Page 79 of Whisking It All

Careful.

With a playful roll of her eyes and a sigh she said, “I suppose if you must.”

Jamie laughed, gave her ass a squeeze, and then stepped back to retrieve his toolbox. “Alright, show me where our friend Bob has been making the most noise.”

There was something thoroughly domestic in a way Tessa had never before experienced in watching Jamie do the whole handyman thing. He oiled creaky door hinges and applied plastic weatherproofing to the drafty windows. He even tightened the screws on the wobbly towel bar in the bathroom, muttering to himself about Ethan letting things go too long without fixing them. With each minor home repair, each new tool pulled from his shiny toolbox, she felt that flurry of butterflies grow until she had a whole swarm in her belly, tangling and twisting, pressing against her rib cage from the inside like they’d burst from her chest if she let them.

Jamie stood from where he’d been bent over adjusting the tension on the knob of the radiator in the bathroom and caught her staring at him. “What are you looking at?” he asked, his boyish grin making him look younger than his forty-one years. When he smiled, a dimple appeared in his left cheek and his eyes crinkled at the edges. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“Just admiring the view,” she said.

He chuckled, dropping his screwdriver into the open toolbox on the floor and coming towards her. She backed away, gesturing to his hands, filthy with dirt and grease.

“Uh-uh. Not until you wash your hands,” she laughed.

His eyes sparkled and he continued advancing on her, holding those dirty hands out like a threat. She knew what those hands could do—and it was far more than just tightening screws and oiling hinges.

In the kitchen, the oven timer beeped and she danced out of his reach, tossing a grin over her shoulder. “Dinner’s ready,” she said as she headed towards the beeping.

His growl followed after her. “What I plan on eating isn’t in the oven.”

She laughed, but the heat washing over her had nothing to do with the open oven door and everything to do with the promise in Jamie’s voice. He reappeared behind her, hands now clean, just as she set the pie plate on the stovetop and closed the oven door.

“Smells great.” He pressed his face into the hair at her neck again.

“Chicken pot pie,” she said. “I’m working my way through those recipes you gave me.”

“Mmm, then you read the part about letting it cool.”

She reached for the recipe card on the counter. “I don’t think—”

Jamie spun her around, pressing her back against the kitchen counter and capturing her lips. His hands stroked along the skin exposed between the top of her jeans and the bottom of her sweater, each pass leaving fire in its wake. He hoisted her onto the counter, wedging his hips between her knees so she could feel the solid length of him against her core. She canted her hips against his, swallowing the low rumble that fell from his lips with a smile of her own.

Those hands on her waist slid higher, pulling her sweater up with him until they had to part just enough for him to pull it up and over her head. He set it aside and kissed along her collarbone as he unhooked her bra, her breasts bouncing free when the underwire and lace fell away.

“This is hardly the way to cool things off,” she teased, sliding her hands down his back to grip his ass and pull him in closer.

“Stay right there,” he said, stepping back, his eyes dark and liquid. “Don’t fucking move.”

She wiggled on the counter, as though she might hop down, the slight movement shaking her breasts in a way that made his eyes snap to their straining tips. He only took his eyes off her long enough to throw open the freezer door, closing it with a look of triumph, a single ice cube held between his fingers. She dropped her hands back on the counter, arching her back to offer her breasts to him, eager for this new game.

He stepped between her thighs again, the width of his hips forcing her legs apart. With one hand braced on her thigh, his thumb stroking the seam of her jeans, he brought the ice cube down to one nipple. The cold was a shock, even as she watched the ice make contact with her skin, the sting of it drawing a gasp from her. She watched as he circled her nipple, as the tip pebbled and grew tighter, shiny with the melting ice. He moved to the other nipple, repeating the slow painting of her skin, then dropped his head and captured the first furled peak with his mouth. The sudden heat after so much cold was exquisite torture, an unexpected pleasure so great her clit throbbed in response.

As he moved his mouth to her other nipple, he used one hand to unbutton her jeans. “Off,” he grunted, tugging on the zipper. She lifted her hips and wriggled out of her jeans and panties, letting them slide down her legs and onto the kitchen floor as he continued working her breast with gentle tugs of his teeth.

A fresh wave of wetness flooded her core as he stepped back to take her in, naked on the kitchen counter in her father’s home, her father’s best friend fully clothed and looking at every intimate part of her as though he intended to lay waste to her. The knowledge of who he was, of where they were, shouldn’t have made it hotter, but it did. It made her want to claim him there more than anywhere else, to have him claim her.

That’s how it always was with Jamie—her body and mind overwhelmed with need, with the addictive feeling of being wanted. Of wanting to belong to him in every way possible.

She arched her back further and brought one foot up to the counter, opening herself up for his inspection, a challenge glinting in her eye.

“I can see how wet you are from here,” he said, his voice dark.

“Not wet enough,” she said, dropping two fingers between her parted thighs to spread herself open for him. “Not yet.”

He moved back between her legs, one hand driving into her hair with a firm enough grip to send sparks over her scalp. He kissed her like he’d consume her, like he’d drink all the air from her lungs. And then the ice was on her clit and she cried out against his mouth even as he swallowed her cries. Her legs began to close of their own accord, but he stopped them, his hips holding her open for him. He moved the melting cube back and forth over her swollen bundle of nerves, the heat of her core melting it faster, drips of freezing water sliding down over her pussy. He teased at her entrance, the rapidly melting cube and his rough fingers exploring every part of her.

She trembled with need as he kissed her, tugging on her hair and stroking her clit with the ice. So much sensation and yet not nearly enough.

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