Sensuality

“Not quite, querido.”

While Chris cut in the crust with almost determined precision, I went for the pantry and the brandy.

He glanced at me, one dark eyebrow arched. “Beer’s not enough? Or do you just need that so you can handle me?”

“Please!” I giggled. As if I couldn’t handle him. “Don’t ask questions. Just take notes. You have to remember all this so you can tell your cook in Tennessee how to make it for you…or maybe you could make it for her?”

“Or maybe you could come back home with me and make it every day.”

“You want me to move to Tennessee just so I can make cobbler for you every day?” I took the pie cutter away from him and added milk, handing him another spatula. “Stir.”

“I told you, I dream about your cobbler.”

“You have a one-track mind and you’re crazy,” I said with a laugh. “Now mix that up real good.”

“I might be crazy, but they’ve never been able to prove I’m insane.”

His words gave me pause as I turned toward the oven and pulled the warm peaches out.

“I’m kidding…it’s the job that makes me crazy,” he said. “Now you gonna drink that brandy or what?”

With a grin and a shake of my head, I measured out a liberal amount and slowly poured it over the peaches. “How’s the crust?”

“Take a look for yourself.” He held the bowl up so I could see.

“Perfect.” I nudged the brandy-covered peaches toward him with a nod. “We’ll make a cook out of you yet. Now, drop spoonfuls of dough on top and then we can bake it.”

I sounded like Julia Fucking Child. While Chris finished the cobbler, I sipped my beer, contemplating my next move. The countertop was too high for sex. But the old pine table that ran the width of the kitchen was perfect.

“So it’s the brandy?”

“Shhhh.” I grinned and held a finger to my lips. “Put it in the oven and set the timer for thirty minutes.”

“So what do we do for the next thirty minutes?” he asked once he was done.

“I’m sure we can think of something.” I took my beer and sashayed across to the table, turned, and leaned against it with my legs crossed. Now that the business of baking had been taken care of, it was time to get to more important matters. “Still got my panties?”

Chris followed my path across the kitchen, pulling the panties out of his pocket as he got closer. Smiling, he held them to his nose for a heartbeat or two before tossing them on the table beside my beer. My granny would have had a fit…if she were still alive.

“Lose the shirt.” He nodded his head with a determined gleam in his eye.

“Ha! You lose yours.”

He gave me a hard once-over, then peeled off his shirt, revealing the heavy pecs I’d fondled earlier. They were covered with a light dusting of dark brown hair that tapered down to a thin line and disappeared into his shorts.

“Now the shorts.” My mouth was practically watering. He was tanned a light golden brown and while he didn’t exactly have a six-pack, he definitely had nothing to be ashamed of.

Chuckling softly, he unsnapped the button fly on his shorts but left them on.

“Tighty whities,” I teased, peeling off my own shirt and dropping it to the floor beside me.

“Those are nice,” he said, indicating my breasts.

“I like ’em,” I said, winking.

“I noticed.” He reached up and unhooked my white cotton bra, pushing it off my shoulders. “You just don’t seem like a girl who’d wear cotton.”

“It’s not about the boring cotton, querido, but what’s in it.” With a grin, I delved inside his shorts and cupped the firm cheeks of his ass, pulling him against me.