Love Him Free (On the Market #1) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,72

maybe a little hurt. Simon didn’t blame him for that. He felt some measure of relief, though, when he didn’t find heartbreak, but he wondered if that was cruelly selfish considering how long Eric and Rocco had been together.

‘What can I do?’ Simon asked.

Rocco made a soft noise and brushed his thumb over Simon’s lips, then leaned in to kiss him before stepping back. ‘Teach me how to bake something. Give me something I can beat up.’

Simon laughed, then gestured to the mixing bowl which was full of dough for his second batch of sufganiyot. ‘Flour and knead that. Do you know how to knead dough?’

‘I’ve done it before,’ Rocco said. He washed up, dried his hands, then gathered the dough onto the floured table and began to work it.

Simon watched him for a moment, briefly worried that Rocco’s mood was going to ruin the dough. But Simon had probably thrown out a mortgage payment’s worth of ingredients in his lifetime, taking his aggression out on what would have been sweets and breads so he couldn’t judge.

Only, Rocco didn’t ruin it. He was careful and methodical with precise hands—strong but delicate. Simon felt his cock harden and his mouth water, and he wondered if the door had locked when Rocco closed it.

Breathing out, he turned toward his own task again, and began to roll everything out into a neat square. The sufganiyot stamp slipped through, sharp edges making perfect rounds, and he carefully placed each circle onto the tray for the second prove. By the time he was done, Rocco was leaning against the counter, staring with dark eyes.

‘I like watching you work,’ Rocco told him.

Simon was already flushed, and he felt himself grow hotter and harder between his legs. ‘It’s more practice than skill.’

Rocco hummed softly as he came around the side of the counter. ‘What do I do now?’

‘It needs to rise,’ Simon told him. He was aware his hand had a faint tremble of want, and the way Rocco’s eyes flickered from his face to his fingers, it was clear he noticed too.

Rocco brushed past him, a deliberate motion, and took the already greased bowl. He didn’t break eye-contact as he set the dough inside, then draped the discarded towel over it and set it aside. Simon swallowed so loudly, it clicked in his throat, and he couldn’t stop the faint whimper when Rocco moved in close again.

‘Simon.’ He didn’t spell it this time. He mouthed Simon’s name with something totally new. His name sign–fingers curling down from his chin into an S.

It meant precious.

Simon’s breath rushed out of his lungs, and he barely had time to suck it back in before Rocco was on him, pressing him to the baking counter, one thigh roughly parting Simon’s legs and lifting him up onto his toes. Simon ground himself against his lover, his head tipped back as Rocco devoured his neck, and Simon was so, so close.

And not just because he had no restraint or control, but because it was Rocco. Rocco wanted him. Only him.

“Simon,” Rocco murmured against Simon’s flushed skin. “Simon.” His hand dragged between them, then his fingers ducked under Simon’s apron and the heel of his palm began to stroke Simon through his jeans.

His head swam, all the blood flooding into his dick, his balls tight. He was going to spill right there—right in his kitchen. An absurd thought—this ancient, archaic law about being punished by God for spilling seed onto the ground—hit him. He felt a rush of panic, but it only lasted a second, because Rocco was hoisting him up onto the baking counter, his large hands fumbling with Simon’s button and zipper.

“Want to taste you, please,” Rocco begged. He looked into Simon’s face, into his eyes, asking for consent.

Simon touched his cheek, lightly with the tips of his fingers, basking in the rough growth of Rocco’s facial hair. He hadn’t shaved in days, and Simon wanted to feel that rough burn on his bare legs. ‘Yes,’ he signed.

Rocco’s gaze went possessive—predatory, hungry. Simon braced himself backward, hands inches from the unused dough. He scraped his nails along the wood as Rocco nosed his hard cock, then sucked the tip into his mouth, letting it rest there—fat and swollen against his tongue.

Simon had gotten his wish. He felt nothing, could think of nothing except how Rocco’s lips were stretched around him, just holding him there. Pleasure was shooting through his limbs in short starbursts, whiting out the edges of his vision, but