“Don’t.” He bit lightly at the tendon standing out in her neck, and she shuddered so damn hard that she dropped the spatula onto the stovetop with a clatter.
“Pick it up. Then bacon in the oven.” Cruz gave her maddeningly detailed instructions on how to lay it out, and what freaking temperature to set the oven.
She. Did. Not. Care!
He didn’t step back, so when she bent over to open the door and shove the baking sheet inside, he was right there. The long, hard ridge of his penis pressed against the crack in her ass.
There.
But not.
“Is there a valid reason you’re tormenting me like this?”
“I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”
“I like it. I like it a lot. I’d just like it to be faster!”
“Too bad. This is all about cooking the eggs slowly. Give them a slow swirl with the spatula. . . .” He moved his fingers inside her tight, pulsing sheath as he caressed her breast, strumming the nipple with the edge of his nail, learning the shape and heft of her breasts in turn. “Slower. There you go. See how they’re fluffing up? Glistening with all that succulent butter?”
Mia’s head fell back against his shoulder, and she hissed out, “Bastard.”
“Keep stirring. Don’t let them burn.”
“It’s a good thing we’re preparing scrambled eggs,” she managed to pant out. “Because by the t-time we get around t-to eating the damned things, I’ll be so old I won’t have any teeth! They look ready. Can we—ah! Eat—” She hissed in a breath when the climax was so close, she knew she was about to crash and burn. A sheen of perspiration prickled her skin. Every nerve ending was like a little antenna tuned to the slightest brush of his fingers. “Now, damn y—”
Each rhythmic manipulation of his fingers, each twist and thrust, left her breathless, gasping for air as her body torqued higher and higher. The intensity built and built, like a roller coaster, dragging her higher and higher, swelling with each deep, slick stroke of his clever fingers, sliding over her clit, making that hot spot ultrasensitive.
Her hips moved restlessly, although he had her imprisoned between his body and the hard bar of his forearm. Almost sobbing, her internal muscles clenched tighter and tighter. Mia dug her nails into his forearm.
All thought went completely out of her head as he pressed the heel of his palm firmly against her clit, pulling her tightly against the rock-hard bar of his penis. As he slid his fingers deep inside of her, and with his rough, hard palm rubbing against her, she screamed as he brought her to a rolling, never-ending climax.
• • •
Sitting on mismatched chairs at the table, Mia vaguely gestured to the ceiling with her fork. “We can go upstairs and take care of your problem. I don’t know a lot about cooking, but I think I can figure out how to keep your water boiling for a while.”
He didn’t smile. Did he ever? But his eyes lightened, and she almost caught a look of amusement in the inky depths. “That was your cooking lesson for the day. Maybe later you can teach me something.”
Arrogant bastard, she thought without heat. “I’m never going to look at an egg the same way again.” She forked up a pile of egg curds on the tines. Light, fluffy, and buttery. Mia hummed her appreciation as she swallowed. She was absolutely ravenous.
“Good?” he asked.
“Incredibly.”
He reached down to fondle his dog’s floppy ear. “Some things are well worth the wait.”
“And some things can be accomplished in half the time.” There was no point in reminding him what her request had been the night before. He clearly wasn’t a man who took instructions well.
Dog and master were sweet to watch, not that Mia thought Cruz was sweet. Picante was more like it. As for Oso, Mia had no idea what breed he was. Medium-size, he had soulful black eyes, short golden-brown fur, and a long, expressive tail.
Fascinated by the way Cruz’s large hand soothed his dog, Mia thought, If I was scared, I’d nuzzle against your hand, too. She sat transfixed, watching man and dog for a suspended moment, then got up to go to the cupboard and take down a bowl. Running water into it, she then placed it on the floor nearby, grateful to have something to do that didn’t involve jumping on her guest and attacking his mouth.
“What kind of dog is he?” she asked, taking out the steak she planned to have for dinner that night, and on her salad for lunch tomorrow. She roughly cut it into large pieces and put the dog’s breakfast on a china plate beside the water bowl. Resuming her seat, Mia glanced at the clock on the stove.
He’d kept her on her toes, off balance in more ways than one, for a good twenty minutes! She didn’t even like foreplay. It had always been an irritating waste of time when she just wanted the main event.