Page 72 of Hard Rock Desires

“Hey!” I protested. “I like this shirt.” I bopped her on the nose with a clump of dough in return.

She narrowed her eyes at me and grabbed at the bag of flour, digging her fist into it.

“You want to start this war?” she challenged.

“Bring it on,” I taunted.

She tossed a handful of flour at me. I grabbed her around the waist with one arm and smeared dough over her cheek with another. She squealed and squirmed to get away, but I held on. She kicked out with her feet and laughed. I turned her around and planted a kiss on her lips.

The quick kiss turned into a lingering one as our mouths moved together. I gripped her ass with both hands and kneaded. She hummed in pleasure and clutched my shoulders.

We parted breathlessly and stared into each other’s eyes.

I snickered. She frowned.

“What?” she asked.

“Your face is a mess,” I chuckled.

“And whose fault is that?”

I let her go and started to run a hand through my hair. I stopped halfway and grimaced at my sticky fingers.

“I’m a mess, too,” I said. “Maybe we should get cleaned up before we keep going.” I took her hand and tugged her out of the kitchen. “I’ve got a shower in my room. You can clean up there.”

She stumbled. “Your room?”

“This wasn’t some kind of scheme to get you naked, if that’s what you’re asking,” I told her. “If I wanted to strip your clothes off right now, I’d just tell you.”

She followed me down the hall and up the stairs.

“And do you?” she asked. “Want me naked right now?”

I turned back to look at her. I smirked.

“Hell yes.”

Twenty-Three

Grace

Zain’s hand clasped mine as he led me up three flights of stairs and down a hallway.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought he might be able to hear it. Not from the exertion of climbing all those stairs, but from the anticipation building inside me.

That kiss we’d shared in the kitchen had kindled a fire in my belly. It was a low, simmering heat that threatened to ignite with the slightest spark.

Zain pushed open a door, and I found myself in a vast, wide open room with a king-sized bed at one end and a living room set up at the other.

“Your bedroom is bigger than my apartment,” I said.

“All I need is a kitchen and I’d never have to leave,” he said.

“You live on take-out,” I said. “I don’t think a kitchen is necessary.”

“Fair point.”

“You each have your own space like this, I’m guessing?” I asked as I looked around.