I blink. “Um, what?” Of all the things I expected to come out of his mouth, baking cookies didn’t make the list. It wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities.
“Bake me cookies,” Jonas repeats. He reaches out and twins a lock of my hair around his finger. “Your father talks about your chocolate chip cookies all the fucking time, and I want to see if they live up to their reputation.”
I thought maybe he’d bend me over the counter and fuck me senseless. He wants me to…bake cookies. Obviously there’s more to it than that. He wouldn’t be looking like me like he wants to eat me if that wasn’t the case. I slowly push to my feet and smooth down the shirt. “I can do that.”
I make it three steps into the kitchen before he tsks. “Forgetting something?”
The desire to please him, the realization that no matter what I do, it won’t happen because this fantasy is intentionally setting me up for failure… It all twists up inside me, sizzling through my veins. I turn back to face him. “I don’t think so?”
“Cute.” He jerks his chin at the pantry. “Back of the door.”
I duck into the pantry to find what he’s talking about, and stop short at the sight of a pink frilly apron. It looks like something a 1950s housewife would wear, every hair in place and her makeup perfect. It even has lace.
Who does it belong to?
I shove the thought down deep. It’s none of my business if this belongs to some ex of his. It shouldn’t bother me because we’re just playing pretend. It shouldn’t…but it does. I clear my throat. “Interesting fashion choice.”
“Fishing for information?” His low chuckle makes me shiver. “It was a gag gift from my sister last Christmas. I’ve worn it for exactly one photo to get her to stop pestering me. No one else has.”
Relief makes me a little light-headed. I lift the apron off its hook. He’s going to want me to wear it naked. So the question is do I want to try to anticipate his desires, or do I want to make him shake his head at me again?
Really, it’s an easy choice.
I put it on over the shirt, tying it around my neck and waist. It’s not a good look. The excess T-shirt fabric bunches unattractively and no doubt I look ridiculous. I fight down a grin and walk back into the kitchen. “I guess I’ll get to work.”
“Baby girl.” There it is. That exasperation mixed with disappointment. “You must be joking.”
“What?” I make a show of looking at myself. “You wanted me to put on the apron, right?”
Jonas takes a long drink of his mug and sets it down on the counter with a click that sounds like a gunshot in the room. He rises and makes his way to me. There’s a faint element of menace in his posture, and a thrill of sexy fear goes through me.
If I ran…would he chase me?
Would he hold me down and fuck me while whispering all kinds of filth in my ear as I try to get away?
Jonas stops in front of me. “What’s got that look on your face?”
“Nothing.” I answer too quickly.
He shakes his head slowly. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine, but don’t lie to me.”
My skin feels like it’s turned crimson. Speaking such a filthy fantasy out loud will expose even more of myself. What if that is the line he’s not willing to cross? What if he turns away?
He can’t give me what I want if I don’t tell him the truth.
I dredge up my last bit of courage. “I was thinking that I would like you to chase me.” When he doesn’t move, I force myself to keep going. “To hold me down and fuck me.”
“While you try to get away.”
It feels like he’s reading my mind. Or at least reading me far better than I could have ever anticipated. “While I try to get away,” I confirm. I can’t quite meet his gaze, so I stare at his chest. Except Jonas doesn’t let me get away with that. Of course he doesn’t.
He touches my chin, tipping my head up until I’m staring straight into his blue eyes. He searches my face as if he really can pull my thoughts right out of my head through sheer determination. Whatever he sees there seems to satisfy him, because he nods slowly. “We’ll talk about it later.”
That isn’t a no.
Holy shit, that isn’t a no.
While I’m still processing that, he unties the apron and sets it on the counter. Then he skims off the shirt. Jonas just looks at me for a moment. I like that the sight of me naked affects him like this. I like it a lot. Finally he grabs the apron. “This, baby girl, is what I want and you damn well know it.” He eases it over my head, arranging it just so, and slides his hands down the straps to the panel in front, the backs of his fingers brushing against my breasts. He follows the line of the fabric to my hips and then steps close to reach behind me and tie it in place.
Jonas moves back enough to admire his handiwork. I look down at myself. I look ridiculously sexy. Like a pinup girl or something, except I’m no doubt sporting just-been-fucked hair and don’t have a speck of makeup on.
He leans back against the counter. “Think you can keep from making a mess in my kitchen?”
“You’re the one who wants cookies.” When he lowers his brows, I give a little pout. “I’ll try, Daddy.”
“That’s what I want to hear.” He makes a lazy motion with his hand. “Get to work.”
Being naked with Jonas is one thing. Wearing an apron and nothing else while I move around his kitchen, trying to find all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, is something else altogether. I can feel him watching me every step of the way, and I can’t help but put on a little show for him. Bending at the waist to look for bowls in the corner cabinet. Stretching my arms overhead to twist my hair up, high enough that my nipples peek out from behind the front panel of the apron. Doing anything I can to cause him to make that growling sound like he’s doing everything in his power to keep from grabbing me and fucking me right this moment.
He has better restraint than I do. By the time I get to the flour, I’m so wet, I’m practically dripping. I’m the one who’s about to break this tense standoff we have going on. Unacceptable.
I decide to play dirty.
I measure the flour and, instead of turning the mixer off, I just dump it in while it’s still going. Just as expected, a cloud erupts, sending flour everywhere. “Oops.” I don’t turn around to look at Jonas, not when I can hear him moving in my direction. I just add more flour, with the same result. “Oops again.”
Jonas’s hands slam down on either side of me and then he’s pressed against my bare back, his cock a hard length filled with promises of pleasure. He leans down until his lips are at my ear. “What did I say about making a mess?”
“Sorry, Daddy.” I can’t help grinning. “I’m really sorry.”
“You’re not even a little bit sorry.” He shuts off the mixer and grips the front of my apron in a fist, using that hold to turn me to face him. “You’re in my kitchen, dressed like a little slut, and making a mess. You’ve proven your point, baby girl. You want me to punish you.”
