by Knox, Abby
“I-I got it,” I say.
“Stop,” he chuckles, and the throbbing between my thighs says, yes, sir. Have at it.
Oh god, look at how capable his fingers are up close as he manhandles my silly jacket. He could toss me around the bed with those hands as artfully as he tosses pizza dough. Veiny, angular, and softened with black fuzz on the back. Leo’s hands might go slow buttoning me up, but I bet they could rip all these layers of clothing off me in seconds.
I shouldn’t be thinking these things while at work. I have to stop looking at those sexy hands, so I look at Leo’s face. He’s so close there’s nowhere else to look. Leo’s thick brows knit together in concentration, and I have to stop myself from gasping when I notice just how clear and lovely his skin is. His expressive forehead sparks an urge in me to lean forward an inch and kiss him there. And then, the point of his tongue peeks out from between his lips in concentration.
“God, how many buttons are on this thing?”
Leo laughs. “There, done.” He smooths the fabric down my arms and meets my gaze. This time I gasp almost audibly at those intense eyes of his. His hands still rubbing down my arms, it feels like he’s daring me to look away.
“Time to make the pizza?” I say, a little bit raspy and a lot too sexy.
Leo’s teeth bite down on his bottom lip as he reaches up toward my face and moves a strand away from my eyes. “You got one of those things? To pull your hair back?”
Snapping back to reality, I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” I step away and catch my breath while I put my hair up in a top knot.
No surprise, Leo is a patient, gentle teacher when teaching the art of pizza dough.
He talks me through the process of combining ingredients while he shoves wood into the brick oven on the far side of the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don’t want to monitor this and make sure I don’t murder your yeast?”
He laughs. “I got plenty more where that comes from. Not to brag, but I make my own yeast, so I always have some started, in different stages.”
I fold the ingredients together in a bowl and say, “A scientist and an artist. Impressive.”
He walks back over to the prep area, smelling like a wood fire, and washes his hands.
“Nah,” he says. “I’m just picky and overbearing.”
“You don’t say,” I tease, looking at him sideways while I stir.
Leo crowds me. I can feel his body heat from inches away. Strangely, I think he would be easier to resist if he were taller. I could avoid him staring at me like that.
He compliments my technique, then spreads flour all over the prep space. “Tip it out, and we’ll get started with the fun part.”
Leo speaks those words so close to me, my whole body reacts. It’s as if his words can physically prod all the places I had shut down after Gary screwed me over. Everything is waking up, and my well of jokes about Leo’s scrutiny has run out. My throat dries up, blood rushes to all the places below my navel, my skin wants to be touched.
Dough, Diana. We’re just making dough here.
“Now watch me,” he instructs.
Gladly.
I’m supposed to be learning how to knead the dough, but mostly all I do is watch his arms ripple while he does everything by hand.
Was I fantasizing about his strong fingers ripping my clothes off a minute ago? Well, now his arms are putting much dirtier thoughts into my head. I stare, wide-eyed and wordless, as Leo bangs the stiff dough ball against the edge of the countertop.
Bangs. There’s no other word for it. He’s banging dough, and the sound echoes off the tile walls. I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this part; it’s almost violent.
The flexing of his arms in that sleeveless shirt, combined with that apron, is a whole entire look. Is that even allowed? Surely looking like a beefier Matt Dillon in the Outsiders must be a health code violation. It’s definitely a violation of my virginity because, in my mind, those arms are already lifting me up on this workspace, spreading me wide, keeping me still so he can do a hundred different filthy things.
“Would you like me to guide your hands?”
“Excuse me?” It’s then I realize he’s stopped banging the dough, and he’s talking to me.
He smiles and beckons me with one flour-covered finger. “C’mere.”
“Where do I…?”
“Stand here,” he says, pointing to a spot right in front of him.
“You mean Ghost style?”
He smirks. “I guess.”
I bite my lip as I remember the scene from the movie I just brought up. A jolt of electricity runs down my back.
