Page 24 of Truth Revealed

No, but I’m sure it won’t be long before I am.

“Absolutely,” she replied instead, her voice a little breathier than she’d intended. She blamed it on the memory. Her cheeks flushed as pink as the words on his apron as she imagined Truth naked except for the tiny scrap of fabric that the apron made when it was stretched across his thighs and chest.

Clearing her throat, she motioned to the counter and grinned. “What’s first?”

As if he knew where her thoughts had gone, Truth smirked. Then, they finally began to bake. Pointing out the ingredients they needed, Truth explained every step, from sifting to mixing, to why the hell the sugars were considered wet ingredients.

And all Daria had to say was that it wasn’t like any baking experience she’d ever had before. One moment he’d be hovering, but she far from minded. As she sifted the flour and other dry ingredients, one of his hands would rest on her waist while he peeked over her shoulder, the warmth from his hand searing through her shirt. When she was mixing the eggs, vanilla, and the sugars, his breath had warmed her exposed neck from where she’d put her hair up. His touch was soft but firm when he’d reached around her to hold the bowl while she mixed it all together. And when he leaned closer to help her separate the dough, his hips bumped hers, and she felt the distinct hardness of an erection.

“What color do you want?” Truth asked her, as they stared down at the two separate bowls of plain cookie dough.

Collecting her thoughts, and bringing her mind back on track, Daria thought about it as if he’d asked her to share national secrets. Cookie making was serious business. “I think I want… wait, what color are you doing?” she questioned a little too eagerly. She hadn’t ever had the cookie baking experience, not even as a kid.

If he was laughing at her, he hid it well with a cough. “I’m going to do blue.”

“I should have known,” she mumbled. “Okay, fine. I’ll make… purple?”

His lips twitched again. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

She smacked him lightly on the arm. “Telling. I’ll make purple. There, is that better?”

His chuckle was deep, rolling, and grin-inducing as he handed her a baking spatula.

“Much better. Just start with a few drops of each, then fold the dough over until it’s mixed.”

The drops looked almost black as she pinched the plastic little dropper into the dough. Back and forth Daria mixed the dough, folding it over and over again and flattening it on the sides of the bowl before swiping it back into the center. Her arm ached halfway through, and she glanced over at Truth to see how he was faring… and then paused.

Truth was working the dough around that bowl with the spatula like a pro, the muscles in his arms rolling and flexing with every movement. The sleeves of his t-shirt were stretched taut around his drool worthy biceps, and with every motion he made, the hem of his shirt drifted up a little more, baring a tan strip of flesh along his side.

“Dough won’t mix itself,” he drawled, those ocean-blue orbs darting toward hers in a pointed glance.

Cheeks flaming, she returned to mixing her dough, the red and blue eventually mixing into some semblance of purple. It took a bit more time and a few more drops of each color to get the perfect shade.

“What’s left?” Daria asked.

“Rolling the dough out, and then we’re done.”

Thank fuck for that, Daria thought.

Truth took over, but as soon as he pressed the rolling pin into the dough, Daria wished she’d been the one to volunteer. Watching the veins stand out in stark relief against the back of Truth’s hands to trail up his arms as his muscles worked to flatten the dough was torture. She sucked in a sharp breath. The sound made him glance over at her and she sent him a strained smile in return, trying to hide just how much he was affecting her. When he turned back to working the blue dough, Daria just knew she wouldn’t be able to watch him roll out the second dough. Not without jumping him in the middle of the kitchen.

“My turn!” she announced a little too-cheerily after he finished with the blue dough. He picked it up by the plastic wrap underneath it and moved it to the bar top where the others usually sat.

As she moved into place, dusting the rolling pin and the top of the dough with flour just like Truth had done, she noticed how quiet it was. Just the sifting noise of the flour, her own breaths, and the rattle of the loose left handle on the rolling pin echoed in the kitchen. Just then, it dawned on her how… intimate the moment was. The two of them together like they were… a couple? Baking and touching and watching each other with lingering glances.

Daria believed with her gaze firmly on the dough instead of on Truth’s figure, she would be safe.

She was wrong.

He stepped up behind her, his hands framing her own where she gripped the handles of the rolling pin. His voice was low in her ear. “Make an X shape with the pin,” he directed. His hands hovered over her own without touching, but the heat of him reached her just the same, sending goosebumps trailing up her arms and over her body.

Doing as she was told, she pressed the pin into the middle of the dough in one direction, and then repeated the action perpendicular to the first.

“Now just roll out in each direction,” he continued, his hands hovering over hers as she applied pressure and rolled. His voice was velvet, so low and so deep that it made things low inside her flip and tighten.

His hips pressed into hers, and there was no mistaking the length that nudged her lower back and the swell of her ass.

Swallowing thickly, she tried to focus on the task at hand, but the force she used to flatten the stubborn dough required a lot of movement. Back and forth, side to side, rising on her tiptoes to make gravity work in her favor…