“Fuck.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve never been sorry about making me cry before.”
“Crying is only hot in the right context. Hurting your feelings doesn’t turn me on.” He took the hand that had punched him and kissed her knuckles. “I mean it, Mila. A Dominant should never leave his submissive after punishment or play without aftercare. I won’t do it again.”
It looked as if she was going to cry again. It made him itch to grab her and cuddle her mercilessly until she was laughing and trying to push him away. He never wanted to hurt her like that again.
Finally, she straightened her shoulders and looked more like her feisty self. “Fine. I’ll forgive you, but only if the cupcakes are good.”
He sighed.
“What?”
“I was hoping you’d make them,” he teased. “I didn’t have a mom around to teach me how to bake.” He gave her the puppy dog eyes that he used to use on Fox to get his way.
“You’re a hundred feet tall and a million pounds. You seem to have found out how to cook at some point.”
He gasped and opened his mouth incredulously. “Damn you and your powers of deduction. You should be a detective.” Managing not to laugh, he unloaded the ingredients from the shopping bag. When he turned back she was staring at him again. “What? Do you have a cupcake pan? I forgot to grab one.”
“They’re in the drawer under the stove,” she said, seeming to shake something off. “I’ll be right back. Just need to tidy up a few things.”
He heard her thumping around in the other room, but it sounded as if she was moving things like picture frames and knickknacks rather than picking up after herself. Hiding the evidence? Too bad she’d forgotten about the small picture of her and an older man in their dress blues in the glassed-in kitchen hutch. She was hot in uniform. Any man she arrested would be in danger of developing a cop fetish.
While she was gone, he went through her cupboards and found a mixing bowl, then busied himself combining ingredients.
“Where’s your recipe, or did you grab a mix?” she said coming back into the room with her hair looking tidier and wearing a very short T-shirt and a tiny pair of shorts that looked suspiciously like boy fit underwear.
He was a strong man, but no man was that strong.
She waved a hand in front of his face. “Hellooo? Earth to Atlas.”
“You like torturing me, don’t you,” he said, tugging at the waistband of her shorts and stroking a finger along her bared stomach.
“I’m wearing more clothes than I was a few minutes ago. These shorts aren’t so easy access.”
“Do you like them?”
“I don’t know. They’re comfortable and I own a million pairs like this.”
“When I’m done baking these I’m cutting them off you.”
“What?” she squeaked. “With a knife?”
“Yes. Unless you decide to be a good girl and go change.” He lifted his brows expectantly.
A slow smile curved her luscious lips. “I’m not afraid of you.”
It took everything he had not to drop what he was doing and scare her a little, just for fun.
“You’re trying to goad me into doing something, but I will not be distracted from baking my apology.” He frowned at her. “I’ll make a double recipe so I can apologize again later, after I ruin your clothes.”
She came up behind him and ran her hands under his shirt, feeling the ridges of his stomach as he worked. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” he growled playfully. “And what are you doing, young lady?”
“You should take this shirt off. It’s interfering with your apology. They’re not really apology cupcakes if you’re wearing a shirt while you bake them.”
“Is that how you ask for something nicely, little girl?”