She liked it a lot.
As Sally collapsed on Prentice’s chest, her eyes never left Elle and she announced, “Me and Jace have made you muffins!”
Fear shot through Elle at the very thought of Sally and Jason operating the oven.
“You what?” she whispered.
Prentice’s voice was a great deal more effective when he asked, low and vibrating, “I’m sorry?”
“We didn’t cook them.” They heard from across the room and all the inhabitants of the bed looked to the door.
Jason was standing there, his stance awkward, his expression showing, quite clearly, he didn’t know what to make of the goings-on in the bed.
Elle’s body went tight.
And when it did, so did Prentice’s arm.
“We just made them and put the batter in the tin. We thought Elle could cook them,” Jason gamely continued, still obviously uncomfortable.
It was then it hit her that Jason called her Elle. Not only then but he and Sally had been doing it for days. Even in front of Prentice, who never corrected them.
She felt something relax deep inside her, something that had been coiled tight for so long she didn’t know it could relax.
But it did.
“I’ll cook them,” Prentice offered, completely unaware of the momentous event that happened someplace deep inside Elle. “How’d you make them, Jace?”
Jason looked to the floor, shuffled his feet and mumbled, “One of Mum’s cookbooks.” He took in a deep breath and looked at the wall. “Mum never made them though.” His eyes skittered to the bed then to the opposite wall before he finished, “They’re blueberry. We used the leftovers.”
Elle’s heart went out to him and she wanted to say something, she just had no clue what to say.
Sally, on the other hand, never had any problem knowing what to say.
“Jace decided that we should make Elle breakfast to pay her back, since she’s always making us breakfast.” Sally grinned at her father. “We had fun.”
Elle wondered briefly what Sally’s version of fun did to the kitchen.
Then she looked to Jason and said softly, “Thank you, honey.”
Jason didn’t reply. He looked like he was willing himself to spontaneously combust.
Then he muttered, “I’ll just go and –”
Prentice cut him off by calling, “Hey mate, I’ve a question for you.”
Jason eyes hesitantly went to his father.
Prentice kept talking. “What do you think, is Elle ticklish or no’?”
Elle’s body went tight again as Prentice’s arm locked around her and Sally’s head snapped to the side to look at her.
Elle tried to jerk away, saying warningly, “Pren –”
“Aye!” Sally squealed. “I think she is!”
Then Sally pounced.
Prentice turned to Elle. As Sally wriggled and writhed, trying to get to Elle’s ticklish spots with her fast-moving, little girl fingers, Prentice held her against him with one arm and tickled her with his free hand.
Relentlessly.
But then Prentice knew where her ticklish spots were already.
Giggling so helplessly she could barely move, she managed to turn her back to Prentice but he kept her close and continued tickling her. Finally getting control of Sally’s squirming body and tickling hands, Elle pinned Sally’s back to her front and returned the favor, giggling as she tickled Sally while the little girl laughed herself silly.
They all stopped when the bed bounced and they looked at its foot. Jason was sprawled on his side, his eyes were dancing and a smirk was on his lips.
“I’d say she’s ticklish,” Jason muttered dryly.
Elle heard Prentice chuckle.
Elle and Sally didn’t laugh, they both just smiled at Jason.
“All right, everybody up. It’s muffin time,” Prentice ordered.
Sally scattered and Jason rolled off the bed.
Elle stayed where she was, mainly because she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Prentice also remained in bed and it was highly likely this was because he wasn’t wearing anything.
“Jace, shut the door. We’ll be down in a minute,” Prentice called.
“Aye,” Jason replied.
Sally turned at the door and asked, “Can we switch on the oven?”
“No,” both Prentice and Elle replied.
Sally made a face, looked at her brother and trotted out the door.
Jason’s eyes took in Prentice and Elle, he looked to the floor and left, shutting the door behind him.
Prentice instantly rolled into Elle, taking her in his arms.
Elle tried to push away.
She failed.
“We need to get downstairs,” she informed him.
“Aye,” he replied softly, his eyes roaming her face. “But I need to kiss you first.”
“Pren –” she began but was cut off when he did what he said he needed to do.
She found, in short order, she needed it too.
Prentice was a good kisser. She hadn’t had many kisses but she still felt she could say with some authority, he was the best.
She was dazed when his mouth broke from hers.
His hand went to her jaw, his thumb running along her cheekbone.
“I forgot how ticklish you were.” He was still speaking in that soft voice, the voice that did funny things to her.
Concentrating on the funny things and how nice they made her feel, Elle didn’t reply.
“I used to tickle you all the time.” He grinned and continued, “When we weren’t fighting.” She watched as his grin faded but warmth hit his eyes when his thumb traced her lower lip while he watched. His gaze came back to hers and he murmured, “Do you remember?”
“I remember,” Elle whispered.
She remembered everything about him and the time they spent together.
Everything.
Considering he was close, Elle got lost in his every-colored eyes, counting the colors again, comparing the occurrences, fascinated by this activity even though she’d memorized the results.
His forehead touched hers, his hand at her jaw tensed and he growled, “I love it when you look at me like that. Always did.”
His growl slid through her like velvet.
Elle pressed into him.
His arm around her tightened but he sighed and lifted his head. “I need to cook muffins.”
He didn’t sound thrilled with this prospect.
“You do,” she replied, trying not to smile. Prentice started to roll, taking her with him when Elle locked her body, catching his attention and he stopped. “You also need to talk to Jace,” she said quietly.
Both his arms went around her and he gave her a squeeze, murmuring, “Aye.”
He pulled them from the bed, grabbed her panties from the floor, handed them to her and she slid them on while he put on his sweats. She was about to get her jeans when his hands came to her hips and he shuffled her to the door.
“I need to put on my jeans,” she told him, resisting and attempting to turn back into the room.
She failed at this too.
He reached in front of her and grasped the door handle, informing her, “You’re good.”
She was… good?
Was he mad?
She was in a t-shirt!
With effort, she turned to face him but he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her out of the door’s arc.
“I’m only wearing your t-shirt,” she reminded him unnecessarily as he could see she was only in his t-shirt.
“Aye,” he replied. “But you’re covered.”
She continued to resist as he forced her, hands again at her hips, through the door.
“Prentice! I’m in a t-shirt! I can’t eat breakfast with your children in a t-shirt!” she hissed.