is, like, right there.” She’s trying to be stern, but it’s not really working because her lips are darker now from kissing, which makes me want to do it again.

“I'm sorry.”

She narrows her eyes and pulls her lips to one side. “You are not.”

“I'm totally not sorry,” I admit.

She turns, but I stop her, pulling her in again. "Where’re you going? Toilet paper takes a long time to . . ." I let my words dissolve when my mouth makes contact with hers again. Damn, she can kiss. I can't believe I've been missing out on this all these years.

She pulls away and presses her fingers to her lips. What is she doing? Checking if they're still there?

“I can't believe this,” she whispers before backing out of the pantry, a warning finger held out in front of her. Yeah, that'll work. “No more touching." I shove my hands in my pockets. She adds, “And put a shirt on"

“I'll put a shirt on if you lose those sexy socks.”

“What? They're stripes. And knee socks are either nerdy or sporty and . . .”

“They've played a huge part in my dreams as of late. That’s all I’m saying.”

Her eyes go wide, and she giggles. "Really?"

“You have amazing legs, Bella.”

She puts her hands on her hips, disbelieving. “Okay, now you're being stupid.”

“Stupid in love.”

“I have to finish these cookies,” she says abruptly and leaves the pantry.

I stay there a few minutes to cool off. It doesn't help because when I exit the door, she’s bent over at the waist putting the cookies in the oven.