“What?” I asked, laughing.
“I don’t want to move,” he complained. “I like when you are tucked into my chest this way. Ah, yes. I know.”
In a whisk of his tentacle, Linn’ar picked up the bowl of dough and placed it inside the steam-powered stove.
I snorted, amused at his resourcefulness. “You didn’t want to take three steps over there, huh?”
“It’s not that.” He nuzzled his chin against my head. “I want to stay like this.”
My increasingly mushy heart melted a little. God, this alien did things to me.
The dough needed to steam for a couple minutes, so I had nothing to do except stand there being spooned by Linn’ar. I wanted to keep my full attention on thegaraetteok, but that was easier said than done when my mate’s presence was innately intoxicating. I ignored the tingle of heat between my thighs. Being horny was not conducive to cooking—it could wait.
After a couple minutes, I said, “That should be enough. Could you take it out? Oh, be careful not to burn your tentacle.”
Linn’ar chuckled. I didn’t understand why until he swiftly slipped his tentacle into a woven oven mitt.
“Ah.” I grinned. “You’re always prepared. I like that in a mate.”
He made a deep trilling sound in his throat.
After he retrieved the bowl, I spread some sesame oil on the counter and asked Linn’ar to dump the dough on top of it. The slick, nutty surface glistened.
Linn’ar arched his neck forward so we were cheek to cheek. He inhaled. “It smells wonderful already. Now what do we do?”
“Here comes the fun part. We pound it.”
“Pound it?”
“Punch it. Beat it up.”
He looked scandalized. “We are going to attack our food?”
His innocent confusion made me laugh. “No, it’s like an aggressive form of kneading. Here, Linn’ar, I’ll show you. Do you have a pestle?”
“Oh. No.” He raised a fist. “But I do not need one.”
“It’s difficult with your bare hands,” I cautioned.
In a split second, Linn’ar’s fist landed with awhackon the counter. The oiled dough lump flattened into a pancake. My jaw dropped. I knew Maeleons had superior strength compared to humans, but since they were so peaceful, I’d never witnessed their use of force.
“Uh. Yeah, actually. That works,” I said.
“Wonderful!” Linn’ar chirped, like he didn’t just whack the dough to within an inch of its life. “I will continue to pound it.”
“Go ahead.”
The counter trembled, but it was shockingly sturdy as it took Linn’ar’s flurry of blows. Since I was backed against his chest, I felt his firm muscles flex with each punch. It was so weird to see him hitanything.It was like seeing a teddy bear pull out a knife.
After a minute of relentless alien fisting, the dough was perfectly malleable.
“You can stop now,” I said, eyeing the ridges of his knuckles. “They’re not bleeding or anything, are they?”
He presented them for inspection. Aside from a thin layer of sesame oil, they were completely unscathed.
“That was fun,” he said cheerfully. “I would like to pound more dough in the future.”
“Well,garaetteokis my favorite food, so you can do as much pounding as you want.”
