I grabbed my cookbook and wrote furiously, doubling recipes in my head to figure out how much I needed of the different ingredients. Zayn ambled over, watching me.
“Cobbler is great.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“What’s your favorite dessert?” I kept writing.
“Red velvet cake, like my mama made, with that wonderful icing.” His words spoke of a specific memory.
“Got it. Red velvet is on the list.”
He whooped and then prowled my apartment. “Glad you got my old furniture.”
I nodded but bit my lip because I hadn’t completely made peace with Dare’s high-handedness. I focused on the list, scribbling down ingredients and amounts so I’d get enough of everything. I hated running to the store in the middle of baking.
“Ready to go,” I announced.
Zayn drove a classic ‘80s Monte Carlo to the local super mart so I could buy everything in one place. It took almost an hour to grab all the ingredients, and then I shopped the mixer isle. A stand mixer would be a luxury, but one that’d make this all easier. I found one on clearance and carried it to checkout while Zayn pushed the cart. At checkout, we fought over the mixer, but he bought it because MJ had said anything I needed. The man was stubborn when it came to his directions from the club.
Back home, I cranked the Chili Peppers and dove into my work. Once the apple cobblers baked in the oven, I made a sandwich and sat down for a few minutes. Six cakes and two pies down.
I stood, energized for my next baking binge when I heard a thud. Was that the door? I turned my music down and hurried to the door. I opened the door and smiled up at Dare.
“You’ve got flour on your nose, Red.”
I hurried to the music and turned it down before swiping at my nose, but I probably only smeared more across my face.
“Hey, handsome, fancy seeing you here.” I sashayed back across the floor to him.
His kiss was like a fresh breeze, and I wanted more and more. He drew me toward the bedroom, but I broke away. “Two minutes and I’ll be there.”
His eyes tracked me while I put the fruit and other perishables in the fridge.
“What the hell?”
“I’m making desserts for the party.”
He frowned at me. “MJ said she recruited you, but not that she’d dumped it all—”
“I volunteered. Baking relaxes me. And I don’t get to do it often.” And I’d hoped for MJ’s approval, maybe a little too much, so I’d overdone it. But, I did love to bake, and couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun.
The buzzer rang on my stove and I grabbed the two cobblers. “Now, we have an appointment, I believe.”
“You sure?” His frown hadn’t eased.
“Never more certain.” I tugged his hand and he followed me to bed.
He grabbed the ropes. “Undress and kneel. I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon.”
I scrambled out of my clothes, my panties already damp from seeing the black ropes, remembering the last time they covered me, and anticipating what new ecstasy he’d give me now. Once he’d tied me tight and positioned me with a pillow under my ass, he knelt on the bed above me. “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked.”
And he kept his word. He wrung every ounce of emotion from me. Euphoria created a floating feeling of satisfaction. Every time he pushed my limits, still it surprised me that our no-holds-barred exchanges only made me want more. A fragile confidence blossomed. If I held my own with Dare, perhaps I could with anyone.
He undid two knots, and the ropes sprang loose. I wasn’t sure what surprised me most, the way the ropes enhanced my pleasure or how quickly he could release the knots, but I ate up every brush of his fingers as he unwound them.
Once free, we cuddled together, even though my mind returned to the kitchen and my baking. I stroked his hair with my nose buried in his neck, inhaling his masculine scent. His body relaxed into sleep. I’d become an expert at deciphering the change in him.
When I rolled away, he stirred and flipped onto his stomach. I stared at the complex maze of tats on his back while he slept. The center of the art spread low across his shoulders. The Jericho Brotherhood with his name below it—his christening. Above the Brotherhood stood a bound woman, tied with the same knot design he’d tied me with the first time.
Was she a past lover? It hurt to think about the question.
I shook my head and focused on his long lashes closed in sleep, telling myself to get back to baking, but I hated leaving his side.
I tiptoed to the door, closing it against the noise of the kitchen. I mixed up the cherry cobblers, crimping the edges of the dough. Once they hit the oven, I prepared the peach pies for baking, sitting them on my table until it was time for them. Icing came next on my list, and I decided to frost all the cakes, except Zayn’s red velvet, with chocolate icing.