Page 60 of Yearn
And he was too sexy, too patient, too damn good at drawing out the parts of me I tried to bury. Just looking at him now—shoulders flexing as he flipped pancakes, forearm muscles shifting under tan, the scent of butter and heat rising with his cologne and body heat—made me hot.
I left the syrup pot alone, fingers brushing the counter for balance as I sat down, pulse jumping at the accidental graze of my own skin.
So turned on, I had to press my thighs together beneath the table. Every laugh from the kids made me fear they’d see the heat flashing across my face.
Shit. I have to get my hormones under control.
J and Oliver started talking about what they were most excited to do at school today. I nodded and smiled, enjoying their joy but. . .it was hard not to think about Dominic.
In the middle of Oliver’s playful story, I shouldn’t have looked up at him again, but I turned my gaze that way.
Damn.
I took in Dominic’s muscular arms, the veins standing out as he tilted the pan. The way his long fingers pinched the handle, the clean motion of his wrist as he slid another pancake onto the plate.
Those hands could soothe or ruin.
That face—strong jaw, dark eyes, lips made for kissing pussy—looked carved out of a daydream I wasn’t supposed to have. I tried to focus on the kids’ chatter, but my pulse kept time with the sizzle of batter.
What was it about hot men cooking that made a woman’s ovaries spiral out of control?
It wasn’t just the sight.
It must have been the signal.
The subtext said. . .
Provider.
Protector.
Hands skilled enough to build or destroy.
Feed and pleasure.
Every flip of his wrist whispered competence, focus, care. Most women must have been wired to be turned on by someone who looked capable and calm under pressure.
I surely was.
“And Timothy thinks that Batman can beat Wolverine, but I don’t think so, Mommy.” Oliver licked at his fork. “I think Wolverine is the toughest guy of all, after Dom.”
Dominic chuckled. “No way. Wolverine could surely beat me up.”
J snickered. “But Dom could beat up Batman for sure.”
I dragged in a breath, willing my voice to stay steady. I had promised myself I’d talk to him about boundaries, about last night, about all the reasons we couldn’t go down this path. But sitting here with the smell of warm syrup, his muscles flexing in front of me, and the kids enjoying his presence. . .I couldn’t even form a clear sentence.
For some reason, my thoughts slipped to Scott’s raggedy ass.
Mornings with him had been a war zone.
Stress.
Tension.
Dread as soon as the alarm went off.
Scott never lifted a finger. He’d sit slumped at the table with his coffee, scrolling the news on his phone, eyes glazed over while I scrambled to pack lunches, comb hair, iron clothes, herding everyone out the door.
