“Thanks. Umm, Nate—”
“I know you’re tired, but I need a favor. Remember how I said I don’t cook much? I want to try. Building up a palate is the mainstay of a good culinary education.” He set the bags on her countertop. “I need a taste-test dummy.”
She closed the door behind her and faced him. “What?”
He waved a hand in the air. “Bad term. Not a literal dummy, of course. It’s very simple. I blindfold you, and you let me know how each of the things I bought taste. I’d like to make a full-course dinner. Stretch my boundaries. What do you think?”
Her head was already spinning. “Umm, I think learning to cook is a wonderful idea. But it’s late. And I don’t know how me taste testing is going to help you.”
“I’ll get a woman’s perspective on the menu I’d like to try. Won’t take long. Please?”
She eyed the bags with suspicion. “Why do I have to be blindfolded?”
“I saw it on Hell’s Kitchen. You have an open mind when you don’t visually peg the ingredients. Allows your taste buds to take over as the primary sensory perception.”
Her skin tingled with anticipation. This was a definite no brainer. Reject the plan, get him out of her apartment, and get to bed early. Alone.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
He lit up. Removed his jacket and hung it neatly in the closet. Dressed in dark jeans that cupped his spectacular ass, he pushed up the sleeves on his casual aqua shirt as if prepping for something big. He washed his hands and dragged a chair over to the table.
“I can sit on the stool,” she pointed out.
“No. A chair is sturdier. Trust me.”
Sturdier for what? She shrugged. “What do I have to do?”
“Can you get me a scarf, please?”
“Kinky.”
“I can be.” She laughed, got him a colorful purple scarf, and sat down. “Now, I’m going to blindfold you and then I prep some of the food.” He gently placed the scarf over her eyes and tied a loose knot. “Can you see anything?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, just give me a minute.” She heard cabinet doors open and close. The rustle of bags. The scent of freshness and a variety of herbs, all mixed up. The refrigerator door squeaked, then went silent. The shuffling around the kitchen slowly relaxed her, and she let her mind drift while she waited for the first taste.
She sensed him kneeling in front of her. The powerful aura of his male energy wrapped around her like an invisible vise. A rush of warm breath hit her lips. Her heart pounded in an uneven rhythm. “Are you ready for your first taste?”
The rich, sensual words rumbled over her ears. Her tummy dipped. “Yes.”
“Open up.”
Her lips parted. She expected the cool, smooth touch of a spoon, but he used his fingers. He placed something small and slippery on her tongue. The flavor of ocean, salt, and smoke tickled. The firm bite against her teeth exploded juice in her mouth. The raw earthiness swamped her in pleasure, and her body responded as if an electrical cord got plugged in and fried.
“Oyster.” A smile touched her lips as she caught the last bite of citrus. “The balance is amazing.”
He wiped a trickle of moisture from her bottom lip. “Good girl. It was an oyster. You like?”
She remembered the way he had plucked at her nipples, biting, licking, and then asked her the same question. Kennedy rallied for sanity. “Yes.”
“Next one.” She waited, her senses on high alert. “Open for me.” Her thighs relaxed as if trying to respond to the command, and the morsel was pushed into her mouth. Creamy, thick cheese combined with a hint of garlic, olive oil, sweet basil, and crisp tomato. As if picked right off the vine, her taste buds wept with delight. “Cheese,” she moaned. “Mozzarella cheese. Tomato. Oh, God, so good.”
His hands began stroking her face, her shoulders, lulling her into a more relaxed trance. Her legs fell open and her pussy throbbed. The simplicity of the flavors flowed over her, in her, and she let her head fall back. He murmured something against her ear. “You’re very good at this game, sweetheart.” His hands cupped her breasts, massaging her through the cotton. “Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
“I want to take off your shirt.”
His outrageous demand was over the top. It deserved a slap, an electronic buzz, and a kick out the door. Instead, she was so turned on she couldn’t speak for a minute. “Do it for me.”
He growled. Worked her shirt over her head. Cool air rushed over her breasts and tightened her nipples. She wanted to cry, it felt so outrageously decadent. Sitting in her kitchen, blindfolded, topless, and having Nate feed her. His thumbs ran over the hard nubs, flicked them through the lace, and then his mouth was suddenly on her, hot and wet, sucking her nipple through the fabric and flicking his tongue back and forth. She cried out, and arched into him, her hands holding him tight to her. He pleasured the other breast, and then he was gone. A clatter of a utensil hitting the granite. The rustle of paper. Each second twisted the tension in her stomach another knot.
Breathing was a luxury now. She panted for air and scissored her legs, but he spoke quite calmly. “Ready for your next bite?”
She nodded.
“Open.”
Ah.
Sushi. The texture was cool, and smooth, but the fish had a thickness to it that puzzled her. She bit down. The tanginess of teriyaki sauce dripped over it but didn’t overwhelm the natural flavor of the fish, which broke open and became flaky.
“Salmon! It’s salmon, I know it.”
“Very nice.” As she chewed and swallowed, he unhooked her bra. Her breasts spilled free into his waiting hands, and the combination of his touch with the delight of the food splintered her. “I think you deserve a bit of a reward before our next one.” The button on her jeans snapped. His fingers coasted over her stomach and traced the line of denim around and around. “Lift your hips up sweetheart. You’re losing the jeans.”
She waited for her inner rational voice to scream like a banshee and tell him absolutely not. No way. No how. No.
“Yes.”
He slid off the jeans, unhooking them from around her feet. She heard his sharp intake of breath. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He stroked and caressed her calves and upward, gently parting her legs. “And so wet.” His finger traced the line of her panties. She jerked, her body shuddering as if on the verge of climax. “We have two tastes left. Let’s get you a little something to wash it down with.”
She whimpered at the loss of his touch. A cabinet slammed. The sound of liquid poured into a glass echoed in her ears. “Take a tiny sip of this. Let me know what you think.”
He cupped her chin and tipped the glass to her lips. The wine trickled down her throat, heavy and ripe, the scent of blackberries drifting to her nostrils and soaking her mouth. A complete sensual treat, she reveled in the intense tannins and boldness. “Red wine. Berries? Fig?”
“Blackberries. Nice. Have a little more.”
She took another sip at the same time his palm cupped her sex.
Her hips shot up, the wine slid down her throat, and she almost fell apart right then. His thumb coaxed the hard nub of clit to come out and play, and his fingers danced and massaged over her core, until the fabric was wet and full of her scent. “Magnificent,” he murmured, as if she was one of his scientific experiments. “Every time you try something you love, your body responds. You could probably orgasm from the right flavors alone.”
A choked laugh spilled from her throat. She was crazy. He was crazy. Hell, they were crazy to be acting out a foodie sex scene, yet she couldn’t stop, needed him to finish where he’d taken her. Why wasn’t she feeling embarrassed or horribly vulnerable? She was naked, he was fully clothed, and yet she felt completely safe with him in a way she’d never experienced before. He’d take care of her, at the expense of himself. And right here, right now, she only craved more. “Stop teasing me,” she moaned. “I need—”