“I helped Lawson make some for Haven. We failed. We added too much water, and the cakes were paper-thin.” She shakes her head. “I blame him. The mix was already a mess before I decided to help.” She leans her hip against the counter and runs her fingers through my hair.
“I’ll teach you to cook if you want to learn,” I say, and she stops her caress.
“You would?” she whispers.
“Why not? I’m patient. We can take baby steps.”
“I’d like that.”
“Here.” I grip her waist and move her in front of me. “You can do the next one.” I press against her and open the lid.
“You just want to hold me,” she says, pushing her ass back.
“Guilty,” I chuckle, rolling my hips.
“Ezra,” she scolds. “This is serious business.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t fuck you in the kitchen.” I lick my mark, and she laughs. “Alright, serious.” I drop the waffle on top of the others. “Pick up the bowl,” I instruct, and she does so hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to fuck it up,” she grumbles.
“You won’t. If you did, no one cares. It’s just you and me.” I kiss her temple.
“Yeah,” she sighs, tilting her head. “You and me.”
“The poor is important,” I say, attempting to ignore the effect her words have on me. “We don’t want it to overflow.” I put my hand over hers and guide her. “Good job, baby.” A drop of the mix dribbles on her finger, and I lift it to my mouth.
“Damn,” she breathes as I lick it off.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I rumble. “We don’t have time. Mom will be here in an hour.”
“How am I looking at you? Just for future reference.” She turns to face me, and I grip the counter beside her hips.
“Like you want to be fucked,” I growl.
“Maybe—”
We look toward the door.
“Brother, let us in,” Issy says, and I drop my head.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“I smell breakfast,” Sally says.
“We need some to soak up the alcohol,” another voice mumbles.
“That’s Roxanne,” Rylee says softly.
“Can we ignore them?” I ask.
“Afraid not,” Allie sings.
“They made me come,” Haven adds. “I know how annoying it is to be interrupted.”
“I’ll get the door,” Rylee offers, and points at my chest. “You put a shirt on.”
“Damn,” Sally whispers.
