“Yeah. But I’ve been thinking about giving you cooking lessons,” he whispered against her cheek.
She pulled back, pressing her eyes into slits. “You really think that’s the best use of our time together?”
“Well.” He moved his hands down along her torso to the edge of her nightgown. “How do you feel about a lesson right now?”
The nerve endings in her thighs buzzed as he traced circles there with his fingertips.
“I kind of like what we’re doing here.” She squirmed so his fingers were closer to her sex. “Without the kitchen stuff.”
“Trust me?” he asked.
Of course, she did. He was Eli. She trusted him more than anyone else these days. “Yes.”
“Let’s start with the basics.” He pressed little kisses along the edge of her neck. “How to boil water.”
She turned her head to kiss his throat. “I know how to boil water.”
Little breaths from his mouth played at the sensitive skin under her earlobe.
“Not like I’m about to teach you.” The rough timbre of his voice vibrated through the darkness.
Right then, Marlee really wanted Eli to teach her how to cook. Specifically, how to boil water without burning it.
Scooting out from underneath him, she pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it on the ground beside the bed before shimmying out of her underwear. Without a word, she squirmed back underneath him—back to the same position as before. This time, sans clothes.
Eli chuckled—a husky sound that made the hair on her neck stand on end. He trailed his fingertips along the side of her cheek.
The last time she’d been intimate with Eli, she’d been more than half-drunk. From the vague recesses of her mind, images of him and the way he felt against her, inside her, flashed through her mind. So, on a logical level, she knew he was built in all departments—even the erection department. But totally sober? Him pressed against her thigh?
She couldn’t help it, her mouth dropped open.
His hand slipped between her legs. Her body seemed to gravitate toward it, craving the touch right at her core—where she wanted it most. Her heart thrummed, practically purring like a kitten.
Her arms looped around his shoulders. He raised himself over her, his hands still massaging circles on her inner thigh.
She’d seen firsthand in the kitchen how exceptional he was at multitasking. Here? He took it to a whole new level.
“The key is to start the boil slow.” His lips were trailing along her neckline, down the slope of her breast, and to her belly button.
“I kind of like fast.” She toyed with the black strands of his hair.
The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he laughed. “We’ll get there. The boiling point of water takes time. Don’t rush it. You rush it, it’ll just frustrate you.”
He moved his mouth lower down her torso. Slowly.
She could see how not rushing it might frustrate her, too. Still…she’d worked in his kitchen long enough to follow what he said when it came to cooking.
Her skin tingled where his mouth pressed against it, even as his fingers closed in on their target. And when they met it?
She gasped. “Yes, chef.”
He groaned. “Fuck.”
“I think the water’s boiling.” She used her hands to tilt his head so his gaze met hers.
He groaned again.
“I think it’s time, Eli.” Her words were a whisper.
