I laugh. “Just the handsome ones.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “You think I’m handsome, do you?”
This close up, his dark brown eyes are startling, intense, piercing. My breath catches, and spinach puree slops over the side of the bowl. I laugh and drop my gaze. “You should probably stay focused on the task at hand.”
“Which task is that, princess?” His tone is flirty, but his focus is on the gnocchi dough, pressing his fingers in, coating it in puree, folding it over and starting again.
When I sneak a peek at him, he’s frowning in concentration, and I can’t help but laugh at his intensity.
“What? I’m doing it like you said.”
“Yes, you are.”
Pushing his hands into the dough underneath mine, I move his fingers the way I like: intentional, slow, strong. The dough is soft, the puree slippery, and his hands are large and powerful under mine. I slide my hands over his, manipulating his movements.
It’s hard not to shift my ass against him as I slide my fingers down his, then back up to his wrists, guiding him. It’s not long until he gets the rhythm and takes over.
My heart is pounding in my chest. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and will myself to cap this reaction I’m having. Immediately.
“Like this?” His breath is warm across my cheek, and I stifle a groan as my pussy gets a heartbeat.
“Yes. Just like that,” I say lightly. Breezy. Not at all like I’m imagining him folding me in half like that dough, shoving his fingers—and anything else he has in mind—anywhere he wants.
He wraps himself around me, focused on working the dough until the spinach puree is completely combined. I need to stop him, or else the dough will be too heavy. Reluctantly, I tap his hands.
“All done. We don’t want to overdo it.”
He pauses, his hands under mine. It hadn’t occurred to me that this might be affecting him too until I feel his heart thudding against my back.
He flips his palms over, his hands covered in oil from the puree, and drags them roughly up my palms then back down again, applying the same pressure he did to the dough.
Oh my glorious God, that feels amazing. My lips part, my breathing growing shallow, every fiber of my being focused on his hands.
That is, until I feel his erection against my ass. I suck in a breath as he presses it against me with intention, like he wants me to notice that his length is massive.
“That’s…impressive,” I say, clearing my throat.
“So’s your ass, princess.” He drags his wet hands up my arms to my hips. “Fuck, this ass is just—mmph.” He grips my hips and squeezes, pulling me back against him.
He’s not wrong. My ass is pretty amazing. It’s almost twice as wide as the rest of my body, round and full. My thighs are thick as well, but nothing like my ass, which is so big it’s almostdisproportionate to the rest of my body. A lot of men don’t like it, calling me fat, but I like it. And apparently, Vin does, too.
I lean my head back against his shoulder looking up at him. His mouth is inches from mine. “If you want to eat, we need to shape the gnocchi, and get it in the oven.”
“Is ‘get it in the oven’ a euphemism for getting my cock in your ass, princess?”
I know he’s like this with every female, but my pulse still stutters. Before I can respond, Rocco comes back into the kitchen.
“What the fuck?” he bellows.
Vin lets go of me, his flirtatious playfulness dropping immediately. Standing up to his full height, he stands between me and Rocco. “Don’t fucking raise your voice at her. This is her kitchen.”
“I’m fucking talking to you, bitch, not her.”
I step out from behind Vin. “Gentlemen, this is not the place for this.”
“It’s not the place for him to try to fuck you, either,” Rocco growls, “but that’s fucking happening, so this is, too.” He grabs one of the butcher knives and advances toward us as Vin pushes me back and stands his ground.
“ROCCO!” I almost never raise my voice, and Rocco turns to me with a start. “You can go.”
