Page 46 of A Season Of Sin

Standing next to me at the kitchen island in nothing more than a pair of sweats and a Kiss the Cook apron, Wolf sucks on his bottom lip as he concentrates on his man-shaped sugar cookie.

There is a camera rolling for my followers, as they’ve gotten addicted to Wolf and have fallen in love with him just about as fast as I have.

But shhhhh.

We can’t tell him that.

It’s far too soon.

Cuddling up beside him in my own Christmas-printed apron and cozy reindeer pajamas, I kiss his bare shoulder. “You’re doing awesome,” I praise like I would a toddler doing their best, and he scowls at me.

Grinning up at him, I blow him a kiss.

“Don’t you dare do that,” he scolds half-heartedly.

“Whatever do you mean?” Batting my eyelashes, I tack on the title Daddy in my head because he is a hot daddy. Saying it should gross me out, but it doesn’t. My followers, on the other hand, don’t need to know how we speak in the bedroom. Some things should be left for private consumption. Then again, you’re here, and now you know… so is it really all that private? Meh. I don’t know. I’m just rolling with it, just as I’m rolling with his messy frosting job.

“Is that a dick?” I squeak, staring at the large, brown appendage our sugar cookie now has.

A sly grin curves at the corner of Wolf’s mouth as he adds little white pearls to the well-endowed cookie.

“Wow. He must get all the ladies,” I tease.

Smirking, Wolf waggles his dark brows. “And the men.”

“Oh. Really? With a cock that big, any of his partners will need a lot of prep.”

“Not if he’s a bottom,” he quips, and I laugh.

“Oh. So, Mr. Big Cock is a bottom, hmm… Interesting.” I tap my chin, staring at Wolf in challenge, and squeeze my legs together, already turned on by his presence. I swear my normal medium-level libido has climbed up to the tippy top of Mount Everest, and now that I’m here, I don’t know if I’m ever gonna climb down.

Not that you hear me complaining.

I mean, you wouldn’t complain, right?

That would be silly.

And stupid.

And a whole slew of other less kind words.

So we’ll stick with those …

Okay… I might be staring at Wolf and stalling. If I don’t use whatever willpower I have left, I will hurl myself at him, and we’ll end up in a mess of limbs, and these cookies will never be ready for Santa’s visit tonight.

He grazes the head of his cookie’s cock with a fingertip, and I slide another centimeter closer to throwing caution to the wind and jumping his bones.

Wolf’s. Not the cookies.

Which is insane.

We’ve basically fucked on every surface of this house already.

Okay.

Maybe not every, but close enough.

“Do you like his cock, sweet girl?” the naughty man purrs.