And it hit me right then that I was. On the outside it could be tees, jeans, and flip-flops or pencil skirts, complicated designer blouses, and high-heeled strappy sandals or, me being me, just about anything. But on the inside, it was all about mountainous swirls of delicately colored frosting with sprinkles of candy confetti, edible fairy dust, all on top of rich, moist cake.

As that understanding settled inside me, that made me feel warm and gushy too.

“Come here, baby,” he murmured.

I caught the feel of the room and the look on his face and didn’t delay in rounding the island and going there.

When I got close, his arms folded around me and he pulled me in deep. Then his head dipped and he gave me a sweet, delicious, long, deep cupcake kiss.

When he was done, against his mouth, I whispered, “You taste good.”

To which he replied, “I know.”

I smiled against his lips and he returned the gesture.

Then he lifted his head an inch, his arms gave me a squeeze, and he said gently, “I wanna spend the night.”

My belly dropped and I felt a convulsion between my legs.

Then I replied, “Okay.”

His eyelids got heavy, his arms got tighter, my arms around him got tighter, his head descended, and he kissed me again, this time longer, deeper, sweeter, and even more delicious.

This went on for a while. Long enough for me to get my fingers in his hair. Long enough for Brock to get one of his hands up the back of my tee and the other one clamped tight on my ass. Long enough for my nipples to swell and the area between my legs to get wet. Long enough for me to think the bedroom was way, way, way too far away and to be glad I kept the kitchen floor mopped because that was where I wanted him to take me.

But unfortunately not long enough that we were still making out standing up in the kitchen rather than somewhere either naked or semi-naked and thus at the point of no return when a knock came at the door.

Brock’s head came up on a low, short, frustrated growl and his eyes went over my head toward the front door. I blinked at this unwelcome turn of events and twisted my neck to look in the same direction.

It was closing on ten. Too late for a caller. Unless that caller was Martha, who forgot something, and Martha was the kind of gal who consistently forgot something no matter where she was, like her wallet, purse, credit card, and other such nontrivial items.

Another knock came at the door and I felt Brock’s arms squeeze. This also happened to coincide with his fingers digging pleasantly into my ass. That felt great. So great, I forgot someone was at the door and I looked to him to see him looking at me.