Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(58)

She sighs and wraps her arms around my waist, squeezing me tight.

“It’s because of me, isn’t it? You’re off your game because every time you look at me you remember the worst blowjob you’ve ever received,” she whispers sadly.

Quickly turning towards her, I cradle her face in my hands and stare into her eyes.

“Stop it. This has nothing to do with you, I swear,” I reassure her. “You turn me on just by breathing. I promise you, that blowjob was stellar, and regardless of the puke, your determination and won’t-quit attitude scored you a lot of blowjob points in my book.”

She smiles at me, and I drop my hands from her face to wrap them around her back and pull her closer.

“It really does happen to everyone, it’s not that big of a deal.”

I scoff and raise one eyebrow at her. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

She bites her bottom lip, but doesn’t say anything.

“See?! It’s just me! I’M the problem!”

“No you’re not,” Molly says with a sigh. “I just haven’t been doing it as long as you.”

She drops her arms from around my waist as I turn towards the kitchen counter, picking up the ruined soufflé with a scowl.

“Exactly my point,” I tell her, walking over to the garbage can and dumping the dessert angrily inside. “I’m a pro. I’ve been baking soufflés since I was in elementary school, and I have NEVER had one collapse. This is mortifying.”

I could blame Molly for ruining the dessert, but that’s not exactly fair. I’m the one who was holding the oven door open to check on it when she got here twenty minutes ago and I’m the one who let the handle slip from my hands and slam shut when she walked into the kitchen wearing a tiny, blue strapless dress that clung to her tits, hugged her curves and fit her like a second skin. Her long, shiny black hair was curled into soft waves that hung around her shoulders, and don’t even get me started on the matching blue f*ck-me heels she had on that made her tall enough for her lips to be perfectly aligned with mine when she stood in front of me.

Maybe the soufflé could have survived the slamming of the oven door, but I definitely killed it when I grabbed her hips, turned her around and repeatedly pushed her body against the double oven to kiss her. And then I made sure it would never survive by continuing to hump her against the damn oven while I lost my mind between her legs with my tongue in her mouth.

Not only was she so f*cking hot it made me want to drop to my knees and thank God for bringing her into my life, she looked so worried and nervous standing in the middle of my kitchen while she fidgeted with the dress and nervously shifted back and forth on her feet. When she shyly whispered that Ava picked out her clothes and did her hair and that she felt stupid, I knew I had to do something to erase that panicked look from her face like she was waiting for me to laugh at how she looked.

“So, now that my plan of making you fall madly in love with me as soon as you took a bite of my world famous soufflé that I never share with students is ruined, what do you want to do?” I ask, deciding to stop being a baby over a stupid dessert and concentrate on the gorgeous woman standing in my kitchen.

I spent all day cleaning this place up so it didn’t look like a pigsty bachelor pad, and I made sure any evidence of Alfanso D. was safely hidden out of sight. I am determined to come clean with her tonight, but I want it to come from me and not have her find out by seeing all of my notes for the next book lying around. Since I trade working summers every year with another teacher, this is my summer to be off for three months and every minute I haven’t been with Molly, I’ve been working on the book. My entire apartment was littered with sheets of notebook paper with scribbled ideas on them, post-it notes with recipes stuck to all the walls, and several copies of Seduction and Sugar lying all over the place so I could go back and reference whatever I needed. Now that everything has been shoved into the spare bedroom closet, I don’t have to worry about her finding something before I can explain it myself. Which WILL happen before this night is over.

“Hmmmm, what should we do?” Molly ponders, tapping a finger against her lips. “I believe you mentioned something about getting naked in your text.”

Tell her right now before she gets naked. Molly naked will result in you turning stupid.

“Yes, I believe I did say something to that effect. Why don’t we sit down and talk first,” I suggest as she walks slowly around me and heads into the living room.

Perfect, she wants to talk. Chicks always want to talk before getting to the good stuff. Just pretend like she never mentioned getting naked and everything will be fine.

I follow behind Molly, unable to move my eyes away from her ass as her hips gently sway while she walks into my living room. When she turns around in front of the couch, I’m still staring and now my eyes are glued to her crotch.

Focus, dammit! Don’t think about what her * looks like. Don’t drool wondering if it’s shaved or full-on bush, trimmed or cut into a neat little design like a lightning bolt or arrow pointing down. Move your eyes up, *!

“We could talk, sure,” Molly says softly, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress that stops at the top of her thighs.

Fuck, her legs are so long and smooth with just a hint of muscle definition that assures me she could wrap them around my shoulders and hold on for dear life.