Stuffed (Mistletoe, Montana, 7): A Possessive Alpha Holiday Romance Read online

  Yeah. Fuck, yeah, I wanted to do that.

  “I’m sure you’ll do great,” I murmured, my voice sounding even thicker than normal. I couldn’t help it. Seeing her a little bit embarrassed, and letting her voice do that wonderful thing to my entire body, turned me on so much that I couldn’t think straight.

  For the next ten minutes we set her up for next week. She’d be my first class, and I’d planned that on purpose. I wanted her to be my first… everything.

  After she left I still stood there and stared out the front door, wanting her to come back, wanting to lift her up and place that perfect ass of hers on the counter and spread her thighs with my much larger body. I wanted her to feel what she did to me on a very physical level.

  Next weekend I was going to not only teach Wellsie how to bake, but I was also going to admit that I’d been in love with her seemingly my entire life.

  She was it for me. Forever.

  3

  Wellsie

  The following weekend

  I had no idea if it was normal to be this nervous when taking a beginner’s baking class, but then again I assumed the people signing up weren’t in love with their instructor.

  I’d arrived at Beau’s ten minutes before my private class was set to start, and I’d sat in my car right until I’d forced myself to go in and face this. The very idea that I’d be telling Beau how I felt tonight scared the shit out of me.

  But here I was, pulling the front door open, the sun already having set for the evening. Although it was hardly late out. The winter months made it pitch black at hell, six in the evening.

  The bell above the door chimed and I concentrated on brushing off the snow that littered my coat from the short walk from my car into the bakery. The flurries had been off and on all day, the weather cold enough to have a sting piercing any exposed flesh. I didn’t see Beau, but I noticed things were pretty much closed down for the day. There weren’t any baked goods in the display case, but there was always the delicious scent of sweetness and chocolate in the air.

  “I’ll be right there, Wellsie.”

  I closed my eyes at the sound of my name coming from that man. Yeah… I actually closed my eyes. A shiver wracked my body before I got some control and opened my eyes, trying to act like I couldn't orgasm from the sound of Beau’s voice alone.

  And then a second later he was stepping out of the back with a huge smile on his face. He looked absolutely… enthralled as he stared at me.

  “Let me just lock up so we aren’t disturbed.”

  I nodded as I tracked him with my eyes, feeling so small compared to his height and frame. I wasn’t a short woman by any means, not at five-foot-seven, but Beau was so much bigger than me that he made me feel like a waif.

  He locked the front door and turned to face me, that smile still on his face. “You ready for this?”

  Yes. No. God help me not lose my shit right now.

  “Absolutely.” My voice was a squeak, but thankfully it didn’t seem like he noticed as he gestured for me to follow him to the back.

  “Can I take your coat and purse?” He stopped and glanced at me.

  “Oh. Yeah, thanks.” After I handed him the thick wool coat and my purse, he hung them on a hook on the wall I hadn’t noticed before. Then he was leading us to the back room. “Are the baking classes something that’ll be a permanent thing?” I asked, trying to talk about anything and everything to help calm my mind.

  “I have wanted to do them for a while, but didn’t really have the time to invest in it. Figured now was as good a time as any,” he said, and led me deeper into the back. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned wider. “Glad you decided to do one.” I couldn't be sure, but I swore there was a huskier note to his voice when he spoke.

  I focused on the room and was surprised how much space was back here when the front of the store was so intimate. Everything was stainless steel, with industrial sized mixers, ovens, a stovetop, and several long and wide stainless steel tables. And everything gleamed, it was so clean.

  “We're right here,” Logan said, and stopped in front of two more stainless steel tables.

  There was an array of bowls, measuring cups, mixing utensils, and ingredients. For a moment I felt… overwhelmed. “There’s so much,” I whispered, and felt my face heat even more as the words were meant for me alone.

  “It looks more intimidating than it is.”

  I glanced at him and he had this softness to his eyes. I smiled and felt at ease just from the look on his face. “So what are we making?” When I’d set up the class he’d asked if there was anything I wanted to learn to make in particular. Seeing as I tended to burn bread in the toaster, I shrugged and told him anything he picked would be new to me, so I was up for whatever.

  “We’re making macarons.”

  For a second I just stared at him. I wasn’t a master baker, or even a novice one if I were being honest, but I did know macarons weren’t something that would be considered easy. Not by a long shot. I swallowed and looked back at the ingredients. “Aren’t those… really hard to make?”

  “Not if you have a teacher who knows what he’s doing.”

  I looked back at him and he winked before gesturing me over to the other side of the table. There was a bright teal apron draped over the table, and he picked it up and held it out to me.

  He must have seen the hesitance on my face because he gave me a warm smile and said, “You’ll do fine. I promise.” He gestured to the apron again. “Allow me to help?”

  I could see a cupcake embroidered in the center, bright pink with Beau’s Bakery stitched in the center of it. The red cherry in the center popped over the top, and although it was just an apron, it made me nervous as hell. Why did I think I could do this? I wasn’t even talking about the baking aspect, but the actual telling Beau how I felt? I was already a bundle of nerves and we hadn’t even talked about anything of significance.

