Sterling (Carolina Reapers 6)

“Cookies,” I said into his neck as I held him right back.

We’d only been apart one night, but it felt like a lifetime. We’d adapted this incredibly comfortable, exciting, intoxicating routine over the past month, and every time he “came home” to me, I lost myself a little bit more for this man.

“Snickerdoodles?” he asked, gently returning me to my feet.

I grinned up at him. “Now, why on earth would I make your favorite cookie,” I teased, heading back to the kitchen to check the oven. They were two minutes away from being done.

He followed me, snaking his arms around me from behind. He brought my spine flush against his chest, and I arched into him, my body instinctively craving his. “Because,” he said, his lips at the shell of my ear. “You know I’m a sucker for your cookies. You know I’ll do anything to get a taste.”

My lips parted on a gasp, heat unfurling low in my belly. It had been a month of this. This never-ending, never-quenched thirst for the man who simultaneously infuriated me, challenged me, and turned me into a helpless, wild string of pure need. And I had no idea if the inferno between us would ever settle into a softer ember, but goddamn, I relished what we had now.

I spun in his embrace, reaching up on my tiptoes, my mouth inching toward his. He met me halfway, but I paused, lingering in that space just above his lips. “It sounds like I have you wrapped entirely around my finger,” I teased, gently taking his bottom lip between my teeth.

He growled, smoothing his hands over my hips and around to cup my ass. I squealed when he squeezed and hefted me up, forcing me to lock my ankles behind his back. He turned, situating me on my kitchen counter. “Is that right?” His voice was low, and that smirk was on his lips as he rubbed his hands up my thighs. The heat from his hands sizzled through my leggings.

“That’s right,” I said, nodding, my heart pounding against my chest. I tangled my fingers in his hair, drawing him to my mouth. “I bet I could ask you for anything right now, and you’d give it to me.”

“Someone thinks highly of herself,” he teased, grazing his nose along the line of my jaw.

I arched into the innocent touch, tracing my free hand over the thin fabric of his shirt, delighting in the muscles bunching beneath. “Well, that is your fault,” I said.

He grazed his teeth over the seam of my neck, and warm chills burst along my skin. “Really?” he whispered. “Why is that?” He gripped my hips, tugging my ass to the edge of that counter, right against him.

“Because,” I breathed the word, shuddering from the feel of him against me. “You make me feel like a goddess.” And that was the damned truth. I’d come alive under him, atop him, beside him. Whether we were fucking or binge-watching, next to him, I practically sparkled. He challenged me, listened to me, understood me. He made me laugh and moan and all the things in between. I’d never had anything like this.

“You are,” he growled against my skin, planting kisses over my collarbone. I pushed my chest out, giving him better access, and trembled as his head lowered toward my breasts. “Beautiful, smart, funny,” he said, and sealed each word with a kiss. “A pain in the ass most days,” he teased. “But you’re mine.”

I rocked against him, shamelessly seeking that spark already igniting between us—

A sharp beeping sounded, and I jolted against him. The timer for the cookies blared throughout the kitchen, and Jansen barked out a laugh. He pointed a finger at me. “Don’t move,” he ordered, stepping out from between my thighs and heading across the kitchen. He grabbed an oven mitt from the drawer and pulled the cookies out of the oven. He smirked as he set the baking sheet on the stove. “Snickerdoodles,” he said, nodding like he knew he’d been right. He tossed the mitt onto the counter, returning to me in a blink. “I guess I should thank you,” he said, the warmth from his body settling against me again.

I grinned, wrapping my arms around his neck as he picked up where he’d left off, smoothing his hands over my thighs, planting my skin with teasing kisses. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said, nearly sighing the words. He loved to torture me, sometimes for hours. He would tease and play and touch me until I felt like a bottle of champagne ready to pop. “I love making you happy,” I admitted, my head spinning from everywhere he touched, teased.

He stilled slightly between my legs and drew his face back to mine. Perched on the counter, he was still taller than me, but his gaze burned. There was such…gratitude and shock and wonder in those eyes. Something I caught in rare instances as if he wasn’t used to that kind of affection, that kind of compassion.