“This is a bad idea,” Nora said to Hutch.

“No. You’ll be fine. You said you wanted to learn.”

“But everyone says bread is the hardest thing to make.”

“Everyone is wrong,” he reassured her. “Place your hands on the dough.”

She did so. It was warm, sticky, and squishy. “Eww. I can’t do this.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Of course, you can. Here, let me show you.”

Only it wasn’t showing that he was doing. Instead, he moved up behind her, molding the front of his body to the back of hers. Nora could feel that the bread dough wasn’t the only thing that had risen. His hard cock throbbed against her backside. She wriggled against it. That ought to take his mind off the warm mound of doughy goodness on the counter before her.

“Stop that,” he said bumping her with his pelvis.

Covering her hands with his, he guided her hands in the rhythmic, kneading motion. Nora began to wonder what that might feel like if it were her boobs he was massaging that way. It was obvious her mate was a master at this in the way he moved his hands.

“Don’t they make machines that can do this?” she asked.

“Yes, but not nearly as well. A dough hook can’t feel the dough respond.”

He laced his fingers through hers, forcing her hands into the dough, bringing the dough up, folding it over and pressing down with the heel of his hand. Guiding her hands, he began teaching her, and little by little, Nora began to care less about the icky, sticky factor and more about the fact that this was important to Hutch. This was something he’d taken time and care to learn.

The bakery was warm in contrast to the drifts of snow outside. And the smell—divine. The more they kneaded and developed the dough, the more the scent of the yeast and the various herbs and spices could be smelled.

“This is known as the ‘French method,’” he said. “It is also called ‘slap and fold.’”

“I think I like that better,” she said laughing.

“Of course, you do,” he chuckled.

He helped her to lift the dough off the table, letting it hang for the briefest moment before gently slapping it down and then pushing it away with the heels of their hands. They did it again and again.

“It’s more about the hang time than slapping it down on the table. Although I have to admit when you’re angry it’s best not to work the dough as it is too easy to take out your frustrations and you’ll ruin it.”

The first few rounds with the dough were awkward and the dough seemed to sense that. It stuck to the table and didn’t want to be lifted up. But little by little, as he guided her through the process, it began to adhere more to itself than to their hands or the table.

“It’s actually working,” she said with a kind of awe as she began to understand what it was that Hutch liked about the actual making of bread.

“It’s tempting to want to add a lot of flour to make the early stages of handling the dough easier and less messy, but honestly, wetter is better.”

“Don’t you think that’s true of most things?” she said with a lascivious slant to her voice.

“I’m going to ignore that. Wetter, stickier dough leads to a lighter, airier loaf with a variety of holes…”

“I have a variety of holes,” she teased.

Who knew this bread thing could be so sexy?

“We call that ‘open crumb’ in the baking business.”

“What do you call it in a needy mate?”

“I call it naughty and provocative—just the way I like it,” he said, his hands leaving hers to come up under her apron to palm and squeeze her breasts. He untied the apron, loosening the neck piece so he could slide it down her body.

“If you get dough on this sweater, you’ll ruin it.”

“I don’t care,” he said roughly. She started to lift her hands. “You keep your hands in that dough.”

“Hutch,” she squealed as his one hand roamed up under her sweater and the other began to tug her leggings down, letting go of her breast so he could remove her pants completely.

The drag of the zipper on his jeans seemed to drown out every other sound. He kicked her feet apart, spreading her legs to give himself better access. It took only a few moments before she could feel his cock pressed against the opening of her core. Taking hold of her hips, he thrust up and into her in a single movement.

Nora squeezed the dough between her fingers—slapping it down and beating it with her hands over and over. He filled her in the most delicious way. He moved his cock in and out until she could barely breathe. He fucked her hard and fast, relentlessly establishing a rhythm her body sought to match. Nora pushed back against him, heat and need flooding her body.

Hutch pounded into her with enough force that she rose up on her toes. His hand slid around to her front, his thumb pressing on her clit, making her cry out as the orgasm flashed through her. A final savage thrust, and he stiffened behind her and streamed his warm cum into her.

He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. He looked at the dough on the table.

“I think you beat that thing to death. We’ll have to start all over.”

She grinned at him. “Careful, I may take to ruining all the bread dough in this place.”