Deep in You - Page 21

It makes my body flush for a whole different reason. It makes my stomach turn over and my muscles tense. I hate thinking about him with another woman.

Which is stupid. Crazy. It’s not my place to think like this, not about him. He’s an escort. It’s his job to do this kind of thing.

I’m his job. I need to remember that. I can’t go mistaking this for anything more than what it is—a business arrangement. Just like this cake we’re baking. He’s just another extension of my company, another business partner. So what if the service he’s providing is white-hot kinky sex? It doesn’t change the fact that I need to remain professional about things.

And professionals do not get jealous about their business partner’s other jobs.

If he notices the way I’ve gone quiet, he doesn’t say. He just finishes pouring his batter and waits for my next instruction.

Once we have the cakes baking, we turn to the frosting. I show him how to mix different colors.

“What did you have in mind for the decoration?”

He tilts his head, considering the cake in the oven and the frosting between us. “She really loves the ocean,” he says. “Her whole birthday party is aquarium themed. So maybe something with an ocean vibe to it? Mermaids, she loves those, too. God, the number of mermaid dolls I’ve bought her…”

Watching him talk about his niece opens up a whole new side to him. His eyes light up, and his attention drifts away, an open-hearted smile on his usually devious mouth.

“You spend a lot of time with her?” I ask as I start to prep some blue frosting.

He joins me, hands just inches from mine as he works on another tube. “As much as I can. I babysit when I don’t have classes.”

A whole new side to my escort. Who knew? I side-eye him. “What classes are you taking?”

“Physician’s assistant.” He shrugs. “Not exciting, I know. But I want to help people. And, you may have noticed,” he says as he traces a finger up my arm, leaving a playful streak of icing there, “I’m good with my hands.”

“Mm…” I meet his gaze steadily, chin high, and smirk. “I might have noticed that.”

“Only maybe?” He steps closer, the icing suddenly forgotten beside us. “I must be losing my touch.” As he says touch, he lets his other hand slide around my waist, and down, cupping my ass, not quite squeezing. Not yet.

“You could always provide me with a demonstration,” I point out, batting my eyes.

He squeezes my ass hard, strong enough to pull me forward a step. Suddenly, my hips are pressed against his, his thigh between my legs, as he runs his other hand along my neck to cup the back of it and pull me up toward him. We’re nose-to-nose, an inch apart, just a bare breath of air between us.

We haven’t kissed. Not once, not in the whole evening we had together. I’m suddenly terrifyingly aware of that now. And all too aware of the tingle in my lips, the pulse in the air between us. I want to kiss him.

“You want to see how I’d decorate you?” Caleb smirks. He traces that hand down the nape of my neck, around toward my collarbone. His fingers dance along the neckline of my shirt, and his other hand slides between my ass cheeks to grip my ass harder, draw me against him. I can feel the hard press of his cock against my thigh. He wants me. Fucking badly.

I want him too.

I flatten my hands against his chest, then run them along his body, down across those sexy washboard abs. I can feel his muscles through his T-shirt and I trace the edges of them. “I wonder how creative you’d get with your frosting technique,” I dare him.

Before I can react, he has my shirt bunched in a fist. He draws it up, over my head, my apron going with it. He tosses them in a heap beside the counter and bends me backwards over his other arm, so my whole chest is arched up toward him. With one deft shift of his fingers, he unclasps my bra and lets that fall to the side too. He dips a finger in the frosting and trails a line down the center of my chest, between my breasts.

“I’d start by outlining the basics,” he says. “Everywhere I want to lick, highlighted.” He dips his finger again and traces it around the edges of my breasts, underneath each one. My nipples start to go hard, despite the heat in here, despite the fact that he hasn’t even come close to touching them yet.

When he circles my navel in another dose of frosting, I finally snap to my senses. I slide my thigh against his bulge, along the length of his cock, as I lean up toward him.

“No sex around the food,” I say.

His gray eyes have gone dark with desire, hot with lust. “I thought you wanted me to play with my food,” he counters, smirking.