Page 272 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Her mouth’s back on mine, and I let her, all lips and tongue and enjoy that soft, frustrated sound she makes when I don’t push it further.
But I break the kiss again.
“You keep that up, we’re never making it to dessert,” I say against her mouth.
Her eyes flicker open, a little wild. “Iamdessert.”
God help me.
I groan, pressing my forehead to hers. “You’re making itverydifficult to control myself.” I slide my hand down her side, letting my fingers skim the edge of her bare thigh beneath the robe.
She grins. “Then don’t control yourself.”
I shake my head, laughing as I retake her hand, this time firmly. “Kitchen. Now. Before I start making poor decisions on top of the dryer.”
She sighs dramatically, letting herself be led. “Fine. But I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be poor decisions, and there better be chocolate involved.”
I guide her out of the tiny room, glancing over my shoulder. “Oh, there’ll be chocolate.”
I take a quick look in the kitchen before tackling my task. The lace curtain above the sink appears to have been hanging there since the ‘80s, yellowed at the edges, yet still holding on.
The smooth, speckled laminate countertop is barely wide enough for a cutting board—or her ass. Yeah, those thoughts pop into my head. But I’ll make it work, make both if I have to.
“Perfect, dessert is ready.” She peels the plastic wrap from the corner of the chocolate pecan and coconut squares. “A little square each and then back to the laundry room just in time for the spin cycle.”
I slide the container out of her reach. “That ain’t dessert.”
“Oh, really?” She rests her rump on the cupboard, her palms resting flat on the countertop.
The fabric of her robe brushes just above her knees, and the slit opens where one sexy fucking leg juts out. Her hair is still a little damp from the shower, falling around her shoulders in loose waves that are sexy as all hell.
“You’re lookin’ at me like I’m the real dessert you want.” She slowly widens the edge of the robe, baring her upper thigh.
Fuck me.
“We’re looking for something richer,” I say.
“Richer than this?” Her fingertips run along her smooth skin.
I shake my head. “I’m talking about a cake.” I figure if her mama baked cornbread, I can use those ingredients to whip up a cake.
I crack open the fridge, and a wave of cool air spills out. Closing my eyes, I let that cool drift over me, chasing the heat thrumming low in my body.
“You alright in there?” Her teasing tone lights up my insides again.
I mutter a few curse words and grab a handful of ingredients: eggs, milk, and vanilla extract.
“You’re really gonna bake a cake?” She asks like she doesn’t believe me. “Now? In the middle of the afternoon? Wearing a bathrobe?”
“Sure am, darlin’.” I set the eggs and milk on either side of her and slide one arm under her robe.
The robe slips open, modesty falling away with it, revealing the side of her breast and a peak at her dark nipple. My pulse spikes and my fingers tighten in the curve of her waist as I pull her snug against me.
I press my lips to hers. My playful intention quickly escalates to a hunger I almost can’t resist. Her laugh bubbles up, surprised and warm against my mouth.
The cupboard door behind her creaks open when my other hand snags a mixing bowl inside.
When we part, she looks at the bowl. “Did you just use me to get to that bowl?”
