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“Come back here,” Dev growled, and planted his hands on Casey’s waist, drawing him close. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for days now.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.” Dev carded his fingers through Casey’s curls, which were just as soft as they looked, even dusted with flour. With Casey’s head cradled between his palms, he bent his head, but Casey met him halfway. When Casey’s tongue teased Dev’s lower lip, Dev opened and yes! Casey’s tongue met his at the same time the bulge in Casey’s jeans pressed against Dev’s dick.
He didn’t take the kiss up a notch, not yet. He wanted time to explore, to taste, to savor, to delve beyond the taste of peaches to the Casey taste underneath.
And as enticing as Casey’s erection felt against his, Dev had no intention of taking things any farther here. This was the summer kitchen, for fuck’s sake. It was Sylvia’s place of business. Besides, he’d never been the kind of guy who wanted to lay his partner out over a hard surface, because that had to be painful for the guy on the bottom. He wanted his first time with Casey to be comfortable as well as exciting. In the kitchen, there were too many sharp and hot things to get in the way, to threaten. Casey deserved better care than that.
But then Casey groaned into Dev’s mouth, his hands roaming down Dev’s spine to cup his ass, and made a pleased sound low in his throat as he pressed closer.
Hell, yeah. Despite his intention to keep things soft and sweet this time, Dev wanted more, wanted deeper, wanted hotter, and ate at Casey as though his mouth were the chef’s special of the day. Casey didn’t protest. In fact, he met Dev’s assault with equal fervor as Dev backed him up against the peach fridge.
Got to feel him. Dev’s fingers fumbled with Casey’s zipper, with Casey humming in encouragement as he nibbled on Dev’s lips. I’ll clean everything up. I’ll clean him with my tongue. He can lean there, no stress involved, not if I’m on my knees.
“Dev,” Casey murmured. “Please.” Then he dove for Dev’s mouth again.
Dev eased the zipper down, tongue warring with Casey’s—no, not warring. Not sparring. Mating. He slid his hand into Casey’s briefs and as his fist closed around Casey’s hot, perfect dick, he moaned.
Decisions, decisions. Casey’s mouth or Casey’s cock? Maybe both? He could keep kissing while he stroked for a bit, and then he could kneel and—
“What the hell are you doing with my fiancé?”
Dev sprang away from Casey so fast Casey nearly face-planted next to the oven. Still dazed from the sensual onslaught of Dev’s mouth and his hand on Casey’s cock, it took a minute to figure out what was happening.
For one thing, his cock was jutting out of his briefs. For another, Dev was halfway across the kitchen, glaring at him with a look of near hatred. For a third, Bradley was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his face twisted in an expression of outraged self-righteousness.
“B-Bradley? What are you doing here?”
Bradley lifted an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same, but the answer is glaringly obvious. You’ve clearly lost your mind.”
“Excuse me,” Dev muttered and practically sprinted out the door.
“Dev!” Casey called, but his forward momentum was slowed by the need to tuck his privates away—not easy, because his cock was taking its time wilting after Dev’s touch—and by Bradley stepping into his path.
“Really, Casey. Consorting with the help? Have you no self-respect?”
Casey glared at him. “He’s not the help, not that there’s anything wrong with that. He owns this estate. Plus, he’s the town manager.” He propped his fists on his hips. “And anyway, where do you get off with this fiancé business? We’re not engaged.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Casey. Of course we are. Your uncle and I have it all planned as the second boost for the restaurant. December first, right before we introduce the new holiday menu.” He peered at the tarts, distaste flickering across his face to land on his down-turned mouth. “Which will definitely not include anything this downscale.” He cast a dismissive glance at Casey’s midsection. “Just to be perfectly clear, I expect you to conduct your… liaisons with more discretion. Cheating is one thing, but flaunting your infidelity with clearly unsuitable partners is something else entirely.”
Casey stalked back to Peach’s counter and picked up the cooling rack, shielding them from Bradley’s unappreciative gaze. He doesn’t deserve anything this wonderful.
“Newsflash. I can’t cheat on somebody I’m not even with. We’ve never even dated. Not,” he shot over his shoulder as he set the tarts inside the antique pie safe with its pierced tin panels, “that I would have ever accepted a date if you’d asked. Which you didn’t. You never ask, Bradley. You instruct. You assume. You… you pontificate.” He shut the pie safe door carefully, because he wasn’t mad at it. He double checked to make sure the oven was turned off. “You’ll have to excuse me now. I need to go find Dev.”
He marched toward the door, dodging around Bradley, who had planted himself stolidly in the middle of the room like an Armani-suited boulder. Once outside, he scanned the field for any sign of Dev.
Nothing.
He raced down the path and alongside Harrison House, rounded the corner by the lilacs, and scattered gravel under his feet as he ran down the drive.
“Casey!” Bradley called. “We have things to discuss.”
“No, we don’t,” Casey muttered. He spotted Dev just passing the Market on what had to be an Olympic record pace, something Casey could never match even if Dev hadn’t had a quarter mile head start. “Damn it.” He kicked at a rock and turned around, only to come face to backside with Bradley. “Go away, Bradley. I mean it.”
Bradley, as usual, ignored him, his gaze fixed speculatively on Harrison House. “Do you know the extent of this estate?”
Bradley’s tone slowed Casey’s headlong rush toward the front porch. When he turned back, Bradley was scrutinizing Harrison House, from its multiple chimneys and the dormers that made the third story roofline so quirky, down the scalloped shingles that gave way to clapboard siding on the second floor, to the river rock that formed its foundation.
