“You just got a parfait. Don’t worry about it.”
He lifts a hand over his heart. “Aparfait?It’s cranachan.” His accent grows deeper as he says the word.
“Oh, I’msosorry,” I say dryly, handing him the glass filled with layers of cream and raspberries. “You’re right. This looks nothing like a parfait.”
He huffs with amusement. “It’s not about what itlookslike. It’s what it is. You can’t be using a French word to describe a traditional Scottish dessert.” He takes a spoon, dipping it into the cream then raising it to his mouth. The low moan he lets out should be illegal.
Actually, all of him should be illegal. His shirtless form stretched out on the bed, one of his legs spread out fully, the other bent at the knee, and the bliss on his face as he swallows. His eyes close in ecstasy before opening again.
I want him. I want to push him back against the pillows. I want to climb on top of him and figure out what I can do to put that expression back on his face. I want to—
“I don’t take offense to it, mind you,” he says. “But if you called this a parfait around someone else here, I can’t guarantee what would happen.” He grins, taking another spoonful, oblivious to the desire swimming through me.
I swallow and tear my gaze from him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. I pick up my salad from the tray and bring it back to the bed. I sit near the edge of it, not wanting to make too much of a mess on the side where I’ll sleep, and turn to face him. I eat quickly, knowing I need the sustenance, but eager to return to what we were doing.
“Do you want to try some?” he asks a bit later, the glass half empty. I nod and move to take the spoon from him, but he shakes his head playfully.
“Open,” he says, and heat spikes through me at the command. He leans forward, lifting the spoon. When I wrap my lips around it, his gaze follows the movement, and his eyes spark.
His voice is low when he asks, “How is it?”
I swallow. “Good.” There’s something at the corner of my mouth, and I reach up, wiping the cream away with a finger. I can feel him watching me, so I slowly bring my finger to my mouth and lick it, satisfied when I hear him groan.
“You know,” I say, “I was wondering about something earlier.”
“What?” he asks.
I set my plate aside and crawl across the bed toward him. “Can you buy whipped cream in aerosol cans here?”
“I…” He laughs. “You mean the cream that comes out of a tube? I promise it’s not half as good as what’s in here.”
He takes another bite, then raises the spoon in my direction. I swipe some cream off it and smear it on the side of his neck.
“Oh, that’s not why I’m asking,” I say as I lean toward him.
His breath catches when my mouth meets his skin, when I taste him, licking and gently teasing with my teeth. He puts the glass away and mock growls as he grapples for me, setting me on top of him, my legs straddling his torso.
“See,” I say, pushing slightly at his shoulders, giving me better access so my mouth can travel down the curve of his neck. “This would all be a lot more fun if I had the kind that came in a can. Think of all the places I could spray it.” I lick at the dip of his collarbone. “All the things we could do.”
I take his glasses off, placing them on the nightstand, and his eyes grow half-lidded.
“I actually thought about it,” I say. “Back at the bar. I imagined spraying whipped cream right here.” My hand skims across his chest, my thumb brushing against his nipple. “And here.” I continue to his abdomen. “And—”
His hand comes to my wrist, stopping me before I can travel any lower.
“I’m beginning to see the appeal of skooshy cream,” he says, his voice rough, and a surprised laugh bursts out of me.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Skooshy cream,” he says again. “Is that…” He blinks. “What do you call it?”
“It’s just whipped cream in a can.”
“Pssht.” He grins. “That’s plain boring. But if you liked that, you’re going to really enjoy this one. In some parts of the UK, they call it…squirty cream.”
“No,” I say, laughter bubbling up again, making me feel light and buoyant. “Now you’re just making things up.”
“Swear I’m not. It’s mostly in England, but I’ve heard it here too. People really do call it squirty cream.”
