Don't Go Baking My Heart

Devon

He’d made a mistake,just as Reba had said.

That couldn’t be his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, to pull her closer instead of pushing her away like he was supposed to do.

He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he was tired. Or that she was like kryptonite. Clearly, he had lied when he’d said his armour was intact. That shit was disintegrating with every flick of Reba’s tongue against his.

The piping bag was somewhere on the floor behind him. He needed to pick that up. Get them back on track, yet his hand was tugging on her hair, telling her silently to tilt her head back so his fingers could reach up and trace her neck.

Reba’s moan when he cupped her neck caused him to turn them, so her back was pressed against the counter with his front fully pressed to hers. She rubbed against him, and Devon’s tongue delved deeper, drinking in the taste of the cookie batter. She’d gotten her wish after all, hadn’t she?

He would have been better off just taking the batter off her finger like she asked. This was too much. Hurricane Reba was in full force because God… He hadn’t done this with anyone in so long. He felt fucking thirsty. Actually, he had never dry-humped anyone in this kitchen or any kitchen before, so this was…something. The most random thought of his mother telling him he needed to christen his new place by having that housewarming entered his mind, and clearly, this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

Neither had he.

Reba had struck again, and this time, Devon was allowing himself to give in. Just for a moment. They would end this soon, and then what?

Stop thinking, just enjoy.

The voice in his head sounded too much like Reba. He couldn’t allow her in there while he was already letting this happen. Control. He needed it. Too bad it had fled to parts unknown.

Her hand crept into his shorts to cup his ass, drag him closer. There was nowhere else to go. They were as close as could be. Her nails dug into his flesh, and he broke off their never-ending kiss to stare down at her, trying desperately to catch his breath.

She licked her lips. “Guess my underwear question is answered. Boxer briefs. I approve.”

He took several deep breaths, trying to clear away the lust that was fogging up his brain. A difficult task with Reba’s hand still on him, squeezing, the both of them still pressed against each other like this. She could definitely feel how hard he was.

“Just stay like this. For a little while,” she urged. That soft tone, so damn persuasive.

He almost allowed himself to be drawn in again, but he was no starry-eyed youth who would get lost in that devouring gaze. Who would nod wordlessly and let Reba lead them astray.

He drew back, inhaled deeply again. “I don’t think so.”

“Fine. Well, back up because your friend there is giving me ideas.” She looked down to where his dick was tenting the front of his shorts. Damn. “Need a minute? Or five?”

“No.”

Of course, he did. Walking around with his dick waving about would be rude. Except his need to regain control of something meant he refused to leave the kitchen to supposedly go compose himself. He could get right back to the cookies. He didn’t need time to recover from any of this.

He moved away from Reba and retrieved the piping bag on the floor.

“At least you should be a little more loosened up now. Don’t try to fight me on the cookies again.”

He didn’t look back at Reba. He couldn’t, not yet. Not when the taste and feel of her was still so fresh. Temptation was right behind him with pastel pink hair and probably a knowing smirk. Devon had to be strong.

He looked down at the bag in his hand. The batter had remained inside. While he usually kept a clean kitchen, the thing had been lounging on the floor as he had lost his entire mind.

Think about something calming, he silently told himself. He forced himself to focus on some of his favourite structures. That always soothed him. Reminded him why he had chosen this profession. Images of a building that was shaped like a violin resting against a piano danced in his mind. The building was located in China, and Devon had yet to fulfil his dream of seeing it in person, but some day, he absolutely would.

A lot of his colleagues spoke about how romantic the building concept was when he cared more about the aesthetic of it.

“We can still use this,” Reba’s voice floated over his shoulder. Too close. “None of it leaked out. I’ll take it for my unconventional cookies if you want to use fresh batter.”

“Do whatever you feel like.” Caught up in trying to compose himself, his words came out harsher than intended. “I’ll use a different bag,” he added, an attempt to soften his words.

He turned to face Reba. Her brow rose. “Try that again,” she said, tone as sweet as honey, and yet he knew she didn’t appreciate his bluntness.

“Sorry. I meant that sounds fine.”