Sunlight streamed through the big kitchen window, catching on the chrome details of the new Frigidaire and the flour-dusted countertop. The scent of warm vanilla, melted chocolate, and fresh-baked cookies filled the air. It was supposed to be an innocent afternoon of baking between two neighborhood housewives.
But Francine “Frankie” Harlow had other plans.
She came up behind Eleanor "Ellie" Beaumont at the mixing bowl, pressing her body flush against the blonde’s back. While Ellie stirred the thick cookie dough with a wooden spoon, Frankie’s lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear.
“Forget the cookies,” Frankie purred, voice low and velvet-smooth. “I’d rather be eating you…”
Ellie’s breath hitched sharply. Her eyes darted nervously toward the window as she tried (and failed) to suppress her growing desire. “F-Frankie… someone might see,” she whispered, even as she tilted her head to give her more access.
Frankie smiled against her neck, one hand boldly sliding down to squeeze Ellie’s ass possessively through the thin floral dress. “Let them,” she murmured, gently biting and licking up to Ellie’s earlobe. “One little taste was never going to be enough… I want the whole damn bakery.”
Ellie let out a soft, needy whimper as Frankie’s fingers kneaded and squeezed, hiking the hem of her dress higher. The mixing bowl was quickly forgotten. Frankie turned her around, pressing her back against the counter as their lips met in a deep, hungry kiss — flour-dusted fingers tangling in fiery red curls while the cookies on the baking sheet sat abandoned in the golden afternoon light.
In that bright, sunny kitchen, two women gave in to a desire far sweeter — and far more dangerous — than anything they could pull from the oven.
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