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I laugh and press my palms against his chest to push him away. “Drew’s home,” I remind him. “In fact, I should probably be cursing you out or something before he walks back in here.”
“Or we could just tell him?” He arches a brow.
I drop my shoulders and frown. “You know how that would work out if we did it right now?”
“Oh, c’mon. He’ll get one good punch in, and then—”
“Travis!” I scold, and he laughs.Asshole.
“He always takes long showers after work, so we have some time to kill.” He brushes loose strands of hair behind my ear and smiles.
“Good. Then you can make that dinner,” I say.
He groans, adjusting himself. “How the hell am I supposed to cook with this distracting me?”
“Hmm…” I pinch my lips together, pretending to ponder it. “How can we remedy this little situation?”
I kneel and start undoing his belt. I can feel how hard he is underneath the fabric of his jeans. I stare up at him, still shirtless, and study the tattoos that cover his arms and chest. I want to lick my tongue all the way up his body and suck on every design, but I stay focused on getting his jeans undone instead—for now anyway.
Once I successfully strip him out of his jeans and boxer shorts, I palm his cock and begin stroking. He nearly stumbles at the first touch, and I know I’m the only one in charge right now.
“All right, chef. Get started.”
“What? Right now?”
“Yes.” I turn my back against the oven, and he turns to face me so I can suck the tip of him. “You cook. I’ll get started on dessert.”
“Fuck, Viola,” he hisses when I slide my tongue along his shaft. “You really want me around sharp knives and a hot stove when you have my dick in your mouth?”
I nod, running my tongue along the edge of his tip as it twitches from the warm, teasing contact.
“You realize I’ll end up cutting my damn hand off or something.”
“Then I suggest you beextracareful.”
“No way.” He moans, leaning his hands on the stovetop and sliding his dick deeper into my mouth.
I pull him out and tease him once again, watching as he nearly crumples over me. “C’mon, King. You don’t want to play?”
“Goddammit, Viola,” he hisses, knowing exactly what kind of game I’m talking about. “Fuck, Princess. Your mouth is fucking perfection.”
“Don’t forget the rules,” I say, reminding him of our little game. “You come before dinner’s ready, you lose.”
“Sounds more like a win to me,” he says smugly, trying to control his breathing.
“And if you don’t, you get to come somewhere else…” I drawl, lingering my words because he knows exactly what I mean. The only reason I agreed to those terms is because I know Travis King well enough to know he’ll never be able to hold off that long.
“Game on, Princess.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
TRAVIS
Drew strides backinto the dining room just as I’m setting the table. I can tell something’s bothering him by the way his features tighten up and how he brushes his hand through his hair. I know he’s been talking about Mia a lot lately, but he hasn’t really said much about her since the last time he told me they spoke.
“What’s going on?” Drew asks, nodding his head toward the table.
“I have some food in the oven. You want some?”
