Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking (17 page)

“First of all, I don’t consider how I look to be particularly important. Women find anyone on television attractive and a sex symbol. I don’t think I’m particularly good looking, and I find the whole thing slightly baffling. It’s not like girls found me irresistible before I was famous. Quite the opposite, really.” He laughed self-depreciatively. “I had to work pretty hard to get a girlfriend then, so I don’t think of it as being real now. It’s just something that’s part of the job. I liked that you obviously wanted me but tried to deny it. You saw the man, not just the man on television.”

“Oh. That makes sense on one level, but I can’t imagine anyone not thinking you were incredibly sexy. Every time I see you, I just want to rip your clothes off.”

“Even now?” he asked as his lips found my neck and started kissing in a downward direction.

“Ah…Really? Well, I would, but we’re both still naked.” I had the feeling I was being side-tracked, but I couldn’t remember what we were talking about when he looked at me with that hot, hooded look in his eyes.

“So we are…” His smile turned slightly predatory, and his gaze fixed on my breasts. “How could I not want you? You are all woman, so soft and responsive.” Lust lit his eyes. “I love your breasts.” And then he showed me how much.

Chapter Fourteen

A
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TARTED
. We met as often as we could whenever he was in London. Every few weeks, he’d fly in for a day or two, and we would meet. It was exciting, and I was inexpressibly happy to see him. It felt like the sun had come out again after a long winter. I thought everyone would be able to see my joy. I started to miss him when I didn’t see him for a few weeks, but the anticipation and the time we had together made it worthwhile.

I loved that it was uncomplicated, just the two of us enjoying each other, laughing, having sex. There were no everyday irritations to dampen it, or familiarity to dim the excitement of seeing each other. I felt free to be myself, the self I had been years ago, and I realized I liked the version of me that Anders saw: someone who wasn’t needy and resentful and a little bit angry.

The sex was great because I could just let myself go—I wasn’t holding back, on guard and protecting myself from being hurt. I wasn’t worried that he would reject me, turning away with a thin excuse about being tired. He made me feel like I was the most desirable woman in the world and that he couldn’t get enough of me. It was a miracle cure for my self-esteem as a woman, which had been running low for an impossibly long time. We’re surrounded by so many images of teenagers who are held up as the paragons of beauty, and any woman over the age of twenty-five is past her use-by date. By her late-thirties, forget it. Bring on the wise old crone.

“You’re supposed to be this amazing cook. When do I get to taste something that you’ve made?” We hadn’t made it to the bed and were lying side by side on the carpet in the lounge room of the hotel suite, catching our breath.

“That’s a fairly random request!” I said, laughing. “I can’t even think yet.”

“Well, one appetite is sated, so I can start thinking about the others. For a little while anyway.” He smiled as he started running his hands over my bottom.

“Well, if I keep all your appetites satisfied, you’ll keep me satisfied?” I grinned at him.

“Deal,” he said, giving me a light smack.

“Cheeky,” I muttered at him.

I started baking for Anders. Every time we would meet, I would bring something, and we would eat it together, usually still naked in bed. The first time I brought him a chocolate brownie. It was a beautiful recipe, simple and easy, all the ingredients together in a bowl, a rich mixture of butter, chocolate, and eggs, still soft and luscious in the middle but crispy and caramelized on the outside.

Anders sat up against the headboard in the white-sheeted bed, eating and groaning in delight. Dark crumbs dotted his abs and thighs, and I leaned over and licked them off. He held the brownie over the curve of my hip and sprinkled the last of the cake on me. He then pounced, tickling me with his lips as he enthusiastically cleaned me off, pinning me down until I was nearly crying with laughter.

“More,” he laughed. “That was nowhere near enough. How could you torture me by only bringing one?”

Next I brought a small raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake. Anders wolfed it down, laughingly refusing me any but the smallest bite and licking his fingers with relish.

“Amazing,” was all he said before kissing me deeply, the smooth taste of sweet vanilla-laced cheese still in his mouth.

