Lotto Men: A Reverse Harem Romantic Comedy (Lotto Love Book 1) by Ann Denton

Author:Ann Denton [Denton, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Le Rue Publishing
Published: 2019-05-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

I drop by the kitchen later to compliment Kenneth on his cuntcake skills.

He’s wearing his chef uniform and a blue bandana on his forehead when I find him, which makes him look like a cross between a motorcycle gang member and Chef Boyardee.

He’s pouring a hot peach-colored liquid into molds when I find him, so I stand off to the side near the pantry, not wanting to disturb him. Kenneth whispers to himself as he pours. “Come on baby, curl in there, you love it, oh yeah, just a little more. You’ll fit. You’ll fit. Slow, honey. We like it slow.”

His little whispers sound so dirty that I can’t help a giggle. Or maybe my mind’s still just in the gutter from cake and cunnilingus day.

Kenneth finishes with a mold before he turns to look at me. When he sees me, a wide smile crosses his face. And I can’t help the warmth that spreads through my stomach. It’s like being greeted by cotton candy and summertime. Sweetness and freedom and fond memories somehow all roll together into that smile. And even though his teeth aren’t quite perfectly straight, the joy in his smile just makes that imperfection a bit more endearing.

Without thinking, I find myself taking a step closer to Kenneth. When I realize what I’ve done, I clear my throat awkwardly.

Kenneth sets down the pan of peach-colored syrup on the stove. Then he steps toward me, slinging the towel he used as a potholder over his shoulder. “Katie. I’ve been thinking about you.”

My entire body tingles at those words. The hairs stand up on my arms. It’s a line women dream about hearing from a guy they’re crushing on. But I’m a bit taken aback. Why would he be thinking about me? Our last interaction was awkward at best. And then I said that cringe-worthy line. ‘It tasted like a naughty dream.’ What the fuck was I thinking? I look at Kenneth nervously and ask, “You have?”

“Yes. You’ve been my muse. I’ve been trying to fix those pineapple candies you didn’t like,” he nods toward the molds.

“Oh,” I’m so relieved he’s not thinking about the other thing I said that my smile stretches wide. Maybe too wide, because suddenly he’s close. And he smells delicious. Tropical, like punch or juice. I could just drink him down. I swallow hard and try to maintain eye contact instead of just pulling him into me so that I can see if he tastes as good as he smells.

“What did you add?” my voice comes out a little breathy.

He leans in further and my mind is completely overtaken by my awareness of him. The arch of his brow when he grins down at me. The glitter in his eyes. The charge in the air between us. He licks his lips and I feel his exhale trace over my cheek. My face tingles, the promise of a kiss hovering between us.

“I used passion fruit,” he whispers. “I thought it was appropriate.” His

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