I let go, but I don’t move. “Your turn.”
She presses gingerly, then harder.
“Better.” I watch over her shoulder as her movements begin to match mine. “There you go. You feel it changing?”
She nods, cheeks flushed from focus, or slapping, or all this talk of slapping.
“It’s learning you,” I say. “Just like you’re learning it.”
She works in silence for a moment, along with the other women, whom I keep forgetting are present.
I wait until it’s perfect, then place it in a bowl. “Now, we let it rest.”
She exhales, a small, satisfied sound.
I step back and turn to the rest of the class.
“Yours should look like this.” I lift the bowl and tip it toward them, finding it difficult even to concentrate.
The hard-on in my jeans isn’t helping. I’ve gotten turned on in this kitchen before, but never like this. Never while teaching a woman.
“The dough needs two hours to rise, so we won’t be baking the one you just made today.”
“Yoo-hoo, Cash!” Faye raises her hand. “Would you mind kneading my dough? Arthritis and all.”
“Of course.” I turn my back to them and grab the tray of pre-made dough behind me.
I also steal a second to close my eyes and try to find my inner peace.
But all that floods me is the way her hands felt beneath mine and my front cradling her backside.
Fuck.
My jeans tighten.
Well, shit.
“To keep the lesson moving, I’m giving each of you a piece of dough I prepared earlier.” If I stick to the lesson, I can get through it. “And we’ll be using your dough on Saturday night.”
I turn, and Shay glances at my bulge.
The corner-of-her-mouth smirk hits me right in the chest.
“I can distribute.” Her voice is syrup-smooth.
She’s enjoying this.
She gives a little nonchalant shrug. “If you want.”
Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
For a second, I just stand there like an idiot with a tray of dough and a situation happening below the belt that refuses to calm the fuck down.
“Why?” I counter.
Her eyes flick down again. Slower this time. And when her eyes meet mine, boy, does she look cocky.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I raise the tray, refusing to be embarrassed. “This class always gets a rise out of someone.”
