“It is.” He grins at me. “Wanna try?”

“Sure.”

He passes the rolling pin to me and stands back as I coat it in flour and roll it over the already-flat dough on the table.

“Your ass looks fantastic bent over the table.” A smile is in his voice.

I smirk and pinch some flour in my fingers and throw it at him. “Behave!”

“You just threw flour at me.” He laughs.

“Observant, aren’t you?”

I throw another handful of flour and giggle when he throws some back at me, making it snow over me with white powder.

“You’re making a mess!” I cry, and run around the table to the other side and scoop some flour in my hand and toss it at him.

“You started it, sweetness.” He throws a handful back at me just as I hear the pot on the stove begin to bubble.

“Time out! I have to stir the apples.” I laugh and run to the stove to stir the thickening mixture of apples and cinnamon and sugar. “It smells so good.”

I grab a pie plate and turn around to find that Ty has moved the first pie crust and is rolling out the second one to lay over the top.

“Do you have a pizza cutter?”

I pull the tool out of a drawer and pass it to him, and he makes long strips out of the crust.

“You’re fancy.” I grin while I line the pie plate with the first crust and tuck it around the edges, then walk back to the stove to fill it with the bubbling apples.

He just smirks and raises an eyebrow when he sees me pull a squeeze bottle of caramel sauce out of the pantry.

“I like caramel in my pie.” I squeeze the sweet sauce over the top of the apples.

When I’ve finished, Ty weaves the strips of the remaining crust over the top. “I need one beaten egg,” he instructs me.

When I’ve beaten an egg in a bowl, he brushes it over the top of the crust. “This will make it golden brown.”

“Okay, Martha Stewart.”

He laughs as I push the pie into the oven and set the timer for forty minutes.

“Now”—he grabs the caramel sauce off the countertop and pins me in his sexy gray gaze—“I have plans for this.”

“What kind of plans?” I tilt my head, watching him carefully.

“Come here,” he says, instead of answering my question.

I cross to him and grin up at him.

“Take your shirt off.”

I cock an eyebrow but wordlessly comply, whipping my shirt over my head and letting it fall to the floor. My bra follows.

Ty’s eyes shine as they glide down to my chest and abdomen and back up to my face. “Pants next.”

“Getting naked was never part of the tradition.” I pull my jeans down my legs and kick them to the side.

“I think we should start a new tradition.”

He loops his arm around my waist and boosts me up onto the countertop and takes several steps back, watching me. Flour still covers his hair and is smudged on his forehead and cheek. His lips quirk up into a grin as he watches me, sitting high up on the counter, my feet dangling and rocking over the side.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful, Lo.”

My cheeks heat as I grin at him. “Thank you.”

“So we have”—he checks the timer on the oven—“thirty-six minutes to play.”

“That’s all you need?” I ask sassily, earning a laugh from him.

“I love your smart mouth.” He leans in and kisses me softly, only touching me with his lips, and it’s driving me crazy to sit here naked and not have his hands on me.

“Ty, I want your hands on me.”

“Oh, they’re gonna be on you, beautiful. Along with some other parts of me.”

“Now,” I whine.

He chuckles before planting a harder kiss on me. “Patience.”

“We only have thirty-five minutes.”

“Plenty of time.” He tips the caramel bottle and draws a heart around my right nipple.

“That’s cold.” I smile.

“I’ll warm you up.” He laves my nipple and the surrounding area with his tongue, licking the caramel off my skin. “Delicious.”

He pulls a line of sauce down my neck to my cleavage and follows with his tongue, licking it off. His eyes are tracking his every move as I lean back on my hands, giving him easier access to all of the skin on my torso.

Ty squeezes more sauce onto me, writing Ty + Lo on my skin, then surrounds it with simple flowers, all connected with stems that end just above my pubic bone.

For being drawn in caramel sauce, it’s not half-bad.

“I’m gonna be all sticky,” I whisper.

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll clean you up.” He squats and pushes my legs apart.

“Do not squirt caramel sauce on my pussy!”

“Your pussy is sweet enough without it.” He draws lines down my thighs. My clit tingles, begging for his lips, but he plants a kiss at the innermost point of my thigh, avoiding my core altogether.

“You’re such a tease,” I accuse him with a laugh.

He just smiles up at me and continues the torture, only touching me with the caramel and his lips.

“Did you want me to kiss you here?” He brushes a fingertip lightly over my clit, making my hips come up off the countertop.

“Yes!”

“What about here?” He pulls that finger down through my folds, gently stroking my lips.

“Yes, please.”