Page 92 of All We Need

Twenty minutes later,Boothis “helping” me prep the chicken before it roasts in the oven.Hisversion of help is standing behind me, chin perched on my shoulder, arms looped around my waist.

It was cute at first.Untilhe started backseat cooking.

Use this pan instead.

Sauté it some more.

Here, let me show you.

I slam the knife down when he murmurs, “Trydicing it like this,” in my ear.

“Did you want to do this?”Isnap.

His breathy laughter tickles my nape. “Sorry, sorry.Youcan take the chef out of the kitchen…”

I twist my upper body. “Really?IwishIknew how.”

“Look at you taking charge.”Hepresses his hips forward, hard cock settling at the base of my spine through his jeans. “What’sthe next step?”

An internal fuse must blow, because the recipeIwas raised with is,poof, gone.

“What’s the matter,Aly?Somethingdistracting you?”Witha flick of his finger, the strap of my tank falls off my shoulder.Myhands tremble when he scrapes his teeth over my skin. “Maybeyoudoneed my help.”

I shake my head, searching for a single brain cell so we can finish this recipe. “Shh.Um, we need to…”Ispy the tomatoes. “Right, we need to cover the chicken in water, olive oil, and tomato sauce.Thensprinkle it with cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon?Nice.”Hiswords barely register as he steps up beside me, the loss of his touch immediate.Iwatch him, entranced, as his large hands work methodically.Hispresence is large, but in the kitchen his movements are graceful and fluid.

I’ve never questioned his skills or his commitment.Sincethe night he revealed his dream to work elsewhere, it was clear he’d put that to rest.Ican’t stop thinking about it, though.Anykitchen would be lucky to have a talent like his, and my mind keeps wandering to the restaurants in our hotels, each specializing in a range of cuisines from around the world.

It’s easy to pictureBoothconquering those spaces like he is a small corner of my heart.

“Earth toAly.”Hisvoice pulls me back into the room.Whilemy mind wandered, he whipped up a pan of tomato sauce that now simmers over the stove.

“Perfect.Oncethat’s done we combine and bake for forty-five minutes, uncovered.”

Almost robotically,Iopen the preheated oven.Thewave ofheat that blasts me in the face is nothing compared to the red-hot fire roaring inside me.

Before my next move, he leans over and switches off the flame, the fingers of his left hand splaying across my hip.

“What are you doing?”Iwhisper.

“We can come back to this.”Thewords vibrate from his chest, fingers edging over my belly. “Butyou’re too fucking distracting standing in the kitchen like this.Ican’t keep my hands off you for another second.”

I’m spinning around before he finishes speaking.

There’s nothing soft about us when we’re together.It’sharsh, passionate, deliberate.Histouch is confident, like my body is a recipe he’s been perfecting for years, not weeks.

I scramble to get his shirt off, reveling in the way his muscles quiver under the scrape of my nails.Myhands move south, fumbling with his zipper.

“You want my cock again,Silver?”Hepresses my palm against his throbbing length.

Without speaking,Ilower to my knees, but in the blink of an eye, the air is knocked from my lungs whenBoothpins me against the wall.

“Me first.It’sa fucking crimeIhaven’t tasted you yet.”Aburst of pain comes from my lip when he slowly drops tohisknees.

His fingers curl around the waistband of my lounge pants, slides them down my legs, then throws them haphazardly across the kitchen.Hisbreath catches when he finds me bare.Throughhooded eyes, he stares up at me, fingertips skimming above the dark strip of hair on my pelvis. “Ishould be disappointed there isn’t any lace for me to peel off you.ButIguess it meansIcan do this without any interruptions.”

My question dies on my lips when he hooks a leg over his shoulder and buries his face into my pussy.

---