Climax by Lauren Smith

all revved up on purpose, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
    “Tit for tat, darling. I never said I play fair.” Tristan gave her arse a rather rough little pat before he crossed the kitchen to fetch the teapot. When he turned back around, she was staring at him, more specifically staring at his lower body.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “Hmm?” she replied as though still distracted. “Oh, sorry, I was just looking at your ass and picturing my hands digging into it while you’re on top of me… inside me.” She bit her bottom lip to hide a smile.
    “Little minx. You realize, I’m this close…” He held up his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger in the air, leaving only half an inch between them.
    She was teasing him sexually, and it was driving him wild, not just physically. He’d never really had a woman be this playful about sex. Sure, there had been lots of woman who’d played the game with him, the coy smiles, the questing palms in dark corners of clubs, the hand jobs in the bathrooms of expensive restaurants…but this…with Kat? It was different. It was more exciting, more intense, more rewarding than anything else had been with those other women.
    “Why don’t you make us the cocoa and I’ll find the frosting and the cookies.” Kat changed the subject just when he’d decided to hell with it. The look she sent him, eyes alight with mischief, as though she’d known how hard he was from her teasing, was too damned adorable.
    Tristan stared at her as he held the teapot in one hand. Adorable? He’d never used the word before with a woman, but he kept using it with Kat. She located the cookies in a red and white Christmas tin and then dug around in the cupboards for plates. Tristan knew he wasn’t going to cut the cookies and cocoa out of their plans, so he filled the kettle and twisted the knobs on the stovetop to heat the water.
    Kat had placed all the cookies on plates and was digging through the drawers until, with a little “aha!” she pulled out a pair of small butter knives.
    “Where do you suppose she put the jar of frosting?” she asked, her eyes darting around the kitchen.
    With a little chuckle, Tristan shook his head at her. “You think any cook who works for my mother would use premade frosting? Good Lord, Kat. We’re the aristocracy, not common folk.” He raised his chin in a mock-haughty manner, but at the look on her face, as though she half believed him, he burst out laughing.
    “Well, seriously though, darling. Mrs. March would never use canned frosting. She’s an excellent cook and takes pride in her work.”
    “Hmm.” Kat pursed her lips and pulled out her phone, typing on it.
    “What on earth are you doing?” He walked over to her and peered down at her screen.
    This time she laughed. “I’m Googling frosting.”
    “Googling?” He almost choked on the word. “You’re trusting the fate of Mrs. March’s Christmas cookies to a search engine?” He looked up at the ceiling, sighing dramatically, but Kat nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow.
    “Google has never failed me before.” She snickered at some private joke and then held up her screen. “Homemade frosting recipe using powdered sugar. All we need is buttermilk, a block of cream cheese, and powdered sugar.”
    Tristan squeezed Kat’s waist lightly before he let her go, and then they both dug through the fridge and cabinets until they found the ingredients. As it turned out, creating frosting from scratch was a sticky business. Once it was all done and the cookies were frosted, Kat’s russet-brown hair was lightly dusted with the sugary powder, and he had handprint-shaped stains on his jeans from where he’d patted his hands without thinking.
    “God, we’ve made a mess!” Kat glanced at the smattering of bowls and the plates covered in bits of discarded frosting.
    “Mrs. March will be furious,” he agreed.
    With one arched brow, Kat stared at him. “Oh no, Mr. Future Earl, you’re