Page 85 of Serving Bunt

I pressed my palms to his chest and ran them down the hard planes, over his worn, white tank. Did the man even own a goddamn T-shirt? The tank top was certainly less formal than his usual button-downs or team uniform, but I couldn’t shake the vision of him in a graphic tee.

Preferably mine.

We fell into an easy rhythm after that, occasionally bumping hips or stealing quick kisses when one of us reached past the other. I hadn’t been joking when I’d mentioned my zesting skills. I handled the lemons while Matty measured out the dry ingredients.

Once the batter was smooth and perfect, Matty slid the Bundt pan into the oven. I took the opportunity to hop up onto the kitchen counter, dangling my legs over the edge. When he turned back around, I spread my thighs just enough to make room.

He didn’t hesitate.

He stepped between my legs and settled his hands on my thighs, leaning in until we were nearly nose to nose. “We’ve got forty minutes,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

I swiped a finger through the mixing bowl and scooped up some leftover batter, bringing it to my lips.

“I’m open to ideas.”

The lemon flavor was bright and sweet on my tongue, but it had nothing on the look Matty was giving me.

“Fuck, that’s good,” I said.

I reached for another taste, but before I could bring my finger to my mouth, Matty caught my wrist. His grip was firm, almost possessive. When he leaned in and sucked my finger into his mouth, I nearly melted off the granite.

Talk about an electric shock to the cock.

Huh. That rhymes.

His tongue swirled around the digit. The wet heat of his mouth, the gentle suction, the way his eyes stayed locked on mine the entire time—it was pure sin. There was a good chance I would never wash this finger again. Not really, though, because gross.

I was a baseball player, not a Neanderthal.

When he finally released me with a soft, wet pop, his lips were shiny and his voice was rough.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “That’s delicious.”

I swallowed hard, pulse hammering. The air between us felt electric, thick with need. It would’ve been so easy to push him to his knees right here or bend over the counter and have him drive into me. Fuck, we could probably do both before the cake finished baking.

But I had a better idea.

“I know what we should do,” I said, voice low and teasing as I caught his chin between my fingers.

His eyes darkened with anticipation. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” I brushed my finger, still wet with his saliva, across his bottom lip. “I want a house tour.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You— Huh?”

“Your house,” I clarified. “I want a tour.”

“You’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, for barbecues and game nights, but I want to see the whole thing. The furniture you’ve built, the details you’ve put in. Show off a little, tesoro.”

Matty stared at me for a beat longer, processing my request. Then he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh and dropped his forehead to my shoulder.

“Yeah, all right,” he muttered against my neck.

I grinned, sliding my hands down to squeeze his ass. “Tour first, cake second, and then we’ll see what happens after that.”

Matty shook his head, but he was smiling when he threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me down the hall.