My gaze drops to her mouth. Her lips are parted and glossy. I swear they’re begging to be bitten.
“Don’t be afraid. It likes to be worked.”
The teasing look she gives me nearly makes me come on the spot.
“Like this.” I slap the dough.
Hard.
The sound echoes in the kitchen, making her jump.
“Your turn,” I say.
She presses her lips together in a thin line. “You want me to slap the dough?” Her eyebrows hike.
“Yes.”
“For real?”
I lift my head to our audience. “Ladies, can you show Shay how it’s done?”
Every hand comes down forceful and loud.
Shay jumps again before she looks at me with a huge smile.
“Yes, for real,” I say.
Her hand comes down too soft and unsure.
I tsk. “Not like that. Ladies?”
They slap the dough again, and the sound ricochets through the kitchen.
“Your turn, Shay.”
Her hand comes down, harder but not hard enough.
I step in behind her without asking this time and wrap my arms around her.
I wish I didn’t notice how damn perfect she fits against me.
“Slow.” My hand covers hers. “But forceful.”
I move her hand, slapping the dough with the right amount of force.
The sound is sharp.
Satisfying.
“Perfect. Now like this.” The heel of my hand presses slowly and firmly into it. “Watch.”
Fold.
Push.
Turn.
I don’t rush. I never rush.
