Teddy Bear Sir (The Sloan Brothers Book 3) Page 7

  My mother asked the question that I’m sure was on everyone’s mind.

  “Pierce, are you and Ayla an item son?”

  I didn’t hesitate or look at the woman in my arms. I opened my mouth and blurted out exactly what was on my mind.

  “Yep. We’re an Us. We agreed on it a couple of days ago.”

  My mother squealed and hugged my father, everyone else broke out in words of approval and chants of drinks to toast the new couple. I was on cloud nine and blissed out. Then I looked at Ayla. Her right eyelid had begun to twitch and her eyes had turned to blue fire. My grip loosened and she took that as her opportunity to take a step back.

  While everyone around us busied themselves with drinks, placing gifts under the tree, and finding new Christmas music, Ayla spoke at a volume only I could hear.

  "You are such a weiner Pierce. I swear."

  She started to walk away, but there was no way I could let that lay there. Not after everything else, and quite frankly, she'd called me worse so that term of endearment had me puzzled. I put my hand on her arm to stop her from leaving my side.

  "A weiner? What the hell does that mean?"

  She turned to me and narrowed her eyes.

  "Full of phony shit and not at all good for me."

  I turned away in anger and started to storm off, but not before I heard her mumble, "I'm still addicted to the damn things though".

  I turned my head to hide my smile before she saw it.

  I have no idea what happened between Anton and Melody, Ayla said that Anton came into their room and talked to Mel’, but it hadn’t gone well. He basically told her that he loved her (truth), but he couldn’t trust her (cop out). Ayla said that Melody accepted it with grace, but spent the night crying herself to sleep. To say that the holiday was shaping up to be awkward, was an understatement.

  Christmas dawned bright and early (like it does) and I thought I was the first one up (like I usually am). I showered, dressed, and bounced down the stairs, only to be greeted by the scent of coffee brewing in the kitchen. It had to be mom.

  I rounded the corner prepared to give her a hug and was stopped in my tracks by Ayla who was making biscuits. We stared at one another for a few long minutes, both of us struck dumb by the the inability to grasp the english language. We’d been wrapped around one another in front of friends and family and now the ruse was slapping us in the face. Were we back together? Were we still angry? Or should I say, was she still angry?

  With the firm knowledge that everything I said these days seemed to inch up the temperature under the thin ice I’d been skating on recently, I decided to use the old, “Silence is Golden” theory. She cleared her throat and resumed rolling out her biscuit dough.

  “Coffee’s done if you want a cup. It’s fresh, I just made it. Pour me a cup too if you don’t mind.”

  Mind? I’d have driven the fifty miles to the nearest Starbucks if it meant she was talking to me in a friendly tone again.

  I poured the coffee, placing one sugar and some cream in hers, just the way she liked it. She watched me and smiled when I placed it beside her.

  I sat down at the breakfast bar and watched her work.

  “Can I do anything to help you? Mom’s gonna be thrilled to death that you’ve got a head start on it.”

  She paused to take a sip and closed her eyes in appreciation. That’s when I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Ayla hadn’t been sleeping any better than I had. She opened her eyes and started cutting biscuits with the juice glass that mom always used.

  “Your mother has been working her ass off. It’s the least I could do. I thought we’d do bacon and eggs for breakfast with biscuits and gravy. It’s fast, easy, and it’ll be an easy clean up. I made cinnamon rolls too, they’re in the warmer if you’d like one.”

  I was in trouble. Women think that they’re the ones who have to contend with mothers that are making perpetual wedding plans for their daughters. For some reason, the consensus is that a man’s mother never wants him to marry. That there’s no girl good enough for their son. The consensus has never met Bree Sloan.

  My mother has been on the prowl for the perfect wives for her sons since the day we drew breath. Never discounting any possibility, she watched with intense interest as we dated through high school and college, waiting for the opportunity to put her two cents in. That’s when the three of us agreed not to bring girls home. Getting our mother’s hopes up wouldn’t be right, because none of us planned on marrying. Seriously. Once we started making money, gold diggers came out of the woodwork and they weren’t always obvious.

