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"There's no point in doing shit if you're gonna half-ass it."
"Can I put that on a poster somewhere?"
"Sure. As long as you credit it to Walker, the guy who makes me come until I can't stand it."
Mmm. Yes. Now. Please.
Who needs cake when sex is on the table?
Even delicious, sugary cake with coffee flavored icing.
He leans closer. Slides one hand over my ass. Brings his lips to my ear. "You're adorable on the edge."
"Adorable?"
"Hot as fuck." He drags his hand over my hip as he pulls it back to his side. Then, like he isn't teasing me, he picks up the recipe. "We're supposed to start with flour."
We should start with fucking.
He looks to me and cocks a brow. "You okay?"
"We're really doing this?"
"I told you, Iris. I like making you wait."
Okay. I can live with that. Actually, it's really hot.
God, how is he so hot? The confidence in his dark eyes sets me on fire.
Need to focus on anything else. Now.
I pick up the bag of flour. "You have scissors?"
"Yeah." He turns, grabs them from a drawer, hands them to me handle first. "Do the honors."
I snip the bag open.
He grabs a measuring cup. "What the hell does it mean sift?"
It sounds familiar. Mom was never the type to make baked goods from scratch, but I went to a few slumber parties where eating raw cookie dough was the highlight of the night. "I think you scoop it with a fork."
He pulls a fork from the drawer and hands it over.
I spoon, well, fork flour into the measuring cup. It takes forever to fill it. Or maybe it feels like forever with Walker's body next to mine.
And all that warm air against my tender flesh.
He slides his hand over the sides of my hip. Over my ass. Then the other hip.
He brings his lips to my ear. "You followed orders."
"I thought it was a favor."
"Either way."
I nod. Force my gaze to the printed recipe. Sugar. I pick up the scissors and snip the bag open.
He plays with the hem of my dress. Pulls it up my thighs. Higher and higher and higher. Until it's right at the bottom of my ass.
