Hollis wrapped his arms around Ian and pulled him back so he could slowly grind against him, smiling into his hair when Ian moaned. “Why are you cooking so late?” Hollis asked.
“Tomorrow’s steak sauce needs a bit of tweaking. Feel like being my guinea pig?”
“Always.” He opened his mouth over the back of Ian’s neck and bit down. Fuck, he smelled good. Like food and light, spicy cologne…and Ian. The man had a scent that had burrowed under Hollis’s skin until he just wanted to wallow in Ian. All the time.
He slid one hand beneath the side of the apron to spread his fingers over Ian’s chest, the thud of his heartbeat welcome against his palm. He used his teeth again, this time on the muscle where his neck met his shoulder. He slowly ground his hips side to side against Ian’s ass.
The spoon Ian had been using clattered to the granite before Ian gripped the edge of the counter and thrust his ass back into Hollis. “As much as I want to continue this now—” He broke off with another shuddering moan before straightening and turning around to face Hollis. He cupped his hands on either side of Hollis’s face and stretched up to kiss him. “I have to get this right because I’ve already got it on tomorrow night’s menu and it needs to be perfect.”
“You and your sauces,” Hollis muttered, though he made sure to put amusement into his tone.
“You love my sauces, so don’t even think of complaining.”
“I do. I love all of your sauces.” He let his southern drawl lace his words. He usually got his way when he laid on the Georgia charm.
Ian snorted and pushed him away. “Playing dirty, I see. Stop before I make you kneel on this hard floor and swallow one.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” He cupped his hand over Ian’s crotch, resenting the slacks and the apron between him and all that hot flesh. Then he got a good look at the dark red apron and cracked up.
Kiss the cook. Start with the buns.
“Rowe got me this one,” Ian said, looking down at it. “I’m surprised he didn’t keep it for himself.”
“Oh, he bought two. Trust me.” Hollis noticed that Ian hadn’t removed his hand. He tightened his grip a little, loving the way Ian sucked in a deep breath.
“Go sit at the breakfast bar! I’m not going to be able to finish this until you’re on the other side of it.”
Eh, he could give him a few more minutes. Then Hollis planned to cart him up to their bedroom for some athletic fun. Or maybe he’d just bend him over the table. Ian loved being manhandled and carried around, so Hollis knew he could take him anywhere he wanted in the house. And he was so wonderfully…bendy. He eyed Ian’s slim, tight ass in his gray slacks when he turned back to the bowl on the counter.
Ian turned off the movie, then gave him a quick glance as he moved to whatever was simmering in a pan on the stove. The corner of his mouth crept up in a half grin. He picked up a wine bottle next to the stove and poured some into the pan. “I made this Cabernet myself.”
“You make wine? How did I not know that?”
Ian shrugged. “It’s been awhile since I did it. It’s not hard because most everything is in a kit. But it was time-consuming, and the condo always smelled like yeast.”
“So a lot of the bottles in the wine cabinet are yours?”
He nodded. “It was just a hobby. I can’t serve the wine in the sauce in my restaurant, but this is close to the one being delivered tomorrow, so it’s great for cooking.” He moved to the chopping block and took out small onions—shallots, Hollis could remember that.
But he didn’t know what the thin mushrooms were called. Ian’s moves were smooth, fluid, and fast and Hollis found his gaze drawn to his slim, talented hands. He loved having those hands on his body. Last night, Ian had used them long and well, digging into his back, clenching in his hair…
Heat flooded his body and he shifted in his seat as he watched Ian move around the kitchen. His confidence in his skills was hot as hell.
Ian poured a little more wine into the sizzling pan, stirring with his left hand. He worked the sauce while adding something that looked like butter with herbs already in it.
“Oh, fuck.” Hollis groaned out the words. The heady aroma of beef joined the other odors in the kitchen as Ian slid a massive rib eye onto the indoor grill. “I just ate apple pie with Shane. I shouldn’t want to eat that.”
“It’s just one steak and we’ll share.” He stirred his sauce again. “You went out for pie this late?”