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Uh-uh.
Not thinking that shit.
Not getting invested.
I'm making frosting.
Thinking about round two.
That's it.
I get out everything I need—coconut oil, powdered sugar, coffee, cocoa powder—and start measuring.
The shower turns off.
I add the last ingredient.
Iris moves into the main room, towel wrapped around her curvy body, wet hair sticking to her forehead.
I want it in my hands.
I want to rip that towel off her and pin her to the wall.
She presses her lips together. "It seems my clothes are on the floor."
"How'd that happen?"
"Curious."
Dry and wet fold together as I stir. I keep one eye on Iris.
She's shy about dropping her towel, donning her bra, stepping into her dress. Then her panties. "I'm not going out without these."
"I can't convince you?"
"You can try."
I want to. But I'm not sure I can stand how badly I'll want to fuck her if I know she's commando.
She brings the towel to her head to dry her hair. "Is the cake done?"
"Five minutes."
"Was that really forty minutes?"
"Did it feel like less?"
Her laugh lights up her blue eyes. They're gorgeous eyes. But even with her smiling, there's a sadness in them.
I hate it.
I want to destroy it.
I hate that I want to destroy it.
I offer her the spoon "You want the first taste?"
"Okay." She moves into the kitchen. Her fingers brush mine as she takes the spoon. She brings it to her lips and licks a drop. "Mmm. Mocha icing is too good. It's criminal." Pleasure spills over her expression. Her eyes flutter closed. Her lips part with a sigh. Her brow softens.
