Page 121 of Just One Little Bargain

“It is to me.”

I mean to say something sarcastic. Instead, I fist the front of his flannel and pull his mouth down to mine. He answers with a rough inhale, one hand locking around my hip.

“The pizza,” he gets out against my lips.

“Has ten minutes.” I drag my teeth along his throat.

His restraint doesn’t hold. He turns me in one swift movement and walks me backward without breaking the kiss until the counter catches my spine. Milo hooks one hand beneath my thigh and lifts just enough to open me around him, fitting his hips closer between mine.

“I can be extremely efficient with ten minutes.”

“That sounded suspiciously confident.”

His glasses slip lower on his nose. “Evie, you’re making it very difficult to remember that efficiency should still involve removing clothes.”

He kisses me until the counter digs into my spine. When I turn my face for air, his lips follow the line of my jaw and settle on my shoulder, nudging the apron strap aside with his nose.

“You’re the cleverest person I’ve met on either side of the veil,” he whispers into my skin.

“That’s a suspicious thing to say while your hand is under my shirt.”

“It remains true under highly distracting conditions.”

His mouth travels further up my neck, his tongue tracing the place his teeth grazed earlier. I arch into him, and his hips answer with a measured roll. The friction draws a moan from me.

“I’ve thought about your lips an unreasonable number of times,” he confesses, rocking into me again. “Usually while you were speaking, which feels disrespectful in retrospect.”

Milo stops moving with his lips against my shoulder, his cock pressed exactly where I need him.

I slide my hand beneath his shirt and drag my nails down his back. “You can make it up to me.”

His mouth curves against my throat. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The timer erupts before his hand slides any higher.

Milo stares toward the oven with a scowl. “I may have overestimated what can be accomplished efficiently in ten minutes.”

He releases me with visible reluctance. I pull the pizzas from the oven. One of his hands lingers at my waist until the heat from the oven makes me nudge him back. I barely get them down before he’s reaching over me for a slice. He takes one bite and groans.

“Good?”

“Evie.” He opens his eyes. They’re glazed. “I need you to understand that I’d burn Hell to the ground for this.”

“I’ll take that as approval.”

“This is a spiritual event,” he says through the bite. “Don’t interrupt.”

We lean against opposite sides of the counter, letting food and breathing room settle the heat into something quieter. He eats three slices in rapid succession before stealing a slice of my pizza. He takes a bite of his, then mine, with a studious expression.

“Yours is better.”

“Obviously.”

He hands my slice back, his fingertips grazing my palm before he lets go. “You were right, about everything.”

“I generally am.”

“Tell me something,” he says, halfway through his fourth slice. “The measuring. Needing to have control of everything. Were you always this way?”