Leo reaches around with me positioned in front and blankets my hands with his, guiding me through the movements.
My body stiffens with the back-and-forth motion of the kneading, but his warmth, his masculine scent, the sound of the romantic opera music on the sound system, and his narration in my ear help me relax and ease into the rhythm with him. Together, we make the dough submit to our will.
He keeps going, telling me all the steps involved. “I’m never going to remember any of this,” I tell him.
“I’m right here, Diana. I’ll always be right here.”
I did not give my throat permission to form a little lump just now. “Why do you have to be so sweet?”
“Would you rather I behave like an asshole? Is that what you’re used to?”
Back and forth, his thick hands push the meat of my palms into the dough, and then we pull back and do it again. The little ball is going soft and stretchy. His movements with my hands feel like a meditation.
“Yeah, I’m used to assholes. You being so sweet and so…close to me…is making it hard to see the bad stuff, if you even have any bad stuff.”
I try not to reveal how he’s causing my breath to go shallow or my pulse to quicken, but I’m not sure he’s buying it.
“Does it feel good to be treated the way you deserve, Diana?”
“It does feel good,” I whisper, my throat fully closed up with emotion.
I look over my shoulder to meet his eyes, which are on me instead of the dough.
“Shouldn’t you be watching what we’re doing?”
“I can do this in my sleep,” he says. “Some days, I wake up kneading the pillow on the empty side of the bed.”
Our hands pause in the soft, elastic dough, and I notice his fingers are threaded through mine. My body temperature seems to be on the rise, or the brick oven has gotten far too hot.
“That should be sad, but you made that image sound pretty hot,” I admit. The truth is, all I can think about now is what if I was on the other side of that bed. What if I woke up to the sensation of those strong hands kneading, prodding, working over my body in the middle of the night? Here in stark reality, under the fluorescent lights of his kitchen, we can’t get that far.
His breath wafts against my cheek. “I think we’re ready for the next step.”
My pussy contracts with this suggestion, totally confused by what he meant.
“Are you sure?” My eyes drop to his lips. Leo notices, and I feel his body impossibly grow three inches taller. His arms feel bigger, his torso wider, his breadth more imposing. Leo surrounds me with all of him, and standing there just like that, our lips connect in a searching kiss.
Everything is warm and spicy, and the world feels like it could be full of good things. No, I know it is. I’ve always known a connection could be this good, but here with Leo, with his lips so tenderly exploring mine, I know it to be the most profound connection of my life. I’m getting ready to jump in with both feet, and I’m grateful that it doesn’t feel like I’m jumping in headfirst.
Leo swipes lips across mine and cups my face. The move squeezes out the last of my resistance, and I melt against his chest.
My hands are still buried in the dough, which feels extra heavy as I let it hold me in place. Leo snakes an arm around my waist, under my apron. He gently tugs me flat against his hard ch
est, and I melt further against this solid wall of man. He’s taken over all of my senses, and I never want it to end.
The sweetness of the moment takes a turn toward passion when I feel something rigid against my lower back. Leo’s hand at the front of my waist slips just under the hem of my tee-shirt. Involuntarily I push back against his hard length, and the man exhales a soft groan into my mouth. Letting go of my cheek, he frees my hands from the dough, then spins me to face him. I expect him to go right back in for a deeper kiss, but he pauses to look at me. Just…look at me.
I should bolt right now. I can’t handle such intense eye contact even on my best day. This is so much. His eyes travel over my hair, cheekbones, mouth, ears, jawline, as if he’s mapping me out. He’s deciding which route to take to my heart, but what he doesn’t know is, he’s already there.
He closes in for another kiss just as the phone rings. Cursing, he then proceeds to kiss me anyway, this time with a bit more passion behind it. My thighs, knees, even my feet feel a rush of electricity with Leo’s lips on mine.
Unable to ignore the phone any longer, he pulls away from the kiss. I look at the clock as he answers.
