Page 79 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
I step closer, leaning against the counter beside her.
“You don’t have to hold it in, you know. I’m here if you want to talk.”
She shrugs, stuffing her hands deeper into the dough in the bowl in front of her.
“It’s fine. I don’t want to think about it right now.”
Her voice does something to me I don’t like.
It makes me want to take that weight off her shoulders, even if it’s just for a little while.
I’m not supposed to be doing any of this. She’s off limits in every capacity.
That familiar stirring in my belly takes root.
“Then don’t,” I say, my tone lower than I mean it to be.
She glances at me again.
There’s a flicker of something there, curiosity, I think, or maybe I’m just imagining it because I’m still running on the high of watching her earlier.
My hand’s already moving, brushing over her flour-stained cheek to wipe it away.
It’s just a touch.
A small little innocuous thing.
“You really…shouldn’t…” I start, though I’m not sure if I’m talking to her or to myself.
“Shouldn’t what?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Do this. With you.”
The confession hangs between us for a second.
She’s watching me like she’s waiting for me to make the next move, and I can feel my control slipping.
It would be so easy for me to take her and bend her over this counter.
The worst part is I know she’d let me.
If that dark lust in her eyes when she’d asked if I was jealous and I’d told her yes is anything to go off of.
I let my hand slide up her wrist, my thumb tracing the inside where her pulse jumps.
She takes a slow breath. “Jack.”
My impulses have me leaning closer. Just one taste…just one. “You want to stop me?”
Her head shakes the faintest bit.
That’s all it takes.
My body fits into the space between her and the counter.
My head dips, my mouth brushing the side of her neck to taste the small spot of flour I see coloring her skin there to.
She gasps when my tongue darts out to lick the spot clean.
