The double meaning wasn’t lost on either of us. Kelsey’s tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. I tracked it, keenly aware of all the things it could do.
Her smile was slow and lazy, the kind that used to flip my brain inside out when we were teenagers. “I thought it was obvious. We’re making cookies. Now, are you gonna help or just stand there and stare at me?”
I loved this version of her, so different from the wounded, careful woman who walked on eggshells when we were together in Texas. Here she moved differently, like the pressure had been bled from her body by the altitude. Maybe it was because we were alone and relieved of the burden of putting on a front for our kids.
Or maybe it was just that I’d finally let myself be here this time, not halfway out the door.
We cut out the first two dozen cookies. She went for trees and snowflakes, all delicate points and perfection. Being the mature individual I was, I chose the butt plug and the candy cane cutters, cracking jokes like the shift of her hips wasn’t actively torturing me. The flex of her shoulders, the little concentrated sounds she made while cutting out shapes.
Once they were arranged on the baking sheets to her liking, Kelsey bent over to place the first pan in the oven, causing the flannel to rideup. One look and my self-control snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.
With a low growl, I gripped her around the waist and hauled her up onto the island as soon as she finished setting the timer, flour puffing up around us like smoke.
Her thighs parted automatically to make room for me. I stepped between them, my hips settling against hers and erasing every coherent thought in my head.
I caught her mouth with mine, swallowing her little gasp of surprise. Her lips parted obediently under mine, and I took full advantage, deepening the kiss until we were both breathing hard.
This was what I’d been missing. Not just the physical contact, though God knew I’d been starving for that.
But the way she tasted. The way her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she made a sound that could have been a protest or a sign of encouragement. With her, it had always been hard to tell the difference.
My mouth moved to her jaw, tracing the line of it down to herthroat. She tilted her head back, giving me access, and I took it greedily. The pulse point beneath my lips hammered against my tongue. I scraped my teeth over it gently, just enough pressure to make her shiver.
“Teddy,” she breathed, my name coming out all broken and needy.
I hummed against her skin, working my way lower. She smelled like gingerbread and that expensive body oil she loved so damn much.
“Wait—we can’t?—”
I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were swollen, pupils blown wide enough to eclipse the green. “Can’t what?”
“This.” She gestured vaguely between us, but her legs were still wrapped around my hips, holding me in place. “We can’t—it won’t fix anything. It never does. It just makes things more complicated.”
As much as I wanted to show her I was still the man who could take her on the nearest flat surface, who never once left her wanting, she wasn’t wrong.
Sex had been our go-to solution for every fight, every rough patch. A temporary fix that felt good in the moment but left us right back where we started once the high wore off. Sometimes worse off, because we’d relied on our bodies to say things we couldn’t manage with words.
This was new ground. Fragile. And whatever we were trying to rebuild, I sure as hell didn’t want to blitz it for a quick fuck in the kitchen.
“You’re right,” I said, tracing her hips through the flannel. “Can’t fall back into the same old patterns.”
Relief flickered across her face, followed immediately by something that looked a lot like disappointment. She started to push against my chest, already retreating into the careful distance she’d mastered over three decades of dealing with my shit.
I tightened my grip, keeping her right where she was. “But I’m not looking to fix anything right now, baby. Just wanna take the edge off for you.”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
I slid one hand up her thigh, feeling her muscles tense under my palm. “Been wound tight since you got here. Hell, probably for a lot longer than that. And I’m good at this part, remember? Making you feel good. Letting you let go for a minute.”
“Teddy—”
“Do you need to come for me, Kels?” I asked, my voice dropping lower. “Because I need to taste you again. Been dreaming about it for a long ass time.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she bit down on her lower lip hard enough to leave marks. When she opened them again, they were glazed with want. She nodded, just once, but it was enough.
I started working the buttons on the flannel, taking my time with each one. Her breathing picked up with every inch of skin I revealed, her chest rising and falling faster. No bra underneath, just smooth skin and a flush that spread down from her throat when she was turned on. I’d mapped every variation of that flush over the years—knew exactly what shade meant she was close, what color meant she needed more.
This was somewhere in between. Interested but not desperate yet. I could work with that.
