Page 76 of Imperfect Arrangement

Raymond nods his head and his expression softens. “She was. Now she isn’t.”

“Raymond,” I gasp, panic swelling in my chest. “I can’t?—”

“Shh.” He presses a finger lightly to my lips, silencing me with a single touch. “We’regoing to bake our bug the best birthday cake.”

Before I can formulate an argument or run for the hills, Raymond spins me around, locking me between him and the counter again. His movements are firm yet oddly gentle, and I’m suddenly very aware of the breadth of his chest against my back.

“What’s happening?” My voice comes out half a squeak, half a horrified whisper.

“Haven’t you heard?” His tone is almost teasing. “If you give a man a fish, he eats for a day. But if you teach him how to fish…” He leaves the rest unsaid as he leans closer, his chin once again finding its place on my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe that’s what shocks me the most, that Raymond has started to feel that way—natural.

“Are you following any recipe?” Raymond’s voice hums against my ear, low and deep.

I lift a hand, pointing to my phone on the counter.

For the next hour, he remains glued to my side—no, scratch that, gluedbehindme. Every movement in the kitchen, every reach for a utensil or a bowl, has been orchestrated by the firm grip of his hands on my waist, steering me like I’m some kind of cake-baking puppet.

When the icing finally comes together, glossy and perfect in the mixer, he dips a finger into the bowl and scoops up a dollop of the pale yellow frosting. Before I can process what’s happening, he’s holding it to my lips.

“Taste,” he says, his words brushing against my skin in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

It’s not a request—it’s a command wrapped in velvet, his tone threading through me like electricity. I don’t just hear him, I feel him. Every syllable sends a ripple of awareness down my spine, lighting up my nerve endings like fireworks.

I part my lips and take his finger into my mouth. My eyes flutter shut.

I try to focus on the sweetness of the icing, on the silky texture of the frosting. Anything to distract myself from the way my entire body is suddenly on fire.

What kind of sorcery is this?

I’ve had boyfriends. Casual flings, as I’m very clearly not looking for anything serious. Experiences that were perfectly fine, even great, in bed. But nothing—nothing—has ever made me feel this undone.

A quiet, breathy moan slips out before I can stop it, and the second it does, the entire atmosphere shifts. That’s when I feel it. Him.

He’s hard,veryhard and big. Like, anatomically shocking levels of big.

A shiver runs through me, uncontrollable and all-consuming.

“Fuck.” The word leaves him in a low growl, and he shifts, putting distance between our lower halves.

But the damage is done. One accidental press of his body, and I’m fully aware that Raymond Teager isn’t just devastatingly handsome. This man isbuilt. Through and through.

For a beat, the kitchen is silent except for our ragged breathing. My head falls back against his bare chest, and I grip the edge of the counter so tightly my knuckles ache. His hand, the one that isn’t currently my favorite lollipop, tightens on my waist, holding me steady like he knows I’m moments away from liquefying into a puddle on his kitchen floor. The now clean digit slips from my mouth with a faint, mortifying pop, and looks oddly pruney.

Did I just…?

Oh God. Did I just suck on his finger forthatlong?

I nearly die of embarrassment on the spot.

“It’s—” I start, but my voice is so small it’s practically a squeak. I clear my throat and try again. “It’s good.” I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.

The icing? Him? The way his finger felt in my mouth like I was born to suck it? All of the above?

Raymond doesn’t move. He stays locked in place, solid and unmoving behind me. His chest rises and falls heavily, as if he’s silently willing his hard-on tocalm the fuck down. I don’t know why, but I imagine that’s how he must be talking to his cock.

And honestly? I feel for the man, or men in general. It must suck to be unable to hide their…feelings.