Page 80 of In Case You Didn't Know
I roll my eyes at him. “Why is it that I believe you would?”
He chuckles softly. God, I like this side of him. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look so… relaxed. Maybe when we were younger, I don’t know. All I do know is that I like it. Way too much.
“Where did you find the pancake mix?” I ask. I can’t remember seeing a box in the cupboard.
“In the egg carton, flour jar, and milk jug.” He shakes his head.
“Oh, you’re one of those people who think pre-made mixes are the devil.” I lean over and grab one of the pancakes he’s already stacked.
His head whips around. “You did not just steal my pancake,” he growls.
I deliberately lift it to my mouth, my eyes on his as I take a ginormous bite. The adult equivalent of licking a stolen cookie. I let out a low groan. Damn, the man can cook.
“You say steal,” I say through bites. “I say taste test.”
“Put it back.”
The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine. Like it enjoys his commanding voice way too much.
“I bit it. It’s mine.”
His grin is feral. “Give it back or I’ll make you.”
I take another bite. There’s barely a morsel left, but I don’t care. I hold it like a treasure.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
I take a step back, feeling protective of the tiny pancake remains in my fingers. He turns off the burner and steps toward me, closing the gap between us in one easy stride.
Then he reaches for my hand.
I pull it away, ducking behind the tiny kitchen table, trying not to laugh. God, this is stupid. But riling Asher up is officially becoming my favorite pastime. “If you want it, you’re going to have to catch me first,” I tell him.
“We’re in a lighthouse. You have nowhere to run.” His voice is low. Teasing. My body heats up. He walks around the table, but I’ve already started to run, almost making it to the kitchen door before his arm wraps around my waist, spinning me around until my body slams against his.
I can feel every hard plane pressing into me. And a hard ridge, too. Heat pools inside me. “Remind me to teach you self-defense,” he murmurs, running his nose along my neck like he’s an animal, breathing me in.
I deliberately pull my head back and slide the last piece of pancake between my lips. “Mmm,” I say. “Stolen pancakes taste the best.”
He reaches behind him. “You forgot the maple syrup,” he says, his voice teasing. He flicks the lid open with his thumb.
“Oh no, don’t you dare.” I try – and fail – to squirm from his hold.
But he does. He squeezes out a large dribble of syrup on my collarbone, watching with amusement as it trickles down my cleavage. Sticky and wet.
“Dammit, I just showered.” I pout at him.
He leans his head down, licking a long, slow trail across my skin. His tongue follows the syrup’s path like he’s savoring every drop. I swear I have a mini-orgasm. I grab onto his shoulders to stay upright.
His mouth finds my neck. His tongue hot and purposeful. His hand feathers my side, his thumb right below my breast. My nipples press hard and needy against my top.
“Asher…”
He lowers his head, running his tongue over my nipple through the thin fabric. “Hush,” he murmurs against my breast. “Take your punishment like a woman.” His mouth closes around my nipple, wet heat soaking through my tank as he sucks gently, then bites. My knees nearly give out from pleasure.
“This isn’t in the Geneva Convention,” I mutter, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
