Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Are we going to have steamy closet sex one day? I think that might be even better than any bathroom sex, the backseat of a car sex, or on top of some public monument sneaky sex I’ve ever dreamed of. Not that I’ve really ever dreamed of that or think it’s a thing. You just hear about it happening, and I couldn’t not admire the bravery and guts it must take. Or just like regular steamy sex? I’d take that right now. Wait, umm, no, not right now. Jesus. The hormones are clearly out of control.
I feel like I’m a million degrees, so even though I just put the dessert in the fridge, I rush toward it and take the dessert back out. I slip a knife from the utensil drawer and cut a few quick slabs, which are still more like hot, sticky messes than pieces, but whatever. It’s something to do with my hands. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough on this, I can force air back into my lungs.
The air is all butterscotch, peanut butter, and marshmallows, but all of a sudden, there’s pine and fresh air and man.
I freeze. I can sense Sterling behind me before he reaches past me for the pan. His hands look huge, capable, and a little bit veiny. His skin tone is naturally darker, more of an olive undertone, so they look the slightest bit tanned. And that’s it for air and my lungs and me. We’re all finished.
“I’ve never had this before,” he comments.
“N—no?” I choke out. “It’s in—incredible.”
“What do you call it?”
“M—marsh—marsh…” I know what’s wrong with me. He’s what’s wrong with me. He’s why I can’t get the words out or why I’m going to pass out from ovary overload and lack of air. “Marshmallow peanut butter squares. Or peanut butter butterscotch squares.”
Sterling chuckles. “That’s a long name for something that smells so delicious.”
“They are delicious. They’re worth the effort and the long name. I promise.”
There’s the slightest pause. I know this is a weird breakfast. Maybe he doesn’t eat sugar or carbs. Maybe I should have asked before I—
“Will you feed them to me?” he murmurs, his voice low.
My stomach bottoms out, and my heart goes into so high an overdrive mode that it’s probably dangerous. I can feel it banging around in my chest. I can also feel every single part of me that is distinctly female heating up, tightening, throbbing, and causing all sorts of general chaos.
“Sure. Let me just…let me just get the knife and a plate and—”
“No. Will you feed them to me?”
Holy hotdogs and macaroni. That sounds dangerous and dirty. It sounds distinctly… I pick a marshmallow off the top. It’s coated in butterscotch, peanutty, gooey goodness. My hand shakes as Sterling leans in—in my kitchen and into my space. He’s really here, and I think this is actually real. He dips his head in at a funny angle because I haven’t raised my hand up properly, and then his tongue…oh my sweet marshmallows, his tongue hits my fingers first. His lips are next, so warm and soft. The marshmallow is rapidly gone, almost like a magic trick, and then he licks my fingers clean. My hoo-ha thinks that was a great trick. A spectacular trick. The fastest anyone has ever gotten me dripping wet and clenching kind of a trick.
“Delicious.” Sterling’s voice is a low rumble, like a sudden blast of thunder from one of those past gods coming down to claim me.
“I—I know.” I’m melting. I’m melting right here, and this is the end of me and my panties. We’ll never be the same again. “It’s the best dessert—”
“No.”
I’m surprised. He didn’t like it? Who doesn’t like this? There isn’t anyone in the world who wouldn’t like this. “Oh, I beg to differ. It has all the butterscotch—”
“No.”
“And peanut butter.”
“No.”
I frown. “You can’t tell me the marshmallows aren’t the perfect combination.”
“It was delicious.” That deep raspy burr is going to do me in. “But I wasn’t talking about the dessert.”
My knees turn to water, and my panties poof clean off my body. Is reverse nipples a thing? Because mine are so hard that I think they might be heading in a reverse direction. I try to brush my legs together to stop the pounding in my center, but of course, it doesn’t work at all. My face must be a thousand million degrees, like landing on the surface of some great big gassy planet that is…wait, not the sun…and full of the most primal urges that ever existed, and—
Oh god! Oh god, Sterling is right here. He’s bending his face toward mine, and then his lips are on mine, and he’s kissing me. He tastes like man and butterscotch, like marshmallows and peanut butter. And I was wrong. The recipe does have room for improvement because I’ve never tasted it like this before.