Page 197 of Indulge
“Do you think that will please me? Your fine ass being covered? This is for my entertainment, Irish.”
I chew on my lip as Rowan starts laughing. “I love her.”
“Of course you do,” I grumble, but I’m already unbuttoning my cuffs. The air here is cooler, and the change hits harder than I expect.
Bella leans against the counter, arms folded, watching. There’s nothing innocent in the way her gaze lingers. Nor in the way she’s blushing when I push down my boxers.
“You’re enjoying this,” I say.
“I’m supervising,” she corrects, lips curving. “Strictly professional.”
She holds out the bright pink apron, and I graciously accept it.
Rowan tosses his shirt onto a chair and slips into the apron, tying the strings behind his back. “Professional,” he echoes. “Sure. Should I salute before or after the humiliation begins?”
“After,” she says. “There’ll be a photoshoot.”
Conan pushes through the door, phone already out. “This is the best day of my life,” he announces.
I glare at him, but Bella’s laughing now, which actually makes this whole ridiculous situation feel lighter.
The apron strings bite at my neck as I tie them, the cheap cotton barely long enough to count as modesty. Bella is busy looking at my dick outline, which makes the blood run south.
She hums under her breath, tilting her phone to frame us in the shot.
“Perfect,” she purrs. “Now smile like you just got engaged.”
The flash goes off. Rowan flexes. I roll my eyes. Conan’s wheezing in the doorway.
If hell has an HR department, this is the photo they’ll use.
“Looking sexy,” she says. “Inferno’s new Chefs of Crime calendar.”
She slides her phone into her pocket. “Now for the game.”
I glare at Conan, who backs out of the kitchen, with tears streaming down his cheeks. I’m going to punch him so fuckin’ hard for this later.
She gestures to the counter covered in ingredients—flour, sugar, butter, chocolate, eggs, and something red that might be food coloring. Maybe possibly blood.
“You have thirty minutes to make a cookie that represents me. No recipe. No instructions. You can interpret that however you want. Feel free to use anything else you find in the kitchen.”
Rowan smirks. “And if we fail?”
“Then you clean the entire kitchen. With toothbrushes, butt naked.”
“Define fail,” I say.
“If I can’t eat it without medical assistance.”
Her grin is pure trouble. The kind that makes me forget about her punishment later.
Because now, I’m enjoying seeing her this happy, even if it is at our expense.
96
ROWAN
Song- Sex & Palo Santo, Jutes
