“This was such a good idea,” Layla says as she chops some peppers.

“Glad you had it,” I tease, pouring two glasses of wine from the bottle she set out.

Her lips curve up, and I can't take my eyes from them. Those lips belong on my cock, but I’m trying my best to restrain myself. I really don’t want Layla thinking I’m only interested in her for the sex. Though she’s just as aware as I am that things are so damn hot between us, it’s only a matter of time before we combust.

“It’s been forever since I’ve really cooked a good meal. And even longer since I’ve done it with someone.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I say, coming around the island in her kitchen and leaning against it as I offer her a glass of wine. She sets the knife down and turns to face me, clinking her glass against mine. “But hasn’t it only been a few days?”

“You know what I mean.” She laughs and swats at my chest, but I grab her wrist and pull, throwing her off balance so that she stumbles against my chest. A chuckle rumbles up my throat, and the way she bites her lip as she looks up at me, her eyes full of naughty intention. “Keep that up and we might not make it to dinner.”

“That’s the idea.”

Rolling her eyes playfully, she takes a sip of her wine, and then turns back to the cutting board. “Grab that pan, will you?” She nods her head toward the rack full of pots and pans hanging above the island.

Reaching over her head, I make sure my entire body presses against her from behind. Layla sucks in a breath when she feels my thick cock press against her ass. It’s been so fucking hard since the minute we got here and I stepped foot inside her apartment.

The knife clatters to the floor, and she turns her head to look at me, her eyes wide with mock-innocence. She lifts her fingers to her mouth. “Oops. Look at me being so clumsy.”

When she bends to retrieve it, her ass pushing back against my cock, I groan, setting the pan aside and gripping her hips.

“Fuck, Layla. I could fuck you so hard right now,” I bite out through gritted teeth. She’s certainly not making it easy on me to show her that I don’t only think about fucking her. Just ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent it’s still there in the back of my head, but I’m able to function somewhat normally.

Pulling away with a giggle, she grabs the pan and puts it on the stove, then turns on the burner to sauté the veggies we’re putting in the pasta. I figure I should probably attend to my job in the kitchen. Layla’s been doing most of the work because I’ve been too busy watching her and thinking about all the places we could fuck in her apartment. The few days since our date have been a few too many.

I grab a pot and fill it with water, then set it on the stove next to Layla’s sauce pan. My job is to boil the water. What can I say? Cooking isn’t exactly my favorite pastime. After I wipe the counter with a towel, I tuck it into my back pocket and settle in behind Layla again, brushing her hair aside to give me better access to her neck.

The half-moan, half-sigh that escapes her lips when my mouth brushes the sensitive skin at the side of her neck is so fucking sexy. I drag my teeth along the flesh, down her exposed shoulder, and then bite gently. Meanwhile, my hands have worked their way around to her chest and are kneading her tits gently. When she relaxes into my arms, I pinch both of her nipples hard.

Her head falls back as she moans, “Jacob.”

Laughing, I murmur, “Still not friends yet, are we?”

She’s so lost in the sensation of my hands and mouth on her body that she doesn’t respond. Not with words. Her body tells me plenty though. She’s pushing back against my cock again, her hips grinding against mine. Her breath is sharp and fast.

I fucking love how responsive she is to me.

Grabbing her hips, I spin her around to face me and lower my mouth to her tits, sucking and biting right through the thin fabric of her dress. The cry that comes from her sexy little mouth makes my cock twitch and throb, aching to feel her wet heat. Desperate to be inside her.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, clutching my hair in her fingers and pulling me harder against her chest.

With one quick movement, I grab her and set her on the kitchen counter, spreading her legs. Her dress rides high on her thighs, and I push it even higher until I have a clear view of her lacy black thong, already soaked through by her drenched pussy.

“Fuck,” I growl. Reaching for the thong, I hook my finger inside and pull. Hard. The sound of the fabric ripping to shreds must make her even hotter for me, because she grabs my head again and starts to pull me toward her pulsing pink lips.

Instead of going down on her yet, though, I make her wait.

“Jacob,” she whimpers, “I need you.”

I lean into her, my hips wedged between her thighs. “How much do you want it?”

Layla reaches around and grips my ass, pulling me tightly against her as she grinds against my cock, my pants the only thing that separates us now.

She grabs the towel from where it’s tucked in my back pocket and tosses it aside, then goes to work unbuttoning my pants and pushing them down around my hips. When my cock is finally free, she stares at it for a moment, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before she meets my eyes with a hungry stare.

I smirk. “That much, huh?”

Her hands wrap around my thick shaft, and just as I’m about to let her do whatever the fuck she wants to me—because holy fuck, does she know how to handle me—a sudden roar to my right grabs my attention.

“Shit!”

“Oh fuck!” Layla yells at the same time. The towel she tossed aside landed right on the stovetop and it’s now literally gone up in smoke. Flames are reaching toward us, and I quickly move Layla aside and grab the towel, tossing into the pot of water that’s just starting to boil.

Just that fast, the entire kitchen is smoky, and Layla runs to the French doors leading out onto her balcony. She flings them open to let the smoke clear before the fire alarms go off.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” she says, her eyes wide with shock.

I shake my head. That was fucking close. “Let’s step outside while the smoke clears,” I suggest, grabbing our wine glasses and heading toward the doors. Dropping a kiss on her cheek, I laugh. “I knew you were hot, baby, but goddamn. You set the whole place on fire.”

“Funny,” she says, but then she laughs. “That was crazy.”

Standing out on her balcony, we look out over Central Park to where the sun is setting further on the horizon.

“Nice view, huh?” she asks.

“Mm, I’d have to agree.”

She looks up at me, and realizing I’m not looking anywhere but at her, smiles slowly. Taking the wine glasses from my hand, she sets them aside.

“Now where were we?”