Page 13 of Sticky for You
“To stop the endless rhubarb rave in my head,” he said dryly. “And to get to know you. I want to learn all about my mate.” He pointed at the jug. “Its excellent tea. I made it myself.”
Okay, if we didn’t start making rhubarb fizz soon, I was going to have to bring in the big guns. Maybe he’d listen to Crimson. As long as he didn’t mention the c-r-u-m-b-l-e, they’d be fine.
Then my eyes were like Crimson’s had been days earlier, all bulgy as my gaze landed on the kitchen counter and no kidding, my stomach did a slow roll.
“What the heck did you do?” I rasped in horror.
Chapter Seven
Maximus
Playing catch-up with Tim was a full-time job and made me work harder than I had in my entire life. I was sweating at the horror that rolled through him when his gaze landed on the counter and stared wide-eyed at my crumble.
“I made a crumble for everyone.” I mean, what else could it be? Rhubarb was perfect for a crumble.
“C-r-u-m-b-l-e…” He shuddered and rose from the chair, backing slowly towards the door.
I frowned at the rolling waves of worry coming from Tim. “Where are you going? I thought we were going to talk… drink tea?”
The tea, yeah, that reeked of desperation, but I was doing my best when all I wanted to do was act on the impulsive rhubarb’s suggestions. I did want to get to know him beyond the awful singing and persistent nature.
“No one wants to end up in the pan…”
“Pan? Is this some sort of rhubarb code?” I asked in confusion.
Did we need a lion to rhubarb translator?
He jabbed a finger at the crumble. “In c-r-u-m-b-l-e.”
Another shudder and two things registered at once, the way he always spelled out the word rather than just saying it, and second his distress about the crumble sitting on the side was utterly genuine.
I followed him and before he got to the door—walking backwards was slow going—I scooped him up into my arms. He weighed nothing at all as I tucked him into my chest. “There, there, little stalk, I swear I won’t put you in the pan. In the c-r-u-m-b-l-e.”
He clung to me and eyed me suspiciously. Which would have been funny, if not for how he continued to tremble.
“You promise… no more c-r-u-m-b-l-e… we don’t like the monsters who make it.”
There he was, back to calling me a monster, and I sighed. I’m not a monster. It’s only—
Don’t say it.
Before I could say another word on the subject, teeth were nibbling on my throat and fuzzy little barbs grew over his bare arms, reaching and rubbing against any skin he could get to.
The desire to lie down on the kitchen floor and let him rub all those little fuzzy bits over me was overwhelming, despite anyone from my pride being able to see us.
“I… we… oh… for the love of rhubarb,” I groaned and gasped when he rucked up my T-shirt and brushed the fuzzies over my nipples. The peaked flesh zinged and sent hot waves of desire down to the cock tenting my sweats to outrageous lengths. The feel of the fabric rubbing against the slick head didn’t help when my rhubarb attacked my mouth with his. Hungry, wet kisses made me dizzy alongside his relentless, fuzzy rubbing.
It was as if he had plugged me into a socket and switched on every cell in my body. Everything tingled hard enough to make me weak at the knees.
I stumbled for the door blindly, knocking my shoulders off walls as I bounced my way through the house towards the stairs.
You’ve got too many clothes on…
I groaned in distress as he started to yank and tear my clothing, his questing tongue staying put in my mouth, dueling with mine.
Then the singing started.
I'm too sexy for my rhubarb love, too sexy for my rhubarb love. Love's going to lead me to the bedroom. You’re too sexy for your shirt. Too sexy for your shirt. So sexy it hurts.