  For the next twenty minutes I helped him set up the ingredients, measured them out, and all the while Beau explained everything in great detail, but easily enough that I could follow. He explained there were two methods in creating a macaron: Italian or French. We were doing the French version--not that I particularly knew the difference even if he did describe it.

  I’d always thought macarons were at the top of “don’t ever try if you burn water” but taking lessons from Beau gave me some hope I could do this.

  The recipe was simple with a vanilla ganache filling that would be between two soft meringue style strawberry cookies.

  Once we had the batter ready and at the perfect texture, Beau glanced at me and murmured in a deep voice, “I hope this isn’t overwhelming and is easy enough to follow.” I could tell he was being genuine, not wanting me to be overwhelmed.

  I smiled in return and said, “I’ve never had a baking instructor before, but I can imagine you’re the best out there.” I felt my cheeks heat and knew they were probably as pink as the batter. “And thank you for being so patient.” I didn't bother bringing up that this was, in fact, the second batter we’d had to make because I screwed up adding the right amount of almond flour.

  Then it was on to piping out the meringue filling, popping it into the oven, and when we should have been creating the vanilla ganache, we kind of just stood there. So, to keep myself busy because I felt his focus trained right on me, I started cleaning up the almond flour that was scattered along the stainless steel table. I gave an awkward laugh as the flour seemed to just spread more across the surface. It covered my hands and the teal apron, handprints smeared across the bright color.

  “You’re doing really great, Wellsie.” Beau’s voice was close to me, so close that I jumped not realizing he’d been standing so close.

  Fucking hell… there went the hotness on my face again as I looked at him. He was crowding me, all up in my personal space, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I really enjoyed that.

  The smile he gave me, the way he looked at me, had th
is heat filling me that had nothing to do with my nervousness.

  “You probably say that to everyone,” I teased, but sobered when I saw how serious he was.

  “You’re my first class.” He let that hang between us, and I was too surprised to actually form a response. “But even if I’d taught a hundred different classes, my words about how well you did would still be true.” He smiled again, just a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

  “Well, thank you for that,” I muttered shyly, feeling exposed in a way I’d never experienced before.

  “How about we finish off with the ganache?”

  His voice sounded deep, so deep that I snapped my head up because I half expected someone else to be standing in his place. His jaw was locked tight, his focus on me before he looked away and cleared his throat.

  I was thankful for something to help keep my mind off what I wanted to do, and that was say nothing at all and just throw myself into his arms.

  I watched as he started explaining the ingredients for the ganache, the purpose of why we used them and so on and so forth. I wasn’t paying attention because all I could do was stare at his profile. His jaw was square and utterly masculine, and his lips were full, although not pretty, but brutally sexy. He had a very light shadow of a beard coming in, and his nose was straight, full and it fit his face perfectly.

  He stared directly at me combining the ingredients, the mixer doing its thing. I stared at it and tried to focus on the task at hand, but having him so close made it impossible. I could feel his eyes on me so strongly that when I lifted my gaze to his, I got confirmation that he was indeed watching me intently, as if he wouldn’t have been able to break the contact if he tried.

  I didn’t know how long we stared at each other, but a second later he was focusing on the mixer. I could see his mouth moving, but couldn’t have told anyone what he said. All I heard was my own heart beating in my ears.

  “... it has to be the perfect consistency like the meringue,” he said, his voice husky and all male. “See?”

  I made myself look away from him even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. The ganache looked rich and thick. “It looks delicious,” I found myself saying and instantly regretted it. Why the hell did that come out of my mouth? Because you’re not talking about the ganache looking good… but Beau instead. When there was a silence, I glanced at the man in question and sucked in a breath as he stared into my eyes.

  It should be illegal for a man to be that good looking.

  And the longer we stared at each other, the more I felt the air change. It crackled and popped around us, everything becoming so clear, so alive. I watched--in slow motion it seemed--as Beau took a spatula and got a dollop of the ganache onto the silicone. He held it up and hummed in approval. My mouth watered, and it wasn’t for that vanilla filling. The sound he’d just made had me so damn wet.

  “Perfect,” he murmured without taking his eyes off me.

  And then I watched him take a masculine finger, drag it across the spatula, and present it to me.

  “Try it,” he urged in an uber sexy voice.

  I couldn’t breathe. God, I couldn’t breathe. This seemed very intimate all of the sudden. I lifted my hand, about to scoop the ganache off the spatula, but he shook his head slowly and pulled the utensil slightly out of my reach.

  “Let me feed it to you,” he growled, his eyes dipping to my lips, which I then licked. “It’s okay,” he spoke softly, his green focus still trained on my mouth. “Do it. Lick it off. Let me feed it to you.” There was a thick moan laced in his words, and I felt my pulse beating in my ears and the base of my throat… my heart pounding fast and frantically.

  And then I found myself leaning in, parting my lips, and taking the digit into my mouth. Instantly, vanilla sweetness ran along my tongue and taste buds as I sucked on his finger, my focus trained right on his face. He was now staring into my eyes, his pupils totally blown out, his breathing just as haggard as mine.