Oh right. This is a place of business.
And that’s when I realize this man, intentionally or not, is going to keep me as horny as a cat in heat all goddamn afternoon and evening until closing time.
If Leo weren’t so sweet, I’d be mad as hell.
Chapter Ten
Leo
The rest of the afternoon until the dinner rush arrives is torture. On purpose.
Images run through my head in cycles: Diana making a ruckus with me in my bed. Diana bent over this work surface. Diana riding me cowgirl style in my meat freezer. I don’t care where or what position, as long as it’s me and her.
But she’s a scared little bunny; I have to make her come to me.
That kiss, those soft, sweet lips against mine, those curves melding into all my angles, sent the signal. She’s ready to want me.
Which means I get to make her beg.
At first, I’m a good boy. I do nothing but catch her eye from time to time as we move around each other in the kitchen. A wink here. A smile there. I let her turn around to see me biting my lip while staring at her cute little butt. While I take orders on the phone, I make sure she sees me stroking my beard while I let my eyes drift down below her middle.
Her cheeks blaze when she realizes what I’m implying, and she spills a whole jar of my homemade pizza sauce on a prepared crust.
“Oh shit!”
I saunter over and touch her lower back. She jumps at my touch. “It’s fine.” I help her clean it up and tell her we can save that pizza just for us.
“After closing,” I say, close to her ear.
The time is approaching the dinner rush, which means the rest of the night should fly under the most uncomplicated circumstances. Tonight, it’s going to be delicious torment instead.
I just need one more hot kiss before the hungry hordes show up. I’ve got her crowded against the counter, my hands locked on either side of her. Diana releases a tiny whimper and leans in for a kiss. How can I resist? Our lips locked together is complete perfection, and I want to drown myself in her. But I have to keep control of the situation. As much as I don’t want to, I pull back.
“Why’d you stop, Leo? You’re making me crazy.”
“Because we can’t do this here,” I reply, brushing my fingers along her cheekbones.
She sighs. “Then why do you keep looking at me like that? Brushing past me. Standing so close. It’s…it’s….”
I kiss the tip of her nose while she adorably grunts in frustration. “Be a good girl, and the boss will reward you later.”
Not going to lie; her small, quiet moan makes me feel ten feet tall. I let go of her face and watch as her eyes drift down my body. I know she sees what’s going on under this apron, inside my jeans. I know she feels it every time I stand behind her in the kitchen to coach her with a new batch of dough.
“I thought you were a sweetheart,” she whispers against my neck. I close my eyes and feel her breath tickle my skin. “What are we doing? We should be keeping our distance. This is unprofessional.”
I grit out, “This is foreplay, baby. Hasn’t anyone done this to you before?”
She smirks. “No, but there’s a good reason—”
Just then, the hostess startles us both out of our little game by throwing open the kitchen shutters.
That’s right. It’s Friday night.
“Showtime,” I say.
She whines as I back away from her, but not enough to hide from everyone what we’ve been doing back here.
“Diana!”
My girl’s eyes widen in horror, but she doesn’t turn around. “What is it, baby?”
Diana closes her eyes in frustration.
“My mother.”
Chapter Eleven
Diana
My parents and my two younger sisters have decided to have dinner at Leo’s Pizzeria tonight, and if you could produce a tutorial about how to throw cold water on a person’s sex drive, this would be it.
“Mother, what are you doing here?”
The woman who birthed me and who has spent every day since then trying to embarrass me is standing right in front of the window. The window that all the customers came here for, to watch Leo do his magical dough-tossing routine while they eat their pizza. Other customers are muttering about her being in the way.
“I called to order a pizza to be delivered by my daughter, but they said you’d been promoted to the kitchen. So we came to see for ourselves!”
I sigh, though I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m sure she found out through Chloe. I can tell she’s proud of me, so I try not to give her too much of a hard time.
