The oven timer beeps loudly, puncturing the unfinished discussion, air rapidly deflating from the room as I crash back to reality. I jump up, diving for the cookies, grateful for something—anything—to do.

“Where are your oven mitts?”

“I’ll get them,” Henry says, unfettered by the turn our conversation took. He opens a drawer and nudges next to me, my shoulder coming up to the middle of his chest. He sticks his mittened hands in the oven, withdrawing both trays with ease and setting them on the counter. “These look perfect.”

I peer around his torso, admiring our work. “We have to let them cool.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Two minutes! 120 seconds!”

“You’re torturing me. Do you know how hard it is to have something right in front of you and not be able to touch it?” His eyes slide from the cookies to my face.

Considering the question, I’m aware we’re no longer talking about bakery items. We’ve transitioned to something far deeper and more important.

Yeah, Henry, I think I do.

“We can eat them now,” I whisper. He snatches one of the cookies and holds it out to me, challenging me. Daring me. I take the bait, an obvious glutton for punishment.

“Open up, Emma,” he orders, the same husky voice embracing me. It’s authoritative, guiding me to comply. And comply I gladly do. “You listen well, don’t you?”

My thighs clench together as I stand on the tips of my toes and part my lips, closing around the treat. I’m greeted with the taste of chocolate and sugar, narrowly avoiding biting the pad of his thumb.

Good. So good. I hold back a moan at the taste. At the sensation of his warmth mingling with mine. At the charged energy circling us, smothering us in tension and chemistry. My hands want to reach out and fist his shirt, pull him to me and cover his lips with my own, letting him savor what we created together.

And me.

I want him to wreck my world.

“Delicious,” I say hoarsely. Henry’s thumb wipes a rogue crumb away from my mouth, lingering on the center of my lips before retreating away.

“My turn.”

Realizing what he’s asking me to do, I jump at the opportunity. Taking a cookie in my hand, I reach for his mouth. His lips open and he puts the whole damn thing in his mouth with a single swoop, tongue swiping over my finger, coating it in him. I gasp at the contact. I lurch forward. My heart stops. I’m on a roller coaster hurtling down a hill. I want to succumb to his every demand.

“I should stop,” Henry murmurs.

“What if I don’t want you to stop?”

I don’t mean to say the question out loud. I don’t mean for him to hear my desperation. I also don’t want to take it back.