Page 43 of Caught from Behind

“Are you going to add the whole carton of milk to your coffee?”

She turns, cheeks still pink, but now her brows are dragged together, forming a perfect little vee between them that I want to kiss. “What?”

I push out of the chair, move toward her, carefully tugging the mug out of her hands, setting it on the counter to the side of us. “I asked”—I lean in, grasping the rounded edge of the counter, trapping her—“if you’re going to add all of the carton of milk to your coffee.”

She stills.

Shudders.

Probably because I’ve dropped my head, pressed my nose to her throat, inhaled the scent of her. Flowers and vanilla and Ella.

Then I realize it’s not because I’m sniffing her like a dog.

But because I mentioned the milk.

“I—” Her throat works. “Did you want some milk?”

There’s no missing the guilty tone in her question.

“I think there’s still a little left in the carton.” A breath, eyes flicking up to mine—and yup, guilty. “Or you can have my cup,” she says in a rush. “I just thought I’ve heard you say that you like your coffee black, otherwise I would have?—”

I kiss her, long and slow and deep. “I don’t want milk, chérie.”

A blink. Then another. “But?—”

My mouth tips up. “I was just teasing you, baby.”

She exhales, shakes her head slightly, one of her curls catching on the cabinet pull behind her.

I reach up and untangle it, not missing when she leans slightly toward my hand, instinctively wanting me to touch her.

I like that.

I fucking love it.

Something she likely reads on my face considering her slightly befuddled expression fades and her eyes sharpen.

I don’t want her sharp and focused and scheming.

I want her soft and melting and mine.

So, I slant my lips over hers, and I taste her.

Spice and cinnamon from those homemade muffins. The barest earthy note of coffee. Nails biting into my nape, a lush body pressed to mine. A hand on my chest, lightly pushing.

“Air,” she gasps.

“No,” I murmur, taking her mouth again, but just for a second, just for a quick taste, but as much as I want to lift Ella up onto the counter and kiss her thoroughly, to strip her naked, muss those curls, and fuck her senseless…

She has a client in a half hour.

And she loves what she does. I’m not going to fuck with that.

So I satisfy myself with that small taste, that caress of her tongue against mine.

Then I’m nudging her toward the table, into my chair. I tug the napkin with the muffin—the last one, I hadn’t missed—in front of her. “Eat,” I order softly, turning for the counter, snagging her mug, bringing it back over to her.

“I—”

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