  Then Deacon brought home Dorothy. Dorothy was genuine. The real deal. There wasn’t a dishonest bone in that woman’s body, and my folks loved her instantly. I think subconsciously, Deke knew that. That’s why he introduced them. Yes she was writing a book, but she could’ve done that without meeting my folks. Deacon’s sneaky. He could’ve arranged a phone call, but he didn’t. He brought her home. Now I believe (and he might disagree with me on this) that he did it because he wanted to see if they felt the same way he did about her. I think he knew he was in trouble the first time she pretty much told him to fuck off. That happened the first time she met him and he told her not to fall in love with him. I still laugh when I think about that, because I also believe that he fell before she did.

  Having said that, the same thing happened with Anton, only different. You see, Deacon didn’t know he’d fallen until he was neck deep in it. Then he started swimming and never looked back. He’d kill anyone that tried to come between them now. Deacon’s like that.

  With Anton, he knew immediately that he loved Melody. They’re a perfect match and have been since they met. They’re exactly alike. Both stubborn, stupid to a fault, and dedicated to one another to the point of flustered denial. The simple truth is, they don’t know what to do with one another. They figured it out later on of course, but I’m giving you the background on my involvement with the clusterfuck that is now my life. What’s the phrase? Anton was screwed, blued, and tattooed the minute he met Melody Lincoln.

  Now it was my turn.

  The writing was on the wall whether I chose to read it or not. My parents loved Ayla. What’s not to love? The additional knowledge and proof that she could cook, would be the final nail in my coffin. They’d already watched us orbit each other the night before. They’d seen the open and honest affection between us and I’m sure it didn’t escape them that whenever one of us went to get a drink or a cookie, an extra drink or cookie was brought back for the other. We took care of one another. It had begun weeks ago and we’ve never broken the habit. Ayla and I cohabitate well together. The cinnamon rolls sealed the deal. My father would walk ten miles on his nose for a homemade cinnamon roll. When he found out that what he believed to be my girlfriend made them, he’d be suggesting baby names and Spring weddings. He’d have his daughter that could bake. Her helping my mother by starting breakfast would merely be brownie points in his book. Like I said. I was in trouble.

  There was only one thing I could do. I had to come clean with her. She had to understand the Pandora’s box she’d opened. It was one of the “rules” I’d planned on discussing with her, but she’d refused to discuss road conditions - much less the rules of conduct at my parent’s house. Now, she could live with the consequences just like I’d have to. That would teach her.

  I took a cinnamon roll out of the warmer in case she denied me access ten minutes from now. I was a coward, but I wasn’t a stupid coward. I loved cinnamon rolls too.

  She watched me take my first bite and it must have shown on my face. Because her grin was contagious. When I whimpered, she knew she had me.

  “We’re both in trouble. Deep trouble.”

  Confusion clouded her grin. She put the biscuits in the oven and started cleaning off the island before she spoke.

  “They’re not good? You look like you’re enjoying it...”

  “Enjoying it? How many did you make?”

&nb
sp; “Three dozen. You don’t think that’s enough?”

  I growled and finished my roll, quickly fetching another one.

  “You put chocolate chips in them.”

  “Is that not okay? Is someone allergic to chocolate?”

  I couldn’t help but mumble, “I hope so.”

  She put her hands on her hips and came to stand in front of me.

  “Pierce, focus. You’re not making any sense babe.”

  She made chocolate chip cinnamon rolls and called me babe. No one was around and she called me babe. Progress indeed.

  The moment of truth.

  I put the cinnamon roll down and licked the icing from my fingers. Then I put my hands on her hips and pulled her between my legs. Her eyes widened before she put her hands on my shoulders. I leaned over and kissed her in what was meant to be a sweet intro to the trouble I was getting ready to wreak. Instead, she kissed me back and it turned into a cinnamon fueled hot mess.

