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“Clementine, is everything ok?”
“Everything’s fine,” I say a little too upbeat.
“Well, I’m outside. Want to let me in?”
“Sure thing.” I hang up the phone, toss it on the counter, and rush to the front door of the shop.
Gabriel stands on the other side of the glass, shocking me by not having on a suit. Instead of his usual attire, he’s dressed in dark jeans and a white button down with the cuffs rolled up on his forearms, showcasing his watch. The arm porn is just as lethal as the suit porn.
“Come on in,” I say, and lock the door quickly behind him.
“Smells good.”
So does he. “Hope you think it tastes as good.” I lead Gabriel to the back of the shop and into the kitchen. “I have a few samples.”
“I love samples.” He takes a seat on a stool at the stainless steel table where I’ve arranged a few different flavors.
“This is the first one,” I point to the mini red velvet cake loaded with cream cheese frosting. “It’s one of my favorites.”
He picks up the fork next to the plate. “I’m not going to lie, I love cake,” he says with a smile before he digs in and takes a bite.
Just like that, I’m jealous of a fork. I want to be the tines sliding into his mouth, touching his tongue, and being sucked by his lips. No one has ever made me wish I was cutlery before.
He’d be a knife. One side smooth and cunning, not at all scary, because you know it will never hurt you. The other side sharp and evil, just waiting for the slightest slip of your hand to draw blood.
Gabriel is nothing compared to Bishop, though. If Gabriel is a knife, than Bishop is a whole army of swords. Ready to slay.
Gabriel lets out a slight moan as he takes another bite of the red velvet cake, and now, more than anything, I wish I was cake.
I look away, knowing his lips and smile will be my downfall. “This is lemon with a hint of elderflower.” I point to the yellow cake in front of him, and he raises a brow.
“You’re spoiling me, Clem.”
My breath hitches. It’s the first time Gabriel has ever called me Clem and not Clementine, and I like it. “It’s just cake,” I whisper.
He takes a bite, slow and sensual. “It’s neverjustcake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sit down,” he pats the stool next to him. I do as he says, and he picks up his fork, swiping another piece of the cake. “It’s like sex.” He brings the fork up, offering it to me, waiting for me to open my mouth.
I take the bite of the lemon cake, not breaking eye contact, letting the full flavors illuminate my tastebuds.
“It’s an explosion of flavors, racing straight through you.” His voice is husky and low. “Opening up all your senses.”
“Cake does all that?” I ask, focused on his lips.
“Yeah. And if it’s really good, really fucking good, done the right way, it makes you moan, telling your body to do it again. And again.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. Chills race up my spine, and my heart beats rapidly in my chest.
He draws closer. “This tastes as good as you.” Before I can say or do anything, he kisses me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and stand, moving into the spot between his legs. A groan rumbles out of him, and he grips my hips, pulling me flush against him, as his tongue explores my mouth.
“I just can’t seem to stop kissing you,” I murmur when he breaks away to run his lips along my jaw.
“I know the feeling.” And then his lips find mine once again. And it’s the kind of kiss you dream about. The game-changer type of kiss. The panty-melter type of kiss.
