Page 33 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Four

Euan

I noticed Cameron adjust his jeans, and now it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to glance down. Instead, I maintain eye contact with him while he stares at me like I’ve asked him to solve the world’s hardest equation. His lips are still damp from when he licked them a few minutes ago. He has a plump lower lip, perfect for sucking on or nipping between teeth. What am I doing? I should not be having thoughts like that about my best friend’s son.

And yet it’s impossible to miss how Cameron has become increasingly flustered while we’ve been making cakes. It’s impossible to forget some of his comments, which could have easily been taken in less than innocent ways. And fuck, is he beautiful, not to mention energetic and vibrant.

“What do I want to do?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I dunno. What do you want to do?”

My mind stutters. I rub the back of my neck and mess up my hair to buy myself some thinking time. He follows the movement of my hand with his eyes and then stares into mine once more, his gaze intense and—No. I must be imagining it. Why would his stare be hungry for me? Hungry for cupcakes, sure. But not for a man ten years older than him with a receding hairline and a few extra pounds around the waist.

“We could lick the bowl,” he says.

I blink. “I’m not sure we’re supposed to because of the raw egg.”

He snorts. “Really? Isn’t that advice from decades ago?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He runs his finger around the bowl and sucks the batter off it. All I can do is stare at his finger disappearing into his mouth and the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks. Do not imagine him sucking anything else that deliciously. Do not.

“It’s nice.” He holds the bowl towards me.

“No, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” His voice sounds innocent, but the way he scoops up more batter onto his finger and sucks it off isn’t.

I can’t breathe. My pulse is going haywire. If he keeps doing that, he won’t be the only one who needs to adjust his clothes. Before I realise what I’m doing, I’m glancing at his crotch. At the curve of his dick through his tight jeans. They must be uncomfortable.

I force myself to look up, straight into his eyes. He’s still sucking his finger. Or maybe he’s sucking his finger again. I’m not sure. His stare tells me he knows exactly what I was looking at. Exactly what I am looking at. He can’t want me. He can’t. And I shouldn’t want him.

He scoops more batter onto his finger. This time, instead of holding the bowl to me, he sticks his finger in my direction, tantalisingly close to my lips. “It’s nice.”

I’m sure it is. I’m also sure it would be even nicer if I licked or sucked it off his finger. His finger has been in his hot mouth.

I take a deep breath. “Maybe we should do a bit of washing up so there’s less to do at the end.”

He shrugs. “Maybe.” And keeps on wiping the bowl with his finger.

I swallow. I’m generating too much saliva. I’ll be drooling before I know it. I want to suggest he licks the bowl with his tongue. Wouldn’t that be a delicious sight?

“You’ve got—” I gesture to the corner of my mouth while staring at the same spot on his face. He’s managed to transfer some of the gloopy beige batter there.

He wipes the wrong side of his mouth.

“The other side.” I point.

He wipes but misses it. Is he doing it on purpose? I grab a piece of kitchen towel and, despite my better judgement, step into his personal space so I can clean the corner of his mouth. Heat rises off his body. His breathing is sharp and a little ragged. I glance up. His pupils have shrunk to almost nothing. He is so beautiful. So sexy. So out of my league. So off-limits. My head knows that. My body doesn’t care. It reacts to being close to him. Blood rushes to my cock, which plumps up within the uncomfortable confines of my chinos. Why did I choose to wear something so constricting today?

“I wish you’d used your finger to do that,” he whispers.

I widen my eyes.

“Oh, shit. Forget I said that.” He waves his hands and back-pedals away from me. “I am so sorry.”

I wish I had too. I take a deep breath. I need to get this situation under control before I lose my head completely.

“It’s fine. No harm done.” I turn to check the oven timer.

Less than five minutes have gone past since I put the cupcakes in. I crouch and peer through the glass door. The batter is starting to rise. As I stand, I adjust my chinos, but not subtle enough for the action to escape Cameron’s notice. His stare lingers on my crotch. On my obvious erection through my clothes.

He swallows. “I could help you with that.” His voice is raspy. “I want to help you with that.”

I sway and grasp the counter to steady myself. “You?—?”

“It must be obvious that I’m into you.” He smiles apologetically. “I’ve been trying to keep it secret.”

“Trying—? Secret?—?”

“It’s just…well”—he rubs his bright red face—“I’ve been sweet on you for years. I mean, look at you. You’re—” He gestures at me vaguely, encompassing all of me with a shaky sweep of his arm. He drops his arm to his side. “I’ll go. I’m sure you can decorate the cupcakes alone. I’m so sorry for ruining your morning. I’m sorry for?—”

“Don’t go.” What am I doing?

“I think I should. I’ve made things super awkward.”

“Maybe a little.”

He snort-laughs and holds his thumb and finger a few millimetres apart, then spreads them as wide as he can. “A little?”

I run my hand through my hair. “I had no idea.”

“That I like you?”

I nod. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

I gesture to myself.

He flicks his gaze from my head to my toes. “All I see is a sexy drama teacher.”

With a hard-on.

“I’m—”

“Sexy.”

“Older than you.”

“So? Older means more experienced.”

“Not necessarily.”

He scratches the corner of his mouth and smirks. “I like older guys.”

“Your dad is?—”

“Thousands of miles away.”

I suck in a breath. “What are you suggesting?”

“I dunno.” He steps closer. “You’re the one who asked me to stay. Why?”

I told him not to leave, which isn’t the same thing at all. Is it? He’s gone from acting like he wants to run away in embarrassment to openly telling me he has the hots for me. What am I supposed to do with that information?

Once again, my head and my body are at odds. My head is telling me to let him down gently and then make up an excuse for him to go. Marking. Yes. I have to do marking today. He’ll understand. Except my body is begging me to take him up on his offer of alleviating my erection. It doesn’t help that he’s attractive. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been entertained by anything but my hand in well over a year. It doesn’t help that my chinos are far too fucking tight and his smirk is far too suggestive.

I should tell him to leave, but I don’t.

He steps into my personal space, picks up the bowl, and turns the inside to me. A few traces of batter remain, more than enough to coat a finger. Or two.

“Try some,” he says.

It’s like being offered the forbidden fruit. I know it’s wrong to take it, but that doesn’t stop me yearning for it. It doesn’t stop the offering from being tantalising. If I trail my finger through even a smidge of cake batter, I’m going to be opening a door I won’t be able to close.

I should tell him to leave, but I don’t want to.

I meet his sultry stare and trail my index finger around the edge of the bowl, gathering sweet, sticky batter onto it. I raise my finger to my mouth. Cameron catches hold of my hand and, still staring into my eyes, brings my finger to his lips. He pauses as though waiting for my permission. This is my last chance to put the breaks on. My last chance to be sensible. I don’t take it. Instead, I nod.