Page 279 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
His hand tightens on my stomach, pulling me firm against him, and I can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against my backside.
He rolls his hips once, just a slow grind, and a whimper escapes me, swallowed by his mouth.
“Feel that?” he murmurs against my lips. “Feel what you do to me?”
I nod, my fingers tightening around his, my body melting into his touch.
His other hand slides down, his palm pressing flat against my lower stomach. His fingers splay just above the ache between my thighs.
He doesn’t move lower.
Doesn’t push.
Just holds me there, his touch a promise, a threat, and a tease that makes my breath stutter.
We keep moving, that slow way that feels like we’re floating.
His lips leave my mouth, trailing down my jaw, my neck, his breath hot against my collarbone.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he admits. “Every time I look at you. Every time you smile at me. I want to—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, his fingers flexing against my stomach. “I want to do so many things to you, Jade.”
I turn my head, catching his mouth in another kiss, my tongue sliding against his. “Then do them,” I whisper.
He groans, his hand tightening. “We’re baking cake.” His growl is delightful, but not nearly as much as his hand finding the pulsing center of my core.
My hands clutch his arms.
His touch is slow, teasing, like a whisper that sends waves of pleasure through me. He rubs circles, sending shivers of anticipation through my body. My head rests against his shoulder.
His breath is warm against my ear as he whispers, “You feel so good, Jade.”
I grind against him, the movement instinctive, and my body craves more.
He groans, a low, needy sound, and spins me to face him. He walks me backward until my ass hits the edge of the counter. The cold surface bites through the fabric of my robe, but I barely notice. His hands slide up my thighs, his calloused palms rough against my skin.
“Hart—” His name comes out as a breathless plea.
His forehead drops to mine, his breath hot against my lips.
“Fuck, Jade.” His voice is rough, strained. “You feel so good.”
The hard ridge of his cock presses against my stomach. And his hips roll once, twice, like he can’t help himself, then the oven beeps.
He pulls away, and I stumble off the edge of the countertop, grinning like he didn’t just disrupt the most perfect moment.
“Hang on, I’ve got to get the cake.”
I pout, crossing my arms. “Abandoning me for baked goods.”
He shoots me an apologetic look, already halfway to the oven, and snags the oven mitts. “Hey, I agree. But we also don’t want it to catch fire.”
I huff, watching him pull open the oven door. The air turns to velvet, thick with the scent of chocolate.
“You can do laundry, dance, bake, and fold a sheet, but not just any sheet, a fitted sheet. Ask anyone, there is a difference. What else should I know?”
“Can’t give you the whole show at once.” He sets the cake on an old wooden trivet and smirks at me. “I’ve got to keep some mystery.”
I slip beside him and slide my arms inside the warm, soft folds of his robe. My fingers brush against his skin as I pull myself closer.