  Her hands went into my hair and she tugged me closer. I pulled her blouse from her jeans and put my hands on her skin. She was warm and soft and I’d needed the contact for days.

  I didn’t want to break the contact, but I had to. People would begin stirring any time now and we had to have this discussion while we had the privacy.

  I pulled back and placed my forehead against hers. Her breathing was as choppy as mine and we both took a moment to grasp a thought or two.

  “Pierce, do you not like the cinnamon rolls?”

  I chuckled and squeezed her hips tighter.

  “Baby, the cinnamon rolls are perfect. You’re perfect. That’s what we have to discuss.”

  She knitted her brow and it accented the fatigue in her eyes.

  “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

  “Not well. How about you?”

  “I never sleep well anymore without you.”

  There. The first honest, heartfelt sentiment we’d shared in days that didn’t contain an insult. She looked at the collar of my sweater and it made me remember how young and relatively innocent this angel in my arms was. She had a bite to her, but for the most part, Ayla was the optime of a sweetheart.

  Ever feel conflicted? I don’t mean the kind of conflicted where you do something bad and you know it’s bad, but you also think it’s the right thing to do. No. I mean, have you ever felt like you’re staring at the one thing you know you can’t live without, and yet you also know you should probably run as fast as you can away from it? I need control in my life and she snatches that away from me as if it’s a matter of course. She doesn’t even try half the time. I’m close to her and bam. Control? Gone.

  Case and point...

  “God I love you Ayla.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  Her eyes grew huge at my surprising admission. No more huge than my own, I’m sure, and I had no idea where that came from. It popped out when I wasn’t thinking. And that, my friends, is why I should run from this woman and keep on running.

  I felt her tremble as I watched her tongue flick across her bottom lip. I thought about sneaking her upstairs for a bit, then she replied.

  “I love you too. I think I always have.”

  Her gaze captured mine and every thought I had about rectifying a potential minefield, fled. The rules? Forgotten. No one had ever said those words to me and meant them. Other than family, I mean. I’d never said those words to another living soul. Yet here we were on Christmas morning in my parents kitchen, declaring our feelings as if it was what was supposed to happen.

  I smiled and she smiled back. Then I pulled her close and sighed into her hair. Contentment, ladies and gentlemen, is highly underrated.

  “I can’t believe I just blurted that out.”

  She pulled back slightly and looked up at me.

  “Are you sorry you did?”

  “Not a bit. I’m glad you finally know. Hell, I’m glad that I finally know.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “I knew I felt something I was struggling with, but I didn’t know what it was until I just let go and said it.”

  I pushed a strand of hair behind her pretty ear and grinned at her.

  “I’m glad I did. I feel much better now.”

  She kissed me softly.

  “Me too. I do love you Pierce. I love you so much. I think that’s why you make me so angry sometimes. You and your rules and your Dom/Sub shit.”

  “What Dom/Sub shit? Ayla, it’s a part of who I am honey. We’re going to have to work on that.”

  I could see the wheels turning and I allowed her the time she needed to form her thought. I could see the instant she came to her conclusion.

  “Do you own a whip?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “A flogger? A cane?”

  “Ayla, I’d never own those things. They’re made for nothing but pain.”

  “Handcuffs? Ballgags?”

  “Ayla, what the hell have you been reading?”

  “Pierce, yes or no.”

  “No and no. Why? What are you getting at?”

  She wrapped her hands around my neck and rubbed her nose against mine. I liked it so I did it back.

  “Baby, you’re not a Dom. You’re a control freak. Major sexy difference.”

  “What? I’ve made women kneel at my feet before. I’ve demanded certain positions and sexual favors, Ayla. I’ve used ice and candle wax even.”

  “Oh my. Ice and candle wax. I bet you were all bossy and cute about it too. Did you use a blindfold?”

  “I use my ties as a blindfold and why do I think you’re making fun of me?”

  She giggled and I narrowed my gaze. She reigned it in quickly.

