“Mesmerizing, huh?”
Her nostrils flared, and she let out an adorable growl. “Be serious, Brock.”
“I am.” I pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, slowly, to calm her nerves. “When I was a kid, our chef always let me help her with the desserts. She was my favorite person in the house from age eight to twelve, so I promise, we’ve got this.”
She blinked once, twice. Her brows dipped as she bit down on that plump bottom lip. “You grew up with a chef?” She shook her head and laughed. “But you seem so normal.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Normal is boring, but don’t let these good looks fool you. I am capable.”
“I have no doubt about that.” She placed her hands on my chest and slid them up and then down, letting her hands go down my stomach until her fingers were—once again—hooked inside my waistband. “This is still crazy, though, right?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I agreed and grabbed her wrists, slowly removing her hands. “And if you keep that up, the only thing that’ll get eaten around here is you.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and licked her lips, her eyes connected with mine for several long, hot moments. “Right. Pie. Contest.” She took a step back and then another and another until about ten feet separated us. “Okay, Master, teach me your ways.”
Oh, the things I would fucking love to teach her in the bedroom. I cleared my throat and caught her smirk. “Call me ‘Master’ one more time.”
She arched a brow. “Earn it.”
My cock sprang to life at her challenge, and I set about doing just that. “The key to the perfect pie crust is cold butter,” I said before I forgot about the contest again and took her to bed until she begged me to stop.
“Cold butter seems like it would be difficult to work with.”
“Having it cold makes sure it doesn’t melt too quickly, so when it gets to the oven, the good fats keep the crust flaky and buttery.” I looked up and found her staring at me. “What?”
“You’re not making this easy.”
“This whole distance thing?”
She nodded.
“You’re right. I’m not.” I winked and enjoyed the way her cheeks turned pink. “So tell me, Sela, what’s your favorite pie?”
She thought about it as her eyes traced the bowl of apples and three different pints of fruits. “Cherry is my go-to pie because it’s like home. It’s always good. Even average cherry pie is prettygood. And blackberry is kind of exotic and different, but so good during its limited season.”
“I’m partial to peanut butter pie.”
“Rebel,” she said under her breath. She rinsed the berries and placed them in bowls before lining them up on the countertop.
“Are you paying attention to how to do this crust? I think you should bake, and I’ll eat.”
She turned to me with narrowed eyes and shook her head. “At least now I know youdohave flaws.”
Shocked, my brows rose. “What are they?”
“You,” she pointed at me, “are a sexist.”
I frowned. “It’s called being considerate. You may have heard of it.”
Sela rolled her eyes. “You’re the pie expert here, so you stick to baking, and I’ll eat the pies, whether you like it or not.” She poked her finger in my chest, and I grabbed her wrist to stop her. She sucked in a breath and looked up at me. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I told her, my voice a little gruffer than I liked. “You’re really fucking hot when you’re bossy.”
Her mouth opened and then shut. Twice. Her eyes darkened to near black, and then she muttered under her breath, “Screw it,” about a second before she leapt into my arms and fixed her lips to mine.
This kiss started off on ten, hot and spiraling out of control quickly. Her legs wrapped around my waist, nestling my cock between her hot thighs, pressed up against her core. The way she gripped my face, holding me tight like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go, was so damn hot, and I let her take the lead.
She was skittish about getting involved, but shewantedme, and that was something I could work with. She moaned into my mouth and then her fingers slid around to the back of my head,winding her fingers around my hair just hard enough to sting. “Brock,” she moaned against my lips. “We shouldn’t.”
