“The scent of your essence is still lingering on my face and beard. You’re lucky all I’m doing is talking.”
“I probably shouldn’t have let you do that,” I told him.
“Too late now. I know what you taste like, so there’s no turning back.”
“Kenzo!”
“Okay. I’ll try to keep it professional from here on out, but it’s probably a losing battle.”
“We can’t like each other.”
“Speak for yourself, beautiful, but I’ll try to chill out. How long before the cookies are done?”
“A few more minutes. What kind of milk do you have?”
“Skim.”
“You get the plates, and I’ll pour us a glass.”
I found the cabinet with the plates on the first try, placing three plates on the counter—one larger plate to transfer the cookies from the cookie sheet, and two saucers for our cookies. I grabbed the oven mitt and opened the oven door. Before bending down, I turned to look at Kenzo.
“Keep your eyes off my ass, . . . boss.”
“Didn’t you just say you can’t control what I do with my eyes?”
I smacked my lips and rolled my eyes before bending to get the cookie sheet from the oven. After placing it on top of the stove, I closed the oven door and turned to face Kenzo, who was indeed looking at my ass.
“Do you have a wire rack?” I asked.
Without responding, he retrieved a wire rack from one of the lower cabinets.
“They have to cool for about five minutes before I remove them.”
“We’re in no rush. Would you mind staying here tonight, in the guest room, of course?”
Malyah may not have agreedto marry me, but I was wearing down her defenses and hoped she’d be open to dating me. Although she let me eat her pussy, she was fighting her attraction to me and failing miserably.
I’d dated a lot of women, and we’d shared plenty of good times that cost me hundreds of dollars. Even with the money I spent showing those women a good time, the enjoyment I felt with Malyah far exceeded anything I’d experienced with them, and we hadn’t done anything over the top.
“I can do that,” she said, finally responding to my request for her to spend the night.
The cookies had been on the cooling rack for a few minutes, and she used the spatula to move two to each of our plates. Afterspreading a generous amount of frosting on one of each of our cookies, she waited for me to take my first bite.
I lifted the cookie with the frosting to my mouth and sank my teeth into it. Once the flavor hit my tongue and I began chewing, my eyes widened because I’d never had an oatmeal raisin cookie that tasted this good.
Malyah watched as I finished the whole cookie, biting her bottom lip nervously as she waited to hear my response. I drank a sip of milk and reached for the other cookie, but she smacked my hand away.
She huffed before asking, “Can I assume you approve?”
“These are the best fucking oatmeal raisin cookies I’ve ever had.”
She smiled and clapped her hands softly.
“Thank you.”
“No, seriously. My grandfather’s recipe is great, and I didn’t think you’d top his. I’m not sure if it’s the frosting or what.”
“Try the one without the frosting.”