  “Baby, I would never make fun of you. But you have to understand that I’ve had one experience with a Dom. He tied me up, flogged me, left me hanging from a ceiling, you name it. If it caused pain or discomfort, it was part of the playbook. You’ve used ice and a blindfold. I’m getting hot just thinking about that.”

  I pulled her in tighter.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You want control in our bedroom? I have no problem with that. I like it as a matter of fact. You can tell me what to do if it pleases you Pierce, it’s part of your appeal.”

  “You find me appealing?”

  She ran the tip of her tongue along my bottom lip and stayed close enough to make me want to take her over the kitchen table.

  “You, Pierce Sloan, are the hottest man I have ever laid eyes on. The fact that you’re a teddy bear, only makes you hotter.”

  I took her mouth in a searing kiss that left no doubt where my thoughts were running. When I cupped her bottom, she moaned, fueling the need to get her upstairs. I didn’t care if we were in my parents house. I didn’t care if the biscuits would burn, I didn’t even care if we missed Christmas. The woman I loved, the woman who was perpetually pissed at me, was making out with me in my parents kitchen. This was monumental folks. A major breakthrough.

  We heard a noise and broke apart quickly. She started to back up and I pulled her closer. She smiled at me and grinned.

  “I like grizzly bear better.”

  She giggled at my declaration.

  “You got it Griz’.”

  I nodded once and released her. Guess I told her then. Yep. I still had it.

  The noise was my father who was thrilled with what he found when he rounded the corner. I was releasing Ayla and we both wore guilty expressions and puffy lips, the sign of a thorough and well received kiss. When he spied the coffee and my half eaten cinnamon roll, his love filled eyes went to Ayla. I was as disregarded as one of those glass bluebirds on my mothers windowsill.

  “Good morning Ayla love.”

  She was taking the biscuits out of the oven when she smiled at my father.

  “Good morning and Merry Christmas Grant. Would you like a cinnamon roll and coffee while I fix breakfast?”

  He blinked several times and I waved my hand in front of his face.

  �
��Earth to Dad. I’d grab the rolls before Anton wakes up. She only made three dozen.”

  He laughed and Ayla placed two rolls and a cup of coffee in front of him. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Ayla, marry my son before he screws this up. Please love. He’s shy or I’m sure he’d ask you himself.”

  Ayla blushed and looked at me. The expression on my face made her bust out laughing. Not an elegant little giggle, but a loud, bend over at the waist, uncontrollable laugh.

  I looked at my father who was inhaling half of a cinnamon roll and winking at me with a grin on his face. I refilled my coffee cup before I played stupid again. What is it with me anyway? Why today? Why here?

  “I just told her that I loved her. Can we choose the ring next week? I’d like to savor the moment a little while longer at least...”

  Ayla stopped laughing. Dad stopped chewing. I stopped breathing. Thank god my mother picked that moment to enter the room. She’d save me. The woman was a Christmas morning machine. There was breakfast to be made. Pies to be baked. Gifts to unwrap. I was ready for the distraction.

  She leaned down and kissed my father, eying the cinnamon roll.

  “Are those chocolate chips?”

  My father offered her a bite and she took it without hesitation.

  “They are and they’re wonderful. Ayla made them. She made the biscuits too." My mother chewed her bite of cinnamon roll and her eyes closed in delight. She rounded the breakfast bar and wrapped her arms around Ayla.

  “They’re wonderful! Ayla, you have to give me your recipe. Those are addictive. Has Anton been at them yet?”

  Ayla chuckled.

  “Nope. Grab a couple and take a seat. I’ll bring you coffee and make another pot. Let me do breakfast Bree. You’ll be busy enough today. Take a moment with your spouse and let me do this.”

  My mother never cries. Well, she probably does, but she never cries in front of people. I saw her eyes brim with tears and it hit me how much she wanted a daughter like Ayla. She loved Dorothy, but my dad always hogged her. She loved helping him with the cows and the bees and nobody questioned that. None of us cared for that stuff and my father got his perfect daughter first. Now, it was my mother’s turn.