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“I know you can, but why do you need to if I can carry you?” he asks. His voice is low and, dare I say, tender.
He steps close, and in an instant, I wrap my legs around his waist. He’s right there, where I need him. I gasp when he presses closer and feel that he’s hard. I look into his blue eyes and will him to kiss me. I’ve craved the feel of his lips on mine for weeks. I’m too afraid to take that next step. We haven’t talked about it, and it’s not happened again, but I’m hoping that’s about to change.
He presses his forehead to mine. “What are we doing, Tink?” he asks gruffly.
“Baking?” My voice is raspy and filled with desire for him, but my answer has him pulling back. I know that’s not what he’s asking, but I chickened out. I’m cursing myself for not being honest.
Sterling kisses my forehead and steps away from me, easing back to lean against the counter. His hands are braced behind him. My eyes travel to his crotch, where he’s unable to hide his attraction. Women might have to suffer through childbirth and a monthly menstrual cycle, but we can hide our desire. At this moment, I think that’s a good trade-off.
“Tink.” His voice is gravelly.
My eyes snap to his. Mortification from being caught staring at his hard dick washes over me. “I-I need to see what I have.” I start to jump off the counter, but he’s there in an instant, his hands on my hips. He lifts me effortlessly, placing me on my feet. “Thanks, Tank.”
Pulling in a breath, I move to the small pantry in my kitchen and survey my options. “Cupcakes or brownies?” I tell him, still staring into the shelves of my pantry. I’m afraid my eyes will betray me. I hear his footsteps and then his arms wrap around me while he rests his chin on the top of my head. We’ve stood like this many times, but it feels different.
Wefeel different.
“You know I love your cupcakes.”
I suddenly have the mind of a teenage boy because it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he can eat my cake. Swallowing thickly, I reply, “Cupcakes it is. I have white cake and the white fluffed icing.”
“Sprinkles?” he asks. His question is light and hopeful.
“Are they even cupcakes if they don’t have sprinkles?” I turn to look at him over my shoulder, and that’s a mistake. Our mouths are close. He’s bending down as if he was about to whisper in my ear.
So. Damn. Close.
“Tell me what you need,” he asks.
Kiss me.“W-We should preheat the oven.” His face falls a little. Does he want to kiss me as badly as I want him to?
“I’m on it.” With a gentle squeeze of my hips, he releases me and moves to preheat the oven. “What temperature do you need?”
Grabbing the box, I turn it over and read the directions. “Three-fifty.” I grab the two tubs of icing. I’m heavy-handed when I add the sugary sweetness to my cupcakes. “Can you look in the bottom drawer next to the stove and see if there are cupcake holders in there?”
“How many do you need?” Sterling bends over, and yes, I look at his ass because I can, and it’s a nice ass. Trust me on this. He stands and holds up a pack of cupcake wrappers. “This says there are fifty, and it’s unopened.”
“That’s perfect. This will make a couple of dozen at best.”
He tosses the wrappers on the island. “Boss me around, Tink. Tell me what you need.”
You.“Right. Let’s do this.”
Sterling is right next to me every step of the process. He also finds every excuse to touch me. Leans over me when I’m standing at the counter using the mixer. His hand brushes mine, his hand on the small of my back when he steps around me. By the time the cupcakes are out of the oven and cooling, I’m a heated mess. Not from the warmth of the oven. My body is on fire for him. I make the excuse that I’m tired and ready for bed and that I’ll ice and decorate the cupcakes in the morning.
“You want me to stay tonight so that I can help you?” he offers.
There’s hope in his eyes, but I need him to go. I need to spend some time with my battery-operated friend wishing it was him. “Thank you.” I smile, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. “I’ll take care of it. It won’t take long.”
“You sure?” he asks, taking a step toward me.
I want to hold my hands up to keep him from advancing, but I also want to reach out and pull him close and tell him to have his wicked way with me. I have to stop this. I have to learn to deal with this attraction, but now that this box has been opened, I don’t know how to close it.
Sterling isn’t one to hold back. If he wanted me, he’d tell me. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
“I can drive,” I counter.
