Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(57)

The burnt odor had faded by the time she returned. He didn’t need to turn around to know she was there. She moved in silence, but she had an addicting scent, the one he recognized now. The storms. The flowers. The scent of his woman.


“Trap?” She came up behind him, her hand sliding up the back of his thigh, over his very cut buttocks. “Is this how I’m supposed to wear this? Does it look right?”


She stepped close to him and he felt her tongue slide over the trail her hand left behind. Just the lightest of touches. It didn’t matter how light. He felt it sink into his bones.


He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of her palm sliding over his bare skin. He loved that she was tactile. Loved it more that she was oral. Loved that she was made for sex and sin. For him. That she had no inhibitions and would welcome the way he liked to play.


He turned slowly, and his breath caught in his throat. “Fuck, baby,” he whispered softly, his hand dropping to his cock. Already the loincloth apron was tenting hugely. “You look amazing. So damned sexy I’m not certain I can concentrate.”


She looked sexier than any of the pictures he’d seen with a woman demonstrating what the apron looked like. She might be tiny, but she was all there, an hourglass figure, her breasts high and thrusting against the lace, stretching it, pushing out her red nipples, the lacy webbing emphasizing the soft, full curves. The tie showed off her small waist and flaring hips. The skirt of the apron, short, but pleated and sassy, moved just a bit when she shifted her weight and showed him a peek of her tight black curls and a hint of that red hourglass.


He drew in his breath as he used his finger to indicate for her to turn slowly. She complied. Her long hair fell down her back, silken waves she’d tamed with a dryer, reaching past her waist to skim the sweet curve of her ass. He definitely was fixating on her body. He reached down and cupped both cheeks, kneading with his fingers, sinking deep, claiming that part of her for his own as well.


“I can’t imagine that we aren’t going to whip up a masterpiece with you in that outfit.” His apron wasn’t lacy, but the material was white and black checkerboard and when his cock was soft the entire crown peeked out under the apron. When it was hard, his cock nestled in the fabric as if being caressed, pushing against the stretchy material.


“Are you certain about this, Trap?”


“Absolutely. Do you drink coffee?”


She frowned. Shook her head. “It always smelled good when others had it in mugs, but no, I was never given coffee.”


“What about chocolate?”


She shook her head again.


“Whipped cream?”


“No.”


“Whipped cream is a specialty item, baby. It can be used for all sorts of things. It can go on top of your coffee, a dessert, in a crepe, or all over me or you so the other one can have the fun of licking it off. Then there’s chocolate sauce or fudge.”


“I’m beginning to see a pattern here, Trap,” she said. “Does everything revolve around sex?”


He flashed a grin. “Now you’re getting it. Come on. I’ll make you some chocolate and you can try that while I whip us up some eggs and potatoes.”


“I want to learn, Trap. I spent the night reading articles about families and cooking and making a home. There are magazines online that specialize in things like that. I’m pretty certain I can turn what I read into practical experience.” She glanced around the kitchen a little ruefully. “I was thinking about where I went wrong this morning. I tried to do too many things at the same time, didn’t I?”


He couldn’t help himself. He curled his fingers around the nape of her neck and drew her to him. “What you did was perfect for so many reasons I can’t even tell you.”


Her eyes went soft. Happy. The tension in her eased. “Even though I totally screwed up, it meant something to you then?”


“Yeah, baby.” He pulled her tight against his chest, just holding her there where she couldn’t see his face. He was a GhostWalker, and normally he didn’t give a damn about anything, so it was easy enough to keep his features a stone wall. There was no hiding what her gesture meant to him. All he could do was hold her tight against him and bury his face in her wealth of hair. He nuzzled the top of the red hourglass nestled in all that black silk. “It meant a f*ck of a lot.”


She slipped her arms around him and held his back. Melted into him. She felt soft and warm and his. Suddenly, it wasn’t about sex, and no matter how subconsciously he tried to make it that, he knew he’d slipped past falling and right into gone. Abruptly he pulled back, caught her around the waist and planted her sweet little ass on the center aisle.


“Sit there and observe your master.”


She laughed softly, and the sound felt like music. He glanced sideways at her as he pulled out a mixing bowl, which he filled with cold water and a grater.


“I’m going to put you to work. You can grate the potatoes right into the cold water while I fix the eggs.”


“You’re removing the starch with the cold water.”


He flashed an approving smile over his shoulder as he quickly washed four potatoes at the sink and handed them off to her. “You do have your alarm system spread around the complex outside, right?”