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She sniffed indignantly. “That isn’t professional.”
“Kitty.”
She sighed. “No, mister bossy pants. I haven’t seen any parts of him naked, nor vice versa.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Now how do you feel about me fucking you on top of this counter?”
“Next to my cookies?”
“You can do very interesting things with batter.” I untied her robe and tried to maintain my powers of speech at the sight of her curves. I was pretty sure they’d render me mute every damn time I saw them.
Just her breasts and hard light brown nipples alone were damn works of art.
“Not with my batter, sir. It has Madagascar vanilla and peanut butter chips as well as chocolate. I’m not wasting it on shenanigans of a sexual nature.”
Laughing, I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Her lips curved. “I guess all those Kegels paid off, huh?”
ELEVEN
We didn’t talka lot after that.
Even aware my father could show at any second—couldbeing the operative word—we did a number of inventive things beside that bowl. Then on the floor in front of the sofa.
Then in the shower with grape-flavored body wash. That I only owned because an author had once sent me a book-themed gift.
For a woman who’d been out of practice for years, I supposed this could be considered trial by fire.
Much later that night, I woke to humming. I didn’t recognize the sound but it made me smile as I snuggled into my pillow. A pillow richly scented with cinnamon aftershave.
I cuddled it close as I drifted off again.
Sometime afterward, I sat straight up in bed and clutched my sheet to my naked breasts. Clint was dressing in front of my closet mirror, knotting his tie with a precision that shouldn’t have made my very well-worked thighs squeeze together.
I would’ve asked where he’d come up with different clothes if I didn’t vaguely remember him mentioning getting an overnight bag from his car in the wee hours of the night. He’d also talked about feeding me the dinner I’d never eaten in lieu of mad cookie making and loads of sex, but I’d been asleep before he got back.
I hoped he’d put my dough in the fridge on his way out. That vanilla was prime.
Yet even my concern over my cookies couldn’t quiet the biggest question of all in my mind.
“Did you meet my dad? Did I miss him?”
Did we really have sex most of the night before we both passed out?
At least I could answer that in the affirmative. Even though it had been such a very bad idea.
Not the sex. The sex had been so, so good. I still didn’t believe it could be that good. I’d been sure that kind of thing only occurred in romance novels.
In fact, I might have even had an argument with one of my authors once about how a screaming orgasm was not a thing.
Surprise, Clint had techniques that I’d been unable to even fantasize about. My knowledge base had been too small.
Even Sven had nothing on my vet.
Ha, joke’s on you, Rina.
See, that was the problem. Clint wasn’t my vet. He was just flinging with me. Or dating me just so he didn’t have to lie to his parents about my being his girlfriend. He’d been vague enough every time I asked post coitus that I wasn’t clear on that score. Something about dinner and some woman named Musselbottom.