  His mouth parted ever so slightly, and it was obvious his arousal was rising to the surface and taking over everything.

  Good. I wanted him right there with me, at the same level… or maybe going over.

  I felt my chest rising and falling so hard and fast I was surprised my rapid intake of oxygen wasn’t going to have me passing out. His eyes were locked on my lips, and when I slowly pulled my mouth free of the digit, my tongue making a slow--deliberate--slide along the finger, I heard him growl low, like some kind of animal.

  My body heated up even more. God, why was it so hot in here?

  And then we just stood there, me not knowing what the hell was happening, and Beau looking like he wanted to devour me. All plans to tell him how I felt went out the window as all I thought about was giving myself over completely to these feelings.

  “Beau?” His name came out of my suddenly dry lips so light, almost as airy as the macarons that we were baking.

  And the arousal in my voice was so evident I should have been humiliated.

  He said nothing, just took a step closer until I felt his body heat slam into me, until I was so consumed by the scent of him that I closed my eyes and actually moaned.

  Yes. Moaned.

  “Wellsie,” he groaned, and I opened my eyes, feeling like they were only at half-mast.

  I want you. I’ve wanted you for years. Take me right now, Beau. I don’t care about anything else but you.

  But of course those words stayed in my head, spinning on repeat because I couldn’t have found my voice in that moment to save my life.

  “The way you’re looking at me…” he said without finishing the sentence.

  “What way?” I whispered, wanting to give myself a pat on the back for making my voice box work.

  He stayed silent for a second, just staring into my eyes, as if he had so much to say but couldn’t find the words. And I knew how he felt. I was at that crossroads too.

  “Like you don’t want me to stop,” he whispered in a husky voice.

  I don’t. God… I really don’t.

  Say it. Tell him. Make this your reality.

  His focus was on my mouth, and I felt my lips tingle from that alone.

  There was no way I would stop this. I’d just as soon stop breathing.

  4

  Beau

  “Beau,” she moaned my name and I closed my eyes, letting the sound fill me.

  I was crossing so many lines. I shouldn’t have let them blur right now. I should have waited, asked her out, told her I loved her at least. But something snapped in me, and being this close to her, the intimate space, the scent of her overpowering everything else and short circuiting my brain, had my needs veering off into another direction entirely.

  For fuck sake why did I think it was a good idea to make her lick that ganache off my finger? It had been like I was operating outside of my body, like there wasn’t anything I could do to stop myself from blurring lines without even being honest with her.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” I finally said, looking away, feeling my brows bunch, worrying I’d fucked everything over with Wellsie.

  I started cleaning up, more to keep myself busy because my mind was on the other side of the world right now. There was so much I wanted to say and do, but it was like cement had taken a permanent residence in my throat, closing it up, refusing to let me say a damn thing.

  Christ, the silence was deafening, wrapping around me and making my bones feel brittle, my heart feel heavy.

  I went over to the oven and checked the cookies. “They are ready. See the feet at the bottom of each cookie, the bubbly looking edge?” My voice sounded distant, right and hard because so many things moved through my head that had nothing to do with fucking baked goods.

  I was so damn embarrassed, humiliated because I clearly couldn’t control myself where Wellsie was concerned. And she still had yet to say anything. But I felt her eyes on me, these twin weights that made me feel exposed in a way I’d never felt before.

 
After I got the baking sheet out, and when the silence persisted, I braced my hands on the edge of the table, hung my head and closed my eyes.

  “I’m sorry for taking liberties like that, Wellsie.” My voice so low I didn’t even know if she heard. “That was highly unprofessional of me.” I really tried not to think about her following my lead and licking that ganache off my finger. Fuck, my cock jerked, hardened even more.

  “I love you,” she whispered, and I snapped my head up and looked toward her.

  The earnest sound of her voice, and the way her eyes were so wide as she looked at me, nearly had my knees buckling.

  W-what did she just say? Had I heard her right?

  I still gripped the table, steadying myself, which didn’t do a hell of a lot in the grand scheme of things.

  “I’ve been in love with you for the last three years, Beau, but I was too scared of…” she took a deep breath and slowly shook her head. “I don’t know what I was afraid of, really. Maybe being rejected, scared you’d say there was nothing in your heart that matched mine… I don’t know.” She whispered all of that, her focus on the ground.

  I opened my mouth to tell her that I loved her, too. I tried to form the words that she was my life and had been for as long as I could remember. I wanted to tell her I'd saved myself for her, that there had never been, and would never be another woman for me.

  But none of that came out. I was frozen, every part of me just locked down tight. I was surprised I was even breathing right now because it felt like my lungs had become solid, no oxygen able to penetrate.

  She looked up then, her eyes still wide, the blue irises seeming so bright in that moment as her emotions rose to the surface. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I'm in love with you and doing this whole class,” she said and gestured around us at the kitchen. “It was just a way to get close to you, to hopefully tell you how I felt because I was tired of the feelings eating me up inside.” She took a deep breath and gave me this smile that was too small, too sad.