The Lies Between Us (The Devil's Dust #4)(19)

“Um, I can put a pizza in the oven. Oh, those little dinners you put in the oven. Um—”

“Anything not in a box?” He tilts his head to the side and chuckles. I bite my bottom lip, a little embarrassed, and shake my head.

“Well, you’re in luck. I know how to cook everything.” He pushes off the counter and opens the fridge. “My family is Italian, and we take food seriously,” he informs.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping away from the fridge. He draws back with a carton of eggs.

“Do you know how to cook eggs?”

“I mean, I’ve tried, but they always stick to the pan and burn. Or I get the shell in them, or I burn myself,” I ramble. Lip smirks.

“Eggs will be your best friend, rookie, because they’re easy to cook. We’ll start with those. My mom has a secret ingredient with her eggs; it makes them soft,” Lip states, grabbing a pan and placing it on the stove. His arms bulge and flex as he moves things around. He looks so big in a kitchen, his tattooed arms, and scarred knuckles standing out among the light. He looks used and abused, and for some reason I can’t comprehend, I crave to be the one to offer him a touch of softness, of care. The rose to his thorns.

“What is the ingredient?” I ask, poking my head over his shoulder as he digs into the cabinet. He slowly turns his head, his mouth nearly brushing my cheek, and my body instantly goes warm.

“If I told you,” he pauses, his eyes searching my face, “my mother would kill me.” I burst with laughter then step back and try to cover my mouth. He sweeps his hand through his hair and smirks. That sly smile he portrays has me squeezing my thighs together.

“I’m serious! My mom is a tough ole’ bird.” He laughs.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

He pulls his hand from the cabinet, holding a can of baking powder.

“That?” I point at the can.

“Yep. Also you need this, since it helps with the sticking.” He holds up a can of spray Pam, and my mouth falls open in a big ‘O’. “This pan doesn’t hurt either,” he tells me, shuffling the pan on the stovetop.

“What is it?”

“A non-stick pan.” I scrunch my lips to the side in a ‘go figure’ gesture. We couldn’t afford those fancy-ass pans growing up.

Lip sprays the skillet and grabs a bowl from the dish strainer. “Now, grab an egg.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and remove a cold egg from the carton.

Lip raises a brow and gestures his hand toward the bowl. “Well, crack it.”

I can do this. I can crack a simple egg. I bite my lip and slam the side of the egg along the edge of the bowl. The shell splinters, and pieces fall into the bowl along with the egg yolk.

“Shit! See, I told you I’m no good at this.” I shake my head, trying to pry the small bits of shell out, my cheeks warm with embarrassment.

Lip walks behind me, his thighs against the backs of mine.

“Like this,” he whispers into my ear.

My head gently falls backward as his words slide down my spine and buzz between my legs. My eyes go heavy with lust as I watch his hand rest on top of mine. He pushes my hand to grab an egg, and Lip gives a small amount of pressure on my fingers, gently tapping the egg along the side of the bowl and cracking it. His fingers lying on top of mine, we pull at the shell, prying it apart gently. The yolk gently plops into the bowl, no bits of shell in sight. My eyes skip from our hands to his eyes. He has that look, the one that sees right through me, to my soul. All the air is sucked from my lungs, and I can’t breathe when he looks at me like that.

“Now, grab just a pinch of baking powder and flick it in,” he mutters. My eyes fall to his lips closely and my mouth tingles, desperately wanting one of those earth-stopping kisses again.

“Okay,” I mumble. Breaking eye contact, I flick in the powder.

“Now, scramble it in the bowl then pour it into the pan,” he instructs. I do as he says, and I never burn myself. The spray Pam and pan worked wonders, because the egg never stuck. I take the egg and spoon it onto a plate, a smile on my face the whole time. I f*cking cooked!

“Try some.” Lip hands me a fork, and I stab at a piece and take a bite. My eyes go wide, and a moan leaves my mouth.

“Those are the best eggs I’ve ever made,” I admit, stabbing at another piece and offering Lip a piece.

Smirking, he opens his mouth and takes a bite, slowly. My eyes watch his lips slide along the silver fork, his jaw flexing as he chews. A shiver runs down my back as I realize we just shared the same fork. I bite at my bottom lip, jealous the fork got to taste his sinful concoction.

Suddenly, Lip grabs the plate from my hands, placing it on the counter before he slams his mouth to mine. His hands palm my face and he kisses me harder. I close my eyes and return the kiss. The way his calloused hands feel on my face and the way he moves his mouth against mine has me falling apart. I wrap my arms around his neck, the fork still in my hand. His tongue slips between my lips and caresses along mine. He tastes amazing—sweet, yet spicy. I moan into his mouth, satisfied that my world of darkness has been shifted off its axis, even if it’s just for a moment.

My lungs burn with the need to breathe, but I don’t dare pull away. I want this, I need this, I crave this. The way Lip looks at me with such hunger, it’s a turn-on I can’t fight anymore. Strong palms trail down my sides and clasp along my butt cheeks, and I claw at his hard chest.