“Well, thank you, but Leo’s gotta do his thing, and you’re kind of in the way, Mom. I’m sorry.”
She looks past me and waves to Leo. I squeeze my eyes shut. This can’t be happening. Behind me, Leo says, “You must be Diana’s mom. So nice to meet you, Mrs. Williams.”
When I open my eyes, my mother is giving me a knowing look. I look past her, and my sisters watch in amusement, and Dad with interest to see what’s going to happen next.
Mom whispers loudly, “Actually, it looks like you might be the one getting in the way. With your mouth.”
“Mom.”
She waves again. “Okay, okay. I’ll be good. You be good too!” The wink she gives me is a little over the top. Can I crawl into the meat freezer and die now?
Sensing my embarrassment, Leo rests his hand on my hip, leans in, and says in my ear, “Everyone knows now. How does that feel?”
Turning my head over my shoulder, I reply, “Knows what?”
“That I’m your guy.”
All logic would tell me to run. That you can’t be in a relationship with someone after one day. But how much more does he have to prove himself? It’s not as if I enjoy waiting for my life to happen.
Things are starting to fall into place. And no, I’m not a damsel in distress. I was drowning, and he threw me a rope because he’s a human being with the means to help.
I smile at him. He looks so happy and carefree. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He didn’t even blink at meeting my mother unexpectedly. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I don’t think I ever will again.
Finally, I grab the rope and hold on. “Good. It feels good.”
His fingertips brushing against my bare lower back, he starts up my engines all over again.
“Showtime,” I breathe.
It’s a long night of watching him toss dough in the air and listening to customers clap and whoop and whistle. No wonder his arms are so sculpted. The man is the Harlem Globetrotters of pizza dough. At least once during each cycle of diners, he tosses a crust in the air and spins underneath it. I feel like he’s going to try to roll it up in a ball and slam dunk it.
I thought it was vaguely cool before I knew the man. Now
his skills make him sexy as hell.
And I’m losing my freaking mind. The upside here is I direct all my frustrations at learning how to knead dough. I knock the fuck out of it while Leo does what he does.
I’m covered in flour and sweat during a lull post-early-birds, and the pre-date-night crowd as the brick oven continues to radiate so much heat.
I’m also starving from the aroma of pizza but trying to ignore it as I clean up my workstation and prepare to make yet more dough for Leo.
Hands grab me from behind, and I yelp in surprise. Leo’s arms are around my waist, and my feet are no longer on the floor. My feet don’t touch terra firma again until I hear the door to his office slam shut behind us.
“Leo, what—”
This kiss, with me flat against the office door with no escape, is what I knew Leo had inside him from the second I laid eyes on him yesterday. His tongue prods my lips open, and I welcome him inside my mouth. I need this as much as he does.
My fingers have ached to comb through his thick hair; now my hands clutch those astonishingly soft waves because I know how quickly this moment could end. His kiss is even more intense than his soul-stirring gaze. His eyes communicate volumes, but his kiss shows me everything beyond words. No one has ever kissed me like this before; it’s a lover’s kiss, the kind people get when someone has returned from war or something. An I-can’t-get-enough-of-you kind of kiss. I’m ready to believe he means it and that I deserve it.
He sees me; he knows so much about me that I have been afraid to share with the people I love. And he sees past all of that and cares for me anyway.
Both of his hands are on my midsection, over the apron, and I miss the feel of his fingertips against my skin. I reach back and tug at my apron knot and pull the neck strap off over my head.
Leo smiles and rests his hands on my waist, brushing his fingers against my lower back, this time daring to creep up a little higher. The rough pads of his thumbs against my skin make my body tremble. I imagine what those work-worn thumbs will feel like rubbing against my nipples, against the untouched places below my navel—everywhere that needs to be touched. I’m suddenly lightheaded at the thought of his hands having their way with me. He’s so beefy and masculine, yet so considerate; would he be rough or gentle with me? Something tells me I would enjoy it both ways.