“You are amazing. Lie back,” I said.

Raising one eyebrow, he complied, lacing his hands behind his head, making his biceps bulge. I climbed on top of him, resting back on his thighs. My gaze roamed hungrily over his spectacular body, laid out like a gift in front of me. I ran my hands down the muscles of his chest with its umbrella of springy dark blond hair, tracing its path down. His stomach muscles jerked as I moved closer, his cock starting to swell again. I ran my fingers lightly down his length and lower, testing a weight of his balls, making him groan.

“Don’t move,” I cautioned before lowering myself between his legs. He watched me with hungry eyes as I reached out with my tongue to lick him. I started at the wide base of him, holding him firmly as he grew larger. He had to be nine magnificent solid inches, his cock completely in proportion with the rest of him. He was so hard under the surface of soft skin, the engorged purple head as soft as velvet.

I swirled my tongue over the top, keeping eye contact with him until his head rolled back as I lowered my mouth to take as much of him in as I could. I could only get half way before I had to come back up. I licked both my palms to lubricate them and wrapped them around the lower half as one hand was not enough to encase him and used my hands, together with my mouth, to pleasure him. I reached a rhythm of sucking and massaging until he quivered with the need to move.

Breaking finally, his hands dove into my hair, wrapping his fingers in the strands as he rolled us sideways so he could use his hips to thrust into my mouth. His wild groans and incoherent words turned me on, and I sucked harder and opened my mouth wider to take more of him in. Just when he reached the point where it was almost too much, he was too big and his movements too forceful, he started shaking and came hard with a loud yell, the cream of his come bursting into my mouth. I swallowed hurriedly as more came pouring out, taking all of him and licking him to the finish. He fell back onto the bed, still moaning. I moved up beside him on the pillow, grinning at the boneless mass I had turned him into. He reached over and pulled me to him in a tight hug, still panting. I gave him a few moments.

“Fuck me,” he swore.

“Yes, I think I did.” I laughed quietly at him.

“Thank you.” His mouth found mine and, through his lips and tongue, showed me his gratitude.

“I assure you, it was my pleasure.” I smiled.

I started planning the food with more thought than my outfit. After all, it’s not like I was wearing clothes for very long. As soon as the door closed, we started fumbling for buttons and zippers in our haste to be together. It is only surprising that I never gave in to the temptation to just wear elasticized clothing. Anders, being already in the room, was often already naked, just wrapped in a towel like a big gorgeous present. I loved the way he became aroused so quickly at the mere sight of me. There is nothing better for the female libido than being desired so openly. So many months and our appetite for each other was still as strong as when we met. After sating ourselves, we would eat whatever treat I’d brought with me: tiny vanilla cakes topped with sweet decorations, brown ale chocolate cake with tangy cream cheese icing, spiced biscuits with zesty lemon filling, yeasty cinnamon buns still warm from the oven, creamy vanilla tarts with light flaky pastry topped with luscious berries, chocolate truffles boozy with whisky.

“Come here.” He beckoned me from the bed where he sat naked, legs outstretched, polishing off a cinnamon-sugar-coated baked doughnut. I sauntered over, intrigued by the twinkle in his eye. He rose to attention as I climbed up the bed toward him.

“I want to eat you then the last bun as I fuck you.”

“Really?” I laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Multitasking?”

“Two sins for the price of one.” He licked the sugar crystals off his fingers and, grasping my hips, pulled me up as he slid under and between my thighs. His tongue connected with my clit and danced enticingly around it. Working his hands underneath me, he held my lips apart so he could torment me more easily. Floods of pleasure flowed through me, peaking again and again until I was unable to stand it. I tried to get away, but he held me there easily, fingers digging firmly into my electrified flesh as the pleasure and pain combined to make me scream my final orgasm. He let me go, and exhausted, I went to climb off him, but before I could collapse in a heap, he moved up the bed. Gripping the base of his erection with one hand, he held it straight up.

