Page 48 of Icing on Top

I let go of his wrist and tilted my head up to him. Miah met me halfway, flicking his tongue against my upper lip before properly diving in. It was like the label of boyfriend and girlfriend had given him some sort of green light to not hold back. Definitely not physically, at least.

Given that my hands were dough free, I didn’t hesitate to bury them in the loose curls at the nape of his neck. The low hum that escaped him was all the encouragement I needed.

He moved his hand from between us so I could step closer, and then turned to fully face me. I pressed my body to his, letting out a hum of my own. God, he was built. I could only imagine what he’d looked like in the prime of his hockey career. Just that thought alone had my insides pooling with warmth.

Miah pulled back, and I took the opportunity to catch my breath. The sight of him standing with his hands awkwardly held out at his sides made me laugh, and he let out a chuckle as well, cheeks flushing.

“I didn’t want to get it on your sweater,” he explained. He took a step toward the sink, paused, turned for the paper towels, and then stopped again. “But seriously. How do I get this off?”

“Eat it. Then whatever’s left will be easier to wash off.”

He eyed me before repeating my actions from earlier, his own tongue dragging along his hand to gather up the worst of the dough. I couldn’t look away. Now I was the one gulping obnoxiously loud, but it was at least better than literally drooling over him. Nothing attractive about that.

Tearing my gaze away as he finished off what he could, I stepped around him to turn on the sink, letting the water run warm. While he finished cleaning himself up, I gathered all of our utensils in the bowl and placed it in the sink to soak.

Glancing at the microwave clock, I quickly did the math in my head, making a guesstimate of how long it’d been since I put the cookies in and then subtracting that from the time needed to properly bake. I’d just come to the decision that I’d give them thirteen more minutes before I checked them when Miah placed his hands on my waist, his large palms engulfing my hips.

He gently tugged me back into his chest and placed a kiss to the side of my head.

“Now I can properly hold you.”

I turned in his arms and smiled softly up at him, letting my hands rest on his pecs through his worn hoodie, the Seattle logo faint beneath my fingers.

“Good. I much prefer it this way.”

His lips pulled into a smile before he leaned down and placed them rightfully back on my own. I lifted up onto the balls of my feet, using my hands on his chest to keep me balanced as I tried to reduce the height difference between us.

Miah must have read my mind; his hands slid from my hips to hook around the back of my thighs, and he easily lifted me up to place me on the counter. Thankfully, the clean one. I draped my arms around his neck and spread my legs so he could step between them.

It was rare for us to have a private moment together. Usually we were in public, or Charlie was with us. So, we were both more than happy to take advantage of the opportunity to get lost in each other like this.

Miah’s lips wandered to my jaw, and I tilted my head back to give him more room, resulting in a soft knock as it met the door of the cabinet behind me. Miah pulled away so fast, he broke my hold on his neck. His hand shot up to cup the back of my head where it had collided with the cabinet.

“Are you okay?”

I just laughed.

“I’m fine. It wasn’t that hard of a hit,” I promised. “I’ve taken much harder.”

That made him smile, but he still shook his head at me.

“How about we wait for the cookies to be done, and then we move this somewhere safer?” I joked. “And comfier.”

“Good idea.”

Preventing temptation—or at least attempting to—he took a step back, but his hands remained on my thighs, thumbs stroking over the denim fabric covering them. My breath hitched when he brushed over the scar on my left thigh. To distract myself, I tugged on the strings of his hoodie.

“Have you ever thought about getting a new one?”

It could be a solid Christmas gift or present for his birthday.

He glanced down, bottom lip pouting ever so slightly. “But this one is all worn in and soft. A new one would just be stiff.”

I couldn’t deny that.

“Besides,”—he shrugged—“it’s the sentimental value. Sadie bought me this right after I got signed.”

I never got upset when he brought up Sadie. In fact, I was glad that he didn’t feel the need to keep her hidden from me. She had been his entire life for nine years and she was Charlie’s mom.