JAY'S POV
The cake cooled on the counter, its warm scent curling around the kitchen. I grabbed a bowl of frosting, spoon in hand, and glanced at Keifer. He was leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, smirking like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"I think we should start decorating," I said, trying to sound casual, though my stomach flipped at the way his gaze lingered on me.
He tilted his head, smirk widening. "Oh? And what's your plan, Chef Jay?"
I rolled my eyes, pretending not to notice how close he had moved to me. "I'm thinking… some swirls here, a little chocolate drizzle there… nothing too crazy."
Keifer stepped behind me as I leaned over the cake, and without warning, his hands brushed mine as he reached for a piping bag. "Here, let me help," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.
I froze for half a second, then felt a shiver run down my spine as his fingers lingered on my wrists. He adjusted my grip, his hands warm, strong, precise. "Relax," he whispered in my ear. The closeness, the scent of him mixing with chocolate and sugar, made my cheeks burn.
I tried to focus, squeezing the piping bag, but my attention kept flicking to him. A dab of frosting had landed on the tip of my nose, and before I could wipe it, he leaned forward, his face just inches from mine, and tapped it with his finger. My entire body jolted.
"Look at you," he murmured, brushing it off delicately, his thumb lingering on my cheek. "Messy… but cute."
I turned red, embarrassed, and swatted his hand away, though I didn't pull back completely. The brush of his touch, the teasing in his tone, made my pulse race.
As I reached for the chocolate chips, I slipped slightly under his arm, brushing against his side. He caught me by the waist, pulling me back against him with a grin. His chest pressed lightly to mine, and he whispered, "Trying to sneak chocolate from me?"
I laughed nervously, but he tightened his hold, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder. "Can't let you cheat," he said. I felt his breath warm against my neck, sending another shiver through me.
He straightened, turning me toward him just enough that our arms brushed while I held the frosting bag. My hands trembled slightly under his watchful gaze, and he smirked. "You're distracted," he teased. