Page 81 of Never Let You Go

He pulls a chair and motions for me to sit down. He’s standing to my side, and his hand stays on the back of the chair. “Define viennoiseries for me.” How is it that his bossy voice makes me all mush?

But seriously. French words again? Who has time for that? But he lived in France, didn’t he? I bet he can say dirty things in French.

“Alexandra,” he growls when I don’t answer.

Thankfully, I have a good memory. I like him a little upset, but I’m keeping my eye on the ball. I need to pass this freaking apprenticeship. “Viennoiseries are sweet confections that place them in the tasting scale of pastries but are made according to baking processes of fermented dough, either with yeast or with levain, and long proofing periods of time.” His approving glance warms my middle. Pleasing him on different levels is a turn on to me.

He moves away from the chair and stands in front of me, arms crossed, legs slightly apart. “Examples.”

“Pains au chocolat, croissants, brioches.” I wonder if he’s going to correct my pronunciation. It’d be like him to focus on these details that no one cares about but him.

He does that thing with his body when he’s talking about baking, where he rocks back and forth on his heels. Does he know how it turns me on? “Give me an example that’s not in the book,” he says.

Kay. “Cinnamon rolls?”

His nods his assent, his gaze heating up. How can he focus on work right now? “Good example. Do you know why they’re called viennoiseries?”

I stifle a sigh. Can we just move on to the tasting and maybe continue what we were doing when we were so rudely interrupted this morning? I did memorize the interesting tidbit of history he’s asking about though, so I parrot out the answer. “Viennoiseries were introduced under Queen Marie-Antoinette, when the bakers of Vienna followed her to France and popularized their creations in the country.”

He grunts, then circles around me to the back of my chair and lets his fingers run through my hair. My spine tingles, and I lean into his touch. He grabs a clean dishcloth and rolls it tightly. “Close your eyes,” he whispers and ties the cloth on my eyes as a blindfold. “Good girl,” he growls. My breath stutters in my chest. The itch between my legs I’ve had since this morning becomes hard to ignore. I cross my legs tightly. With no sight, I’m more aware of his scent, of the sounds he makes as he moves away from me, presumably to the tray of breads.

He clears his throat. “First sample,” he says, and places it on the hand I extend.

The crust is irregular. I bring it to my lips and sniff it before taking a bite. The tanginess makes me salivate. “Mmm,” I moan, then swallow.

Christopher lets out a low growl.

“It’s a sourdough,” I say.

“Good. Easy though. Anything else? What flour?”

I press the remaining piece of bread between my fingers and smell it again. “Whole wheat and… potato?”

A faint metallic sound comes from where Christopher stands. I pull the blindfold down a notch. My breath hitches. He’s pulling his belt off his jeans. They hang low on his narrow hips, just high enough to cover his pulsing bulge. I bite my lower lip and wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. Pulling my eyes from his crotch, I rake my gaze slowly back up to his pecs molded in his shirt, his biceps flexing as he tugs on the leather belt, the triangle pulsing at the base of his neck, his jawline accented by just the right scruff.

“What are you doing?” I breathe.

He leans over me, his molten eyes drilling into mine, stoking my inner fire. “Keeping you from cheating. Hands behind the back of your chair.”

“Touching is cheating?” I whisper as I bring my hands together behind me.

He kneels on the floor and wraps my hair around his fist, pulling my face slightly back, forcing me to arch my back. “Peeking is cheating. Touching is also cheating, today.”

He brings my hair to the front of my body, the gesture so soft it feels like a caress. How can this strong, bossy man be so tender and careful with me? His hands graze my shoulders then trail down my arms, gently pulling them together until my wrists are flush against each other.

He rolls his belt around my wrists and ties it loosely. “Is this okay?” His face is right next to mine, and his voice sends a hot tremor down my core.

I tilt my head slightly toward him. “Yes,” I whisper.

A low growl escapes him as he adjusts the scarf on my eyes. Blindfolded and tied up, I’m at his mercy.

And I’m loving it.

The heat between my legs becomes more uncomfortable. I squeeze my thighs together. With my hands tied behind me, my back arches naturally, exacerbating the pulse in my nipples.

“Keep this going, and I will lose it, Alexandra.”

Yes. Please lose it already. “This is all your making,” I say. I’ve never had anything close to this level of heat with a man, and the power play between the two of us brings my arousal to levels previously unknown to me.

---