One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(103)

Tentatively, with the pads of my fingers, I run them over the well-defined sinew of his thick forearm. The muscles beneath me flick and flutter to my touch, dancing beneath my hand.

Peering into Hayden’s heavy-lidded eyes, I’m taken back to a moment in the hotel room in New York City, my head buried between his thighs. My mouth on his cock, my tongue lapping at the head, his eyes fluttering shut, his teeth pulling on his bottom lip, his corded neck straining with every single lap.

Heat consumes me. A wave of lava erupting over my skin, the sound of his grumbly moans echoing through my memory.

“Do you feel that, Adalyn? Goosebumps spread over my skin, the heat of your touch warming me immediately? A light touch does that to me, having you near me sends my body into a frenzy, so the next time you try to put yourself down again, think of this moment. Because you might not feel like yourself, but to me, you’re more beautiful than ever.”

Clearing his throat as my fingers continue to travel along his arm, he scoots back on the couch and pulls on the chocolate strands of his hair. “Uh, I’m going to pack some of these boxes up. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. I have something planned for us.”

Standing from the couch, he starts gathering boxes, and I finally open my mouth. “How many women have you been with?” I don’t know why I ask the question, and frankly I don’t think I want to know, but for some self-loathing reason, I’m curious.

Not looking at me, he says, “Doesn’t matter. There’s only been one woman I’ve ever truly cared about.” Eyeing me with a look I can only describe as loving, he adds, “And she’s sitting on my couch, driving me fucking nuts with the way she keeps wetting her lips.”

My tongue on route to wet my bottom lip, I suck it back into my mouth, causing Hayden to chuckle to himself and retreat to the kitchen, his backside flexing with every step.

I might be in trouble.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

ADALYN

“That’s not how you whisk eggs. You’re just stirring them.”

I look down at the three still intact eggs, their yolks barely breaking. “No, look they’re starting to break apart.” I point into the bowl.

“At that pace, we’re going to be eating cake at midnight. I’ll show you how it’s done.” From behind, Hayden traps my body against the counter, his arms circling around me. Taking my hand in his along with the fork, he whisks the eggs sharply in the bowl, beating the poor things to death. Lips next to my ear, he says, “See, like this. Like you’re whipping them.”

Whipping.

Why does that word make me want to do naughty things? Hell, watching his forearm whisk the eggs makes me want to do naughty things. Look at how his wrist rotates incredibly fast, never letting up. And his fingers, long and strong, telling the fork exactly what to do, beating the eggs into submission.

Submission.

Whipping.

Forearms.

Wrists.

Oh Christ, I need some water.

Pregnancy hormones are in overdrive tonight. It doesn’t help that Hayden is wandering around his apartment without socks on. Yes, he’s barefoot in jeans and a white T-shirt, looking casually handsome, his large feet padding across the floor.

They’re feet, uncovered man feet, and from the mere sight of them I can feel a dull throb start in the base of my stomach.

We are talking overactive hormones here. Never in my life have I lusted over feet, but by golly do I want to play with his.

Don’t worry. I’m quite aware something is wrong with me.

“Adalyn, the milk.”

“Huh?” I look up, my hand whisking in the air, carrying the motion on after Hayden has already stepped away and started mixing all the ingredients together.

“The milk, hand me the milk.”

“Oh yeah, the milk. Gotcha.” I give his side a playful punch that makes him chuckle, his brow drawn close together, confusion of my actions written all over his face. Don’t worry, buddy, I’m just as confused as you are.

Milk already measured out, I give him the glass Pyrex cup and lean against the counter, my hip hitting the hard edge. Hayden’s talking, but his words aren’t registering. Instead, my mind is focused on the way his biceps swell with each pass of the mixing spoon in the bowl. Up and down, up and down, testing the elasticity of the cotton shirt he’s wearing. Is it going to snap? It looks like it.

Come on.

Snap.

Snap, you little cotton—

“Hey, where are you right now?” Hayden tilts my chin up, forcing my eyes away from his cannon of an arm.

“Sorry, just thinking about things.” Not things I plan on sharing. Nodding toward the mix, I say, “What does it taste like?” When Hayden said he wanted to bake a cake with me, I inwardly softened, the wall around my heart being broken down one brick at a time.

“Want to taste it?”

I nod vigorously. I reach for the bowl, but he swats my hand away only to stick his finger in the bowl and offer me a taste.

Holding his finger in front of me, he waits for me to taste the chocolate flavor about to drip off the end. Not feeling shy about licking his finger, I lean forward and stick my tongue out, flicking up the dripping of batter about to fall. Keeping my gaze trained on his, I notice how his pupils grow, his eyes narrow, and then I open my mouth and slip his finger inside. Looking up at him, I allow my lips to encircle his finger while my tongue works its way around his finger, lapping up the chocolate.