Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(78)
We proceeded to launch all the colors in an extreme frosting close-quarters combat, spattering each other, along with every surface around us. The bowls and utensils clanged as we knocked them into each other. When we’d exhausted ourselves with laughter, and the frosting supply dwindled, we stopped for a temporary truce, trying to catch our breath.
I gasped for air, pointing to the untouched bowl. “You didn’t use any of the white frosting.” For some reason, I hadn’t either, preferring to show my superior skills by painting bold colors all over him, but we’d actually sustained about equal damage.
“Nope. I’ve got plans for that white frosting.” He crooked his finger at me. “C’mere.”
I hesitated, but he cocked his head—a subtle warning to either obey, or he’d see to the task for me. I smirked and surrendered my weapons, laying them on the table, while sauntering around the other side.
When I came within reach, he wrapped his hands around my waist and pulled me close, bending down and kissing me breathless. In a sudden move, he broke away and lifted me up, seating me on the marble top of my kitchen island.
I gasped at the cold stone under my bare ass.
Yeah, I’d be cleaning and disinfecting all day tomorrow.
With determined focus, he relocated the condiments from the small surface beside me to the counter next to the stove, then brought over the last frosting bowl and the bottles of toppings. The bowl hadn’t remained entirely untouched during our skirmish; a pink streak and a blue glop marred the frosting’s smooth white surface. He glanced back and reached an arm toward the utensil drawer, pulling out a yellow silicone spatula. Then he dipped it into the frosting.
Time stood still. My breaths grew shallow while he stared at me.
He held me locked in a gaze so all consuming, I felt devoured, cherished, and freed at once. Never again would there be doubt of where I’d run when panic set in. My safe place, existed with Cade, in his arms.
A devilish smirk twisted his lips as his free hand slid warm and firm over my thigh, inching the hem of my apron higher. The spatula in his other hand tilted sideways and fell against the skin high on my inner thigh.
“Ooops.” He pulled the spatula off my leg and tossed it back into the frosting bowl. “I’ve made a mess.”
“You better clean it up.” My bossy tone surprised me. Cade always took a dominant role with our play, and I loved that.
A dark brow arched. His chin inched to the left, his eyes narrowing on me in disbelief. “Did you just give me an order?” He gripped my hips, lifting them clear off the counter and yanking me to the edge. I fell back on a soft laugh. He wanted it clear who wielded control here.
I propped an arm under my head, gazing down at him. “Yeah, I did.”
His blue eyes darkened with desire. He tore his frosting-covered black T-shirt off, revealing his tanned chest. Sleek abdominal muscles tightened, drawing my gaze to the dark dusting of hair that led down beneath the unbuttoned fly of his jeans. I stared at the length bulging against the underside of that denim.
Rich and low, his tone nearly came out as a growl. “Okay, smartass. Now I plan to make a much bigger mess before I ever think about cleaning it up.”
My eyes widened, feigning shock. “Oh? Promise?”
He sucked in a lungful of air, chest expanding. “Wow. Maybe I should disappear more often. I can’t decide whether to spank you or pound into you.”
I grinned, so incredibly happy to have him here with me, the fact we weren’t mindlessly having sex up against the wall already didn’t bother me. I’d missed him too much to care. Teasing and taunting had been the foundation of our friendship and courtship before we’d ever gotten naked. And the fact that we lingered here in this wonderful place of intimacy, of reconnecting, meant a great deal to me. To both of us, I imagined.
Neither of us rushed the moment.
But my smartass couldn’t help itself. “I’m so afraid. That floppy spatula looks dangerous.”
He snorted. “First of all, do not say the word ‘floppy’ when we’re naked. Second, that is not the spatula I would spank your feisty ass with.”
His tone was edgy, serious. My playful expression fell away. I gasped in surprise as an ache throbbed between my legs. “No?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “No.”
Then he shoved his hand back into the drawer, metal utensils crashing together. He rummaged a second before pulling out another metal spatula, only it was wider and solid. The hard surface glinted as he turned it in his hand beneath the overhead pendant lights. “This is the spatula I’m gonna use.”
“Going to?” I stared at it, visualizing the cold unforgiving metal smacking my skin. Another flash of pleasure speared between my thighs at the thought, forbidden, unknown.
“Definitely.” He placed the not-so-harmless kitchen utensil beside my hip. “But first, I plan to heat up your front side. Then I’ll flip you over to sear your backside.”
I groaned at the thought as he dropped his head. His teeth met the skin inside of my bent knee in a gentle bite, hot breath fanning up my thigh as he exhaled.
Tender kisses followed the fogging air, teasing a trail up my inner thigh.
My body flushed hot as I fought to catch my breath. Desire, laced with something greater, pulsed through my veins. Vulnerable and exposed, spread for Cade on his condiment alter in the middle of my kitchen, I offered myself to him. Body, heart, soul, were his.