Page 34 of Forked (Frenched 2)
Nick snarled, reaching out as if to choke me.
“And his ego is pretty massive.” Moving around the island, he put his hands around my throat, gently throttling me. “Like Eiffel Tower massive. But we made a deal.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Who cares if he’s temperamental? He’s so fucking hot.”
“He’s all right.”
Suddenly Nick turned me into a headlock and tickled my ribcage with the other hand, right underneath my left breast where he knows I’m insanely ticklish. I shrieked into the phone and squirmed in his grip.
“Will you stop? No, not you, Angelina. But I have to go, I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.” I ended the call and tugged on the elbow around my neck. “Stop it! You just made me yell at my client!”
He growled in my ear, then let me go. “Good.
She was cutting into my Coco time. Which is very limited.”
“Your Coco time.” I rolled my eyes and scrolled through my contacts to find my agent’s number. “OK, give me two seconds to text my real estate lady and then you can have me back.”
“Can I really? Have you back?”
My stomach cartwheeled as I looked at him. He was giving me the Elvis grin, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Best to play safe. “Yep. For two whole days.” I dropped my eyes to the screen again.
But my phone was shaking.
While Nick creamed the butter and sugar—was there anything that tasted better than butter and sugar? Or maybe it was just that he let me lick it off his finger—I sifted together the flour, baking powder, and salt. After adding the eggs, he h
ad me mix a half-cup of cocoa with an equal amount of hot water, rolling his eyes when I tried to use the dry measuring cup. Then he had me alternate adding the dry ingredients and sour cream while he kept the mixer going.
“Now the vanilla. One teaspoon please,” he said, checking the recipe. “And then the cocoa mixture.” I added the ingredients, and he laughed. “Now it says to beat vigorously.”
I cocked my head. “Is there any other way?”
When the batter was prepared, Nick dipped the spatula in the bowl and held it out to me. “Want to taste?”
I closed my lips around it, and when he went to pull it out, I held onto it with my teeth. Then I reached up to take it from him, licking every last drop of rich, chocolaty goodness off the blue rubber tip, sucking it like a popsicle, running my tongue along every inch of its surface.
All while looking him in the eye and moaning appreciatively, of course.
“You’re killing me.” His expression was tragic.
“Mmmm, good. Can I have some more please?”
“You can lick the whole damn bowl that way if you want to, but let me get the cakes in first.”
Smiling gleefully, I hopped up on the counter while he filled two cake pans with batter, tucked them into the oven, and set the timer. “Twenty-five minutes.” Grabbing the mixing bowl, he set it next to me. “And I know exactly how I want to spend them.”
Peering into the bowl, I was delighted to see it still had plenty of batter left in it. He took the spatula, scooped some off the side of the bowl, and I thought he was going to feed it to me, but he didn’t. He smeared it on my thigh.
And licked it off.
S l o w l y.
At the feel of his hot tongue on my leg, my stomach tightened, and I held my breath.
Next, he pulled down a black lace strap of my tank, fully exposing one breast, smearing it with batter. My nipple was already hard and tingling, and when his lips closed around it, sucking off the chocolate, I gasped and arched, my fingers curling around the edge of the counter. He circled the stiff peak with his tongue, taking it between his teeth and biting gently before dragging his mouth up to my neck.
“Get down,” he breathed softly in my ear, one hand curling around my waist.
I let him pull me off the counter, my bare feet landing between his. Our mouths opened wide to one another in a long, deep, chocolate-flavored kiss. I slid one hand up the back of his neck and one down the front of his jeans, finding him hard and thick beneath my palm. If I hadn’t been sure before about doing it again, I was now.
