the baked dish, sprinkling some feta because, well, why not?
And then, wholly pleased with myself, I was making my way to the dining room where Christopher, Alexander, Laird, Collis, and Marco were all situated, waiting for me.
I never liked the idea of serving men before. It always seemed to come with a sort of built-in sexist undertone. Serving men. As though it was a woman's job to do so.
But there was no denying that as I walked in with the sheet pan, and all those eager male faces turned to me, hungry, excited for what I had so carefully made for them, there was a swelling of pride inside at being able to feed them, to impress them with my concoction.
I placed the pan down on the center of the table next to the small salad Alexander had already brought out for me, drizzled with a dressing I had made myself out of olive oil and spices with a hint of lemon.
"Alright, well, dig in," I suggested when everyone just sat there.
With that, they did, loading up their plates, digging in, making approving noises, going in for seconds.
Even I had to admit—and I was being critical of myself—it was pretty damn good. All of it, too. The only thing that might have made it even better would have been some homemade bread. Which I vowed to learn how to make.
"I told you that you could do it," Christopher told me, coming into the kitchen where I was scrubbing the sheet pan in the sink.
"It was pretty edible, right?" I asked, giving him a tentative smile as he moved in beside me, rolling up his sleeves, reaching for a towel, starting to dry the plates I had already washed.
"It was perfect," he corrected, making a warm feeling bloom across my chest. "Cora would be so proud," he added, just making that sensation move all through my body until it chased away any chilly corners inside.
"I wouldn't have been able to do it without the frappe," I told him, suddenly too aware of the way his arm brushed mine as he dried the plates, feeling weirdly short of breath from the chaste contact.
If the brush of his arm against mine was enough to send a jolt of pleasure through my body, I couldn't imagine what his hands on my bare skin, what his lips, his tongue, the scrape of his scruff would feel like.
When I moved to pass the baking pan to him, his hand closed over mine. Whether it was purposeful or accidental was anyone's guess. Still, it made my gaze shoot up, finding his already on me, eyes dark, heavy-lidded. If I wasn't mistaken, turned on. Just like I undeniably was.
Alexander and Laird had gone to town to pick up dessert.
Collis was on the front deck, smoking a cigar.
Marco was taking a hike.
We were as alone as we were going to get.
Seeming to come to the same conclusion as I did at the same exact time, the pan found its way into the drying rack as his hands moved out, and framed my face, his lips crashing down on mine.
My wet hands curled into his sleeves, holding on as he tipped my head further back, as his hand slid into my hair, as his tongue claimed mine.
A low, throaty sound escaped me, making a rumble move through Christopher's chest.
His hands released me for the barest of seconds before sinking into my ass, yanking me upward and off my feet, depositing me onto the counter.
His body pressed into my knees, making them spread toward his sides, ankles crossed over his lower back, as his hardness pressed against me, making a shiver of anticipation move through my lower stomach.
Shameless, my legs tightened around him as my hips ground against him, getting the friction I so desperately needed.
Likewise needy, Christopher's hips ground into mine as he bent me backward, as his lips ripped from mine, moving down my jaw, over my earlobe, down my neck.
His tongue traced, scruff scraped, lips closed and sucked, sending a shock of pleasure to my core, making his name whimper out from between my lips.
On a growl, his lips claimed mine again as his arms anchored around my back, holding me to him as he lifted me off the counter, turned, walked me through the house, doing so blindly as his lips continued their relentless assault, making mine feel swollen and overly sensitive.
My back slammed against the wall in the hallway, his cock grinding against me restlessly, stoking