Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
And I chubbed up on cue. Christ. This guy was killing me.
“That’s too bad.” I wiggled as inconspicuously as possible to give my dick some breathing room. “Or maybe that’s good. I’d make a terrible Santa. I’m not made for year-round holiday shit.”
He chuckled. “Then what do you do for a living?”
“I bake.”
Theo set his hand over his mouth and gasped. “You’re a baker! Really? Oh, that’s so fun.”
“Well…yeah, I suppose it is,” I agreed with a shrug. “The hours aren’t great, but I have good help and it’s something I enjoy.”
“They say if you do what you love, you never work a day in your life. Oh! I’m pea green with envy. I’d love to bake for a living. I wish it was an option for me because I have to say, my chocolate chip cupcakes are to die for,” he bragged.
I lifted a brow. “Is that so?”
“Yep. Almost as good as my carrot cake with double secret sauce cream cheese frosting.” His eyes lit with undisguised enthusiasm as he continued in a rush. “So…what’s your specialty? Who taught you to bake? Do you have a shop? How did you get started?”
“Well, I—”
“Wait. Let me guess. You were discovered on Cake Wars, wrote a cookbook, opened a shop, expanded to another continent, and met your wife—who has a bun in the oven. And your biggest worry now is deciding if you want to be a city baker in London or a small-town baker in a quaint little village straight out of a Jane Austen classic.” He hit me with another sunshine smile. “How’d I do?”
I snickered. “Not great. No baking competition, cookbook, or wife with a bun in the oven.”
“Hmm. Are you single?” He held his hand up like a traffic cop. “And before you answer, I promise I’m not coming on to you. I’m as queer as a three-dollar bill, but in this case, it’s a matter of also being ruthlessly curious.”
My lips curled in amusement. “I’m single…and you didn’t ask, but I’m queer too. Bi. You?”
“Gay. Gay, gay, gay,” he professed with a diva-esque snap. “And as single as a lost sock in the drying cycle. You didn’t ask that, did you? I’m not flirting. I wouldn’t—”
“Got it. Don’t worry. I’m too old for you anyway.”
Theo nodded slowly. “Thirty-nine is elderly and on the way to being decrepit…and ancient.”
“Watch yourself, young man,” I chided in my best faux-parental tone.
He threw his head back and laughed.
I joined in, catching myself before I added something inappropriately porny about knowing how to deal with bad boys.
Damn it, what the hell was wrong with me? A few hours ago, I’d hoped like hell he’d sleep through the entire flight and now, I was a breath away from issuing daddy threats and I wasn’t even into that stuff.
Not that I had anything against it…I’d just never been with a lover who wanted to play daddy games.
Whoa, stop. I had to get my dick under control. I was in danger of drilling a hole through my jeans when he quirked his brow and licked his bottom lip. My dirty mind had officially gone rogue.
I’d had a brief peek at Theo’s ass when I stood to let him into his seat. He had a nice ass. Spankable. Fuckable.
I wouldn’t hesitate to pull him over my knee, squeeze those cheeks, and spank him…just enough to see my handprint before running my finger along his crease and—
Okay. Enough.
We had a few hours to go, and I didn’t want to spend it talking myself off a horny cliff. I swallowed hard and squirmed in my seat, feigning interest when the bathroom light switched from red to green in the distance.
Theo was talking again. Focus, man. Focus.
“…kidding. You’re not that old,” he said with a teasing half smile. “And it sounds like you’re living a cosmopolitan life, doing something you love. You’re doing something I love too.”
“Do you bake?”
“I’m a novice only, but I’ve consumed my fair share of treats and watched countless baking competitions too, so sometimes I feel like a pro.” Theo tilted his head. “Is there a chance I’ve seen you on TV?”
“Nope. I got my start the old-fashioned way. I worked in the kitchen at a café during college. One day, the chief baking guru got sick, I jumped in, and boom…insta-success.”
He blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“No, I was a disaster,” I deadpanned. “My only chore was to put premade cookie dough on a sheet and stick it in the oven. Fail. I burned them to a crisp. In fact, it was so bad, it set off the fire alarm. Seattle’s finest showed up just as the sprinklers went on, soaking the entire cafe. It was…a scene.”
Theo’s melodic laughter rang merrily in the quiet cabin. He set his hand over his mouth and whispered, “Oh, my God. That’s terrible.”