“I highly doubt that,” I reply with a sly smirk on my lips as I lean back against the counter, a spoon in my hand.
“Baby, I think that you’re forgetting something,” he whispers, stepping closer to me. I roll my eyes playfully, looking up at him as he cages me against the counter.
“And what’s that, Beckett?”
“That my job is to find things.”
I shrug. “Then do your worst,Detective,” I taunt.
A low growl escapes him as he looks at the options.
“Ok, this one is out, you hate anything that’s overly crunchy,” he says, reaching behind me and grabbing the pistachio ice cream. “This one is out; you hate walnuts.” He pushes the Praline ice cream out of the way. “Not chocolatey enough.” There goes the vanilla.
My smirk falters slightly as only two remain.
“And my question was a trick, because you don’t have a favorite anything. You’re too fucking indecisive, so you’ll end up making a bowl with two small scoops, one of each,” he mocks, nipping at my ear. “One scoop mint chip, and one fudge brownie. The scoops will be the exact same size because you don’t want one to feel less valued than the other,” he whispers against my neck as his lips graze the skin softly.
“Beck…” I gasp. My hands find his shirt and softly clutch the material in my hands.
He kisses the underside of my jaw before pulling away just enough that I can see his eyes.
“How did I do?” he whispers, and my brows knit in confusion, before I remember what we were talking about. I softly clear my throat.
“I guess you can keep your job,” I mumble, my voice nowhere near as confident as when we started this little game.
“You think so, huh?” he teases, picking me up and placing me on the counter. I let out a little yelp, startled as he pushes my legs apart with his hips and stands between them.
“How did you know that?” I whisper.
“Because I see you, even when I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because you make it hard not to.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
“Maybe one day you will,” he whispers, pressing our lips together so I can’t say anything else. Slow, soft kisses quickly get heated as I run my tongue across the seam of his lips.
My hands tangle gently into his hair as his hands stay on my waist, his thumbs gently sneaking under the fabric of my shirt. I don’t pull away this time.
Instead, I pull him closer as he slides me to the edge of the counter. His lips part, and a small groan slips out when my lips leave his and trail down his neck.
“Baby,” he whispers, as I nibble on his ear, his grip on me tightening.
“Is this ok?” I ask, my voice soft.
“So good, baby, don’t stop,” he encourages.
My lips wander over what skin they can. I’m slightly limited because of the tee he’s wearing. His eyes close as my hands slide under his shirt and up his abdomen.
I pull away from him, and his eyes flutter open. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, letting his grip loosen, and he cups my cheeks, resting our foreheads together.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
