Page 38 of Off-Limits Daddy
He took one, already pulling off a bite with his teeth. I hesitated, then reached for one.
Gemma laughed. “Second time’s the charm, huh? Thought you were gonna turn me down again.”
“Didn’t want to be rude,” I said gruffly, aware of Ari watching me sidelong as he licked cinnamon sugar off his thumb.
“Mm. Very noble of you.”
She wandered off, calling to Mrs. Evans about the food table.
I went back to taping up the corner of the banner, trying not to think too hard about the sugar on Ari’s mouth, or the fact that my hand still remembered the shape of his waist.
But Ari wasn’t done.
He inhaled his bun in about three bites, then tilted his head, gaze flicking down to the one I’d barely touched.
“You gonna eat that?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I just got it.”
He grinned and plucked it right out of my hand, bold as anything.
“You little?—”
He took a slow bite, exaggerated, lips parting just enough to make it obscene. “Mmm,” he said around it, eyes dancing. “So good.”
My jaw ticked. “You planning to finish that too?”
Ari looked down at what was left, just two fingers’ worth of bun, then up at me through his lashes.
“No,” he said softly. “You should have the rest.”
Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he held it up to my mouth.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
He wiggled the cinnamon bun slightly, like a dare. “Come on, Daddy. Be a good sport.”
My pulse roared.
I leaned in, slow, teeth closing around the bite he offered. His fingers brushed my lip.
He didn’t pull away.
Neither did I.
By the time I got back to the station, I’d sweated through my shirt and lost every ounce of good sense I’d walked out with.
Paperwork sat on the desk in front of me, half-completed, numbers smudged where I’d pressed my hand down too hard. The inventory sheet for the equipment locker might as well’ve been written in another language. No matter how many times I tried to read the same line, I saw Ari’s grin, not requisition orders.
It didn’t help that I could still feel him pressed against my side like a memory I hadn’t agreed to keep.
“You’re pacing,” Griff called from the other end of the room, leaning against the frame of the open door, boots crossed at the ankle like he’d been waiting for me to fall apart on schedule. “Like a damn retriever that lost its tennis ball.”
“I’m fine.”
Griff snorted. “Right. And I’m the mayor.”
