Page 95 of Playing With Danger

“That bad?” I laughed.

“Worse.”

He bent down, his intention clear. I put my hand over my mouth and mumbled from behind it, “Oh no. Go rinse your mouth out. I don’t want residual nasty muffin.”

His lips winged up in a smile.

“No joke, baby. I love coming home from work knowing you’re home waiting for me.”

I loved, he loved that.

So much so I dropped my hand, rolled up on my toes, and kissed him.

Residual nastiness be damned.

Luckily he tasted of Valentine—all yummy, sexy Hot Cop.

“Do I have time for a shower before dinner?”

“Do you want time?”

He glanced at the stove then back to me.

“Have you started the rice?”

“Damn. I knew I forgot something. Go, you have time.”

See? I was not good at this cooking stuff.

“Be back.”

He was halfway through the living room when I called his name.

“Yeah.”

“I feel at this juncture I should be honest with you and tell you, if you’re with me for my kitchen skills you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re cooking doesn’t have a damn thing to do with why I’m with you.”

Well, that was a relief.

“Is it because I’m funny?” I joked.

“Are you fishing, Soph?”

Was I?

I didn’t think so.

“Maybe.”

“Right.” He prowled back into the kitchen, yanked me to his chest, and dropped his chin so we were eye to eye. “It has a lot to do with how pretty your eyes are. But also your sense of humor, how smart you are, how gorgeous. And I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you it also has to do with how perfect your ass is, how great your tits are, how phenomenal your pussy feels, how good you taste, and when you get your mouth on me I lose my mind. But mostly, it’s about how you look at me. I want to be the man you see.”

“You are that man,” I whispered.

“Keep telling me that, baby, and one day I might believe it.”

I was so telling him that every day right after he told me he loved coming home to me.

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