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“It was just a peck.” I continue cutting the peaches, nonchalantly. “Doesn’t count.”
Slowly, Ender moves behind me, his hands on the counter, his chest pressing to my back. “Turn around,” he whispers, his voice sending a chill up the side of my neck.
“Why?”
He moves his left hand and runs it from my hand, up my forearm and then to my collarbone. “So I can prove it.”
I turn around and the next second, his lips are on mine again and he’s holding me in place. It’s a good thing he is, because if he hadn’t been, I’d think I’m floating away. I have no idea what I’m doing but Ender takes over. He sticks his tongue in my mouth and cups my cheeks with both hands, deepening the kiss. There’s that moan again. It slips out before I can stop it and it’s quickly followed by Ender groaning and dropping one hand to my waist, securing me to him. His other hand that’s on my cheek inches behind my hair to the nape of my neck, cradling the back of my head.
It’s electrifying, consuming, all the words I’d use to describe something I can’t possibly live without, because I don’t think I can.
The kiss ends before I can weld my entire body around his and ask him to dry hump me. He stares at me, waiting for me to say something, but all I’m focused on is the flush of his cheeks and the cherry-red lips.
I wonder where he’s learned how to kiss like this. Probably from girls like Becca and Kamila. Sluts. But that’s not me and he doesn’t seem to want those things with me. He’s careful in ways I don’t expect, but appreciate.
Touching my bottom lip, I sigh and turn back to the peaches.
“Told you,” he mocks, winking at me.
“Fine, best kisser ever.” I slice the peaches thinner, my hands trembling at the thought of doing more with him. “When you taste this, you’re going to agree I’m the best cook ever.”
He bites his lip and growls at me. Actually growls as he moves to the other side of the kitchen island. “I can’t wait to taste your peaches.”
I think he’s talking about my boobs. Is he? I don’t know.
When Ender finishes measuring the flour and sugar, he hoists himself up on the counter, grinning wider and watching. “Where’d you learn to make peach cobbler?”
“My granny used to make this for me every summer.”
“She still alive?”
“No, she passed last winter.”
“I’m sorry. My granny is fuckin’ nuttier than all get out.” Ender shoves pecans and slices of peach in his mouth as soon as I chop them, despite me swatting at his hand with a knife.
“Ender.” I hit the knife to the cutting board. “If you don’t stop, we won’t have anything for cobbler.” I try my best to sound irritated, but I can’t be. He’s so freaking cute eating my peaches. “I will chop your fingers off.”
He tosses a raisin at me.
“Myles is more mature than you.”
He throws another.
It becomes a war until the kitchen is covered in what would have been peach cobbler if not for the food fight.
When he’s out of ammunition, I have a handful of nuts left. “I will throw these at you.”
“I know you will.” His hands fly to the air. “I give up.”
We lie flat on our backs on the tile floor in the kitchen, laughing, the kind of laughter that makes you nearly pee your pants.
“I thought you were making cobbler,” Arya says, staring down at us. “What are you doing on the floor?”
“Sorry.” I jump up. “I think we have enough left. Shouldn’t take too long.”
We have enough for four people. Luckily, Myles and Roman decide they’re not cobbler folks because we have the small cast iron dish finished off before they have a chance to decide.
“Pretty great, huh?”