Stud Muffin (Donner Bakery #2) - Jiffy Kate Page 0,76

of my life.”

The blush on her cheeks deepens and she swallows hard.

“Don’t overthink this,” I say, barely above a whisper, leaning toward her and praying to God she lets me do what I want—what I need. “And before you say anything, we can still be friends and kiss… lots of friends kiss.”

Smirking, I get a small smile from her and lean my forehead into hers, breathing her in.

A second later, her hands come up to my chest and she grips my T-shirt in her fists, taking some deep breaths.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, not wanting to mess this up because I love being this close to her, feeling her body against mine, but I’m going to go fucking crazy if I can’t touch her. But I won’t if she doesn’t want me to, so she’s going to have to say something, either putting me out of my misery or pouring cold water over my heated body.

“I’m thinking I want you,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible, but I heard her… and I heard the need in her tone. It mirrors my own and I want nothing more than to give her what she needs.

Running my nose along her cheek and over to her ear, I lower my voice and tell her, “In three seconds, I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want me to, you should walk away now. No harm, no foul. However,” I pause, nipping at her ear and loving how her entire body shivers in response, “if you stay, I plan on devouring you. I have four hours until I have to be at work and I’ll spend every second worshipping your body… if you’ll let me.”

She stills and I’m afraid I’ve crossed the line and she’s about to bolt, but then she practically melts into my arms. Her body feels amazing against mine, sending thousands of feelings and sensations all at once as she presses against me.

“I want you too,” she whispers, her tone sounding relieved at the admittance, like it’s something she’s been holding inside for too long and needed to get out.

Breathing against her soft skin, drinking her in, I move my lips to hers and kiss her.

Hard.

Tempest meets me beat for beat as our mouths collide. Her hands go from gripping my T-shirt to gripping my shoulders as she uses me for leverage to get closer. Sliding my palms down her body, I cup her ass and hoist her up. She never breaks the kiss. I’m not sure she even realizes her feet are no longer on the ground as I carry her toward the stairs.

That intense, crazy feeling from our first kiss quadruples as her arms move around my neck and her hands glide into my hair… her breasts—those luscious mounds I’ve dreamt about—pressed against my chest.

I need her.

Naked.

Now.

Chapter 21

Tempest

I’m dreaming.

This has to be a dream, right? Because, only in my dreams would I be lying in Cage’s bed, watching him undress. Only in my dreams would a man’s body be so incredibly perfect. Only in my dreams would I be naked and ready for him without any inhibitions.

And, yet, here I am.

And I’ve never wanted a man or to be with a man more.

Even when I was with Asher, we either kept the lights off or had sex under the covers. I was comfortable with him, but I didn’t feel sexy or beautiful or powerful. I assume I turned him on but he never made me feel desired.

Cage makes me feel all those things and more and we haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.

After Cage carried me to his room, he carefully undressed me before laying me down, allowing me a front-row seat to his undressing. Where he was quick to remove my clothes, he’s taking his damn time taking off his own and it’s driving me crazy.

I’m pretty sure he knows it, too.

His eyes haven’t left mine and I feel like I could come from his gaze alone. I’ve seen him with his shirt off, but only briefly and not like this.

“Like what you see?” he asks, and I can’t hold back the disbelieving laugh that leaves my mouth. It’s teetering on unstable. I want to pinch myself… or slap myself… or yell, “What the hell are you doing, Tempest?”

If I was in the business of answering myself, I’d yell back, “CAGE ERICKSON. And don’t you mess it up for me!”

When Cage pushes his loose-fitting shorts to the floor—his boxers with them—and stands up, the laugh