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I wave the airplane fork in front of his face once again, this time plopping the cheesecake on his lips with more force. “Eat it,” I sing again, forcing myself not to smile at the outrage on his face.
“Freedom. Stop. It.”
My body shivers when he says my name. So full of authority. So deep and husky. So full of irritation. Yet, I want to crawl on his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him with everything I have.
I watch in rapture as he licks the rest of the cheesecake off his lips a second time, my body humming with desire. Do you think it’s appropriate to ask for the cheesecake to go?
Moving my fork a third time, I can tell by the look in his eyes he’s not going to let it happen a third time. Yet, I still move my hand, waving the fork in front of his mouth and making the airplane noise. His eyes zero in on the dessert as his hand moves to stop me. Big, warm fingers wrap around mine as he halts my movements. I push against him, the fork inching closer to his mouth. We battle for control, neither of us really achieving it. So when the fork hits his cheek, it’s messy, his grunt loud.
“Dammit, Freedom,” he mumbles, his eyes wide with surprise.
My smile is instant, my giggle explosive. I fully prepare for him to grab his napkin and wipe away the cheesecake, but he doesn’t. Instead, he swipes his finger through the dessert and quickly slides it along my own cheek. I’m so shocked by this sudden playful side, all I can do is stare at him. Even when he touches my nose, leaving cold remnants of creamy cheesecake and crumbly crust in the wake.
“There.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips, and all I can think about is kissing them. Samuel has never engaged in a food battle, let alone in a public place. I wonder if he’s forgotten where we are. Yet, even though I know all eyes are on us, I can’t look away from his gaze. I’m trapped, like a moth to a flame.
“That wasn’t nice, Sammy.” I sound breathless, excited.
“Tit for tat, Freedom,” he replies, still not making a move to grab the napkin at his lap.
The juvenile in me giggles. “You said tit.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’s an expression.”
“A funny one,” I tell him, snaking my tongue out to lick my cheek.
His eyes darken and follow my movement as my tongue tastes a piece of cheesecake. Samuel’s throat bobs heavily and his mouth forms the slightest O. With him distracted and looking like he wants to eat me for dessert, I touch a single finger to the end of my fork and graze it along his bottom lip.
Dark, hungry orbs slam into mine as I run my finger along his skin. My body burns, and those pretty blue and pink panties I’m wearing are rendered useless. I’m so turned on suddenly, I’m afraid my nipples are standing up and saluting. Actually, I’m sure they are. Everything is so…tingly.
“Hot damn, Sam.” Orval’s words are like a cold glass of water being thrown on us.
Samuel blinks, his eyes clear, and he pulls back, dislodging my touch from his skin. I glance to my side and find all eyes—every single pair—focused on us. Most of them are full of question, but there are a few packed with humor too. Like they can’t believe they just witnessed stiff ol’ Samuel Grayson play with food.
I feel slightly victorious in the moment.
He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than right here at the moment. Samuel’s so uncomfortable he doesn’t even correct his uncle when he uses the shortened version of his name. The tips of his ears match his cheeks as he wipes away the cheesecake and clears his throat, completely averting his eyes from everyone at the table. Including me.
“Well, then, if you’ll excuse me,” Emma announces and dramatically stands up. “I’m going to go smoke after that.”
Me too, Emma.
Me too.
