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Pulling several ingredients from my small cupboard, I rip open the bag of chocolate chips and toss a few in my mouth. Sighing with pleasure as I chew, I spin toward the oven and turn it on.
I’m going to make some cookies—gooey chocolate chip ones, because chocolate fixes everything.
“Hesperia, play some nineties hip hop,” I call out to the smart speaker on the counter.
“Playing nineties hip hop,” the robotic female voice in the speaker replies.
A bass beat drops, and I shake my ass as I dance toward the fridge, pulling out the butter and eggs. Grabbing a bowl, I unwrap the stick of butter and plop it in, then measure out the right amount of sugar and pour it on top.
Pulling my electric mixer out of its cabinet, I use one of the beaters as a microphone and sing the lyrics for a verse before attaching them and plugging in the appliance. I continue to sing as I beat the butter and sugar together, then crack an egg into the mixture. Adding a splash of vanilla, I continue to dance and sing as I turn the mixer back on and twist it through the batter until it’s smooth.
Setting the mixer aside, I stir in the flour, baking soda, and salt, then grab the bag of chocolate chips. I know the recipe calls for two cups, but I don’t bother to measure as I tip the bag over and pour. The more chocolate, the better.
I munch on the leftover chips as I stir everything together, then use a small ice cream scoop to dollop balls of dough on a cookie sheet. Once the first batch is in the oven, I divvy up the rest of the dough on a separate pan.
“What in the hell am I going to do with all these cookies?” I mumble under my breath.
My new neighbor’s face flashes behind my eyes as I gnaw on my lower lip. It wouldn’t be untoward to offer him a plate as a housewarming gift, would it?
I think about his visit yesterday and the way my body reacted to his proximity. There’s no arguing I found him highly attractive. That thick, glossy hair. Those deep, penetrating eyes. That voice. Yum.
At some point during the night, I’d decided my suspicions about his lack of humanity were ridiculous. There’s no fucking way a vampire moved in next door to me the second I, and the rest of the world, learned of their existence. The mere thought is ludicrous.
Besides, I saw his teeth while he spoke. Bright white and straight as a razor’s edge. And not a fang in sight.
I was just worked up over the news, and my imagination ran away with me.
And taking him a warm plate of cookies would be the perfect icebreaker. I could talk to him again. See if my body goes haywire the way it did yesterday. And if it does…
I’m not above seeing if he’s willing to pick up what I’m throwing down. It’s been—I quickly add up the months in my head—way too fucking long since I’ve had an orgasm I didn’t initiate myself.
If Jesse Lee is willing, I’d fuck him. In a heartbeat.
I huff out a sigh. Is that really a good idea? Having sex with a neighbor could end up getting sticky if things don’t end well between us. I’d have to see him in the hallway. Hear him when he brings someone new home for the night. The walls between us aren’t exactly soundproof.
The timer dings, and I pull the cookies from the oven to cool before shoving the next batch inside. By the time that one cooks, I’ve decided.
My hot new neighbor is worth the risk. I have to at least drop a few hints and see where it goes. The man nearly made me come with just his voice. How amazing would it be if he actually touched me?
Just thinking about it has my libido zinging.
I run into my bedroom, slipping out of my yoga pants and t-shirt before pulling on my cutest sundress. I briefly consider pulling on a bra, but decide against it. The top of the dress is structured to hold up the girls, and it looks better without bra straps showing beneath the strings that tie into cute bows over my shoulders. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, smoothing the white-blonde strands with a dab of coconut oil to make the fly-aways lie down and behave.
A light dusting of powder and a smear of gloss later, I’m happy with my appearance. Stepping back, I turn this way and that to look at the whole picture. The dress flares out from the empire waist to just above my knees, hiding the swell of my hips and rounded tummy. I usually wear shapewear shorts underneath to slim my silhouette and keep my thighs from rubbing together, but I decide against it this time.
I’ll only be wearing the dress for a short time. Either I’ll come home and change, or Jesse will invite me in. And if it’s the latter, I’d rather not go through the ordeal of trying to pull those tight-ass suckers off in the heat of the moment. Talk about a mood-killer, not to mention, embarrassing.
Slipping my feet into a pair of pink flip-flops, I head back into the kitchen and plate up a half-dozen cookies. Taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly for courage, I walk out into the hall and stride toward his door. Lifting my free hand, I knock smartly and hold my breath as I listen for signs of life inside.
I hear nothing, and my entire body deflates. He’s not home. As I turn to head back to my apartment, the sound of a deadbolt lock disengaging stops me in my tracks. I swing back toward his door just as it opens, and a large, muscled, naked torso fills my field of vision.
“Hi,” he says, that deep, delicious voice slithering over my skin.
I shiver at the feel of it, valiantly attempting to ignore the way my nipples have gone instantly hard. I haven’t even looked up at his face yet, my gaze exploring every hill and valley of that delectable chest. I swallow at the saliva pooling in my mouth as my eyes trace the deep grooves of the “V” disappearing beneath a pair low-slung joggers…and even lower.
“Eden?”
“Yes?” I say, my gaze shooting up to meet his dark stare.
