Page 48 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

“I deserve to have a taste of my girl’s delicious baking,” Kingston declares possessively, placing the banana bread, brownies, and heated pancakes he snuck away from the kitchen for us. “It would be unfair to let them enjoy it all.”

Fireworks erupt behind my ribs when he calls me his girl in that rich baritone, so casually like he’s been saying it for years. “Pretty sure it’s breaking a code or something.”

“I make my own codes.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I sass, rolling my eyes.

We’re sitting side by side in the dining area on the first floor. Another couple sits in the opposite corner, drinking coffee and besotted with each other.

Kingston’s woodsy cologne sinks into my lungs. His large hand rests on my upper thigh as he slides the hot chocolate shake he made for me and black coffee for himself onto the table.

Aside from the desserts, he also produced a typical Swiss breakfast spread containing two options of breads, Zopf and Bürli, served with margarine instead of butter and Swiss cheese. The beautiful spread makes my mouth water.

“What’s this?” I point to a small jar filled with an orangish liquid.

“Marmalade.” When I stare in question, he explains with a laugh, “It’s a substitute for honey. It’s made of bitter oranges and boiled sugar. Try it with the bread.”

I grab a piece of bread—Zopf—dip it into marmalade, and bring it to my mouth. I expect it to be too sweet but the taste that explodes on my tongue is the perfect balance and it’s utterly tasty. “Oh wow, this is yummy!”

Cutting another piece, I take a second bite and moan low in my throat. I’ll have to buy some to take home with me. Or learn the recipe.

A shiver dances down my spine when Kingston reaches out and swipes his thumb along the corner of my mouth.

I stare, mesmerized, when he licks it off. My stomach swirls with the memory of his tongue licking with the same enthusiasm between my thighs.

“You had some on your lip,” he says innocently.

“Hmm, if you say so.”

“I should warn you; I’m going to be using a lot of excuses to touch you whenever I please.”

“Oh really?”

“You bet.”

Flipping my hair, I grin, “I love a man obsessed.”

A rare dark glint sharpens his soft brown eyes, making my heart stutter, before he masks it by chuckling low and raspy.“A man obsessed also stops at nothing to possess the woman he wants to be his, darling.”

“He obviously hasn’t met a determined woman who will prove him wrong.”

“Or,” his silky voice dips low, “he is already two steps ahead and she doesn’t stand a chance.”

I smirk, sipping my drink. “I guess we’ll see.”

“We will,” he vows arrogantly.

Accepting the challenge with a daring lift of my chin, I sip my hot chocolate. His gaze falters, dropping to my lips as I lick the wetness left behind slowly and seductively.

The glass has barely touched the table’s surface when he pounces. My breath hitches at him yanking me closer by my chair. Without a care that the other couple will have a show, I’m ravaged in a punishing kiss.

Panting hard, I stare at his mouth.

“I’m so far ahead, you won’t be able to catch up, stubborn girl.”

I’m out of my senses, let alone capable of retorting a comeback. Pure satisfaction flits across his gaze at my loss of speech.

Sliding the dessert plate closer, he picks up a piece of the banana bread I baked and puts it in his mouth. The stark contrast is evident as he patiently chews, when a lingering breath ago, his movements were hard and rough against mine.

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