Sugar Sweet Sin

Another Taste

I freeze, my whole body going hot, then cold. Dante's fingers spread against my waist as he cleans up the caramel—and he's very thorough, continuing the slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue even when I'm sure the sauce is long gone. Goose bumps ripple across my skin as his lips brush against the base of my neck—first lightly, and then with more urgency, sucking at the sensitive skin. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me back against his hips, letting me feel the hard length of him against my ass. He gives me one final nip with his teeth before pulling his mouth away.

"Yes, you are definitely a genius," he murmurs.

I can't breathe. I need to stay focused, to remember why he's here.

"The cake is in the cooler," I say, sliding out of his grip. "Let me go grab it."

Never in my life have I been so grateful for a walk-in fridge. I hurry inside, and the moment the insulated door shuts behind me, I sink against the nearest shelf, trying to regain my senses. The cool air is a relief, and after a moment my flushed body starts to feel normal again.

Just do the tasting and get him out of here, I tell myself. Absolutely no more licking allowed.

The cake samples are on a nearby shelf, and as soon as I've regained my composure, I grab them and return to the kitchen.

Dante is looking around, casually examining my kitchen as if he wasn't just licking my neck only a few moments ago. If he's as affected by that contact as I am, he certainly doesn't show it.

"Why don't we go out to the tasting table in the front?" I say, eager to get down to business.

"We can do it in here, if you'd prefer," he says. "As I said, I like seeing you in your element. And there's no need for us to be so formal. I'm not just another customer."

That's exactly why I'd prefer to sit out front—the more I treat him like any other client, the more I can pretend this is only business—but I can't seem to deny that smile of his. Without even consciously making the decision, I find myself laying out the cake samples on the workstation in front of us.

"We've got chocolate, strawberry, mocha, and orange sponge on this plate," I say, uncovering the samples. "And on this one we have traditional white cake, spice cake, lemon, and a rosewater pound cake. I also have several flavors of buttercream and ganache for you to try with each so you can pick the combinations you like best."

His eyes roam over the small squares of cake, and the enthusiasm I see in his eyes affects me in a way it probably shouldn't.

"Where would you like to start?" I ask, going over to the shelf and grabbing a couple of forks.

His eyes gleam, and that smile is still on his lips. "You tell me."

"It doesn't matter," I say, my face heating. "Try whatever you like. Maybe start with the more traditional flavors and go from there."

I use a fork to scoop up a bit of dark chocolate ganache and a piece of the chocolate cake. "Try this."

When he takes the fork from my hand, his fingers slide against mine in a way I'm sure is no accident, but I pretend not to notice. His gaze remains on mine as he raises this first bite to his mouth. I can see the moment it hits his tongue—his eyes widen slightly, then warm as the flavors sink into his taste buds. People react to good food the same way they react to a toe-curling kiss—something I never really noticed until I entered this business. Our bodies are designed to respond to sensual pleasure, be it a touch or a taste or a delicious aroma. I know this, but until this moment, I never realized how deeply, intimately pleasing it can be to watch someone react in this primal way to my food.