“Come and sit on my cock.” His smile was wicked. I swung my leg over to straddle him again. Pulling me down remorselessly onto his straining erection, I could barely endure the sensation of him stretching my overly sensitized flesh, and I sat there, waiting for my body to adjust to the sudden invasion. Through slitted eyelids, I watched him reach for another doughnut before he started to grind his hips upward. My hand reached down to steady myself on his hard stomach as we started to move faster into each other.

“Fuck, it doesn’t get better than this.” Taking one last bite, he pulled me down to him, and I licked the sugar coating off his lips before he took me hard, body and soul.

I felt reinvigorated by Anders. I baked from a place of joy, new recipes flowing with an ease I hadn’t experienced before. Even when they didn’t work out, it didn’t bother me as much, and solutions and new ideas popped into my head almost immediately, as if once an idea was out, it made room for another to take its place. I was just so happy whenever I saw him and wanted to share my elation, but there was no one I could tell without destroying the source of my happiness. I decided to call my new book
The Temptations of Saint Kate
. It seemed fitting. The only downside was that my muse could never be acknowledged or thanked for his huge part in it.

Anders could easily have taken over my every waking minute, except for the constraints of distance. In a good month, there were only a few days we could actually be together, and I think that is why I was able to maintain a normal façade with Jack. It also helped that the kids came home some weekends, which provided a distraction and reminded me why I wanted to be a family with Jack. It wasn’t as if we ever fought, or life was unpleasant with him, but there was a fundamental piece that was lacking. I’m sure Jack knew something was going on with me, but he never asked or said anything to intimate that he knew. He wasn’t blind, though, and I’m sure it was obvious that something in my manner toward him had changed. But, still, at those moments we were together as a family, I was happy, just in a different way.

We were at Rupert and Bats’ place for a party, all our children together, sitting down for an informal dinner. I looked around as I sipped a glass of wine, seeing everyone content and happy. I felt a welling up of contentment; it wasn’t the exuberance I had with Anders, but still a quiet happy that was calm and nurturing, and almost as satisfying.

But just as I acknowledged the worth of what I had with Jack, a dark pit of guilt opened in my soul, and the stupidity of the risk I was taking having an affair, however happy it made me, could easily cost me my family and friends. I tried to hide the sudden anguish I felt at the possibility of losing this. Unable to help myself, I rose and, with the pretense of checking on my boys, gave them a quick hug.

“Hey, Mums. What was that for?” Edward asked.

“No reason. It’s just good to see you.”

“Uh huh,” he said, looking at me strangely. I ruffled his hair and went to find Bats in case she needed help.

On Sunday night, the children left again, and it was back to the two of us, and the happy feeling came less frequently. If it had gone entirely, then I would have known my marriage was over and the decision to leave would have been easier, but that wasn’t the case. I still loved Jack, though the passion had abated and was covered by a hardened shell of unresolved issues. At times, it got so bad that I was one word away from ending it. I felt so overwhelmed by anger and frustration that I was poised, just waiting for one more thing to push me over that brink. But it was as if he knew subconsciously and never crossed that line.

Summer came, and everyone was a bit more joyful in the heat. With the long days of sunshine that beautiful summer, I didn’t even stand out as being more cheerful than most. As the days lost their heat, I was still warmed by the glow of my secret lover and the delight of stolen moments together, though they were harder to come by. Anders’ filming schedule had also picked up pace, and he was unable to get away as often. Also, the shooting season had started, and we were away so many weekends. With a more casual dinner on the Friday night and the formal dinner on the Saturday night, after the shooting, we didn’t get back to London until Sunday lunch at the earliest.

“Corridor creep” was not uncommon at these house parties, but while Jack’s parents’ generation talked about it quite openly, it was done more quietly by ours. Still, mistakes were made, particularly after several bottles of wine had been consumed at dinner, along with lots of whisky or gin before and afterward.