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“And now Mr. Knight we will take the yeast water you heated and check the temperature.” I place my forefinger into the measuring cup to feel the warmth of the water and then take out my finger. “See my finger is not burning, but I know the water is still warm enough to activate the yeast.” He takes my finger and rolls his tongue around it like it was a lollipop.
“I agree, it’s nice and warm.”
“Uh yes, anyway, we then proceed to pour the contents of this yeast water into the opening of the volcano, until all the water is inside the volcano.”
He watches my hands as I pour all the yeast water into the opening of the flour pyramid. “Now slowly using your thumb and fingers you will press against the hole and push it to make it larger. This will allow the water to spill out and mix with the dough.”
He follows my instructions, and it is mesmerizing to watch his large hands and long fingers work on the flour. As the hole size increases, the volcano gets shorter and wider, taking in the water gradually. The volcano has collapsed as planned. I take both my hands and press his hand against the spread-out flour and water. The flour sticks to our hands as we mix in the water.
I grab the bottle of Italian virgin olive oil and tilt the bottle, releasing a silky golden ribbon of oil on to our sticky hands. The gooey flour slips off and we rub our hands together until the flour has completely left our hands. The mix of flour, oil and water are in several pieces. and I gather the pieces and lump them into a ball. I smash the ball onto the island.
“Mr. Knight, I need your strength now. Push this lump with your clenched fist as hard as you can. He turns his large hands into a strong fist and presses his knuckles into the dough. I pour a little olive oil on his fist, which helps him pummel the dough. He leaves the imprint of his knuckles on the dough, and I close it again into a ball asking him to do it all over again.
The act is hypnotic, we are lost into each other, and I don’t even remember how many times I make him knead the dough. What we have in the end is a well-mixed, large ball of dough. I pick up the ball of dough with both hands and place it in his large hand. He likes the feel of it, but his eyes remain steadily on mine.
“We will let this sit for two hours, so that it can rise.”
“I really love this pizza,” he says, placing the ball of dough on the island.
“I should go back and change, I don’t want to look sloppy in front of your mom and friends.”
“Nonsense, you can shower here, and we can have clothes delivered here within an hour. Besides, the dough is rising, you cannot abandon the pizza.”
WHILE THE DOUGH RISES
BROOKE
“Boy, you really know how to use the birthday card, Ethan!”
He laughs. “Going to be all over by midnight so I must make the most of it. Let me show you, my room. We walk through a lovely passage, the long wall painted in beautiful oil colors, depicting the Roman Goddess Minerva in different roles, as warrior holding a shield and spear, as a knowledge seeker, and patron of the arts and crafts.
“Here we are. Welcome to the cave.”
“I think you need to understand what caves and garages look like!” The contrast could not be any greater. The space is vast with one wall entirely glass that overlooks the museums and gardens of the city. The room itself is lightly decorated which makes sense going by what I know about his taste. He likes to deal with one thing at a time and not clutter his senses. The bed is huge, of course, made in a thick sturdy style, the headboard is low as are the black leather chairs with a stitching of dull orange. On the wall opposite the bed is a massive oil painting of a woman, just her face, and she strikingly looks like …
“She looks like you.”
“It’s the Goddess Minerva,” I say, recognizing the Roman Goddess from our trip to his garage in Portugal.
“It’s you.”
“No, that’s not me. That’s a goddess, Ethan!”
“You are a Goddess, Brooke.”
I am flattered but want to play along.
“Goddess of what?” I come closer to him looking at him in the eyes with a flirtatious smile.
“Goddess of Pizza,” he says. “What you did was magical, we went from pyramid to volcano to a ball of dough.”
“That’s no big deal,” I say, slapping his chest but finding it hard to remove my hand from his muscular frame. His hands fall around my waist and his fingers spread out on my hips.
That does feel good.
I naturally mold into him, my breasts pressing against him. His hand is already running under my dress, caressing my ribs as he goes up and up to my breasts. His fingers go beneath my bra, and he glides his thumb over my nipple. I throw my head back in pleasure, and he kisses my stretched-out neck with a hungry tongue.
His thumb on my nipple makes me desire for more of him. I open my bra clip and let it fall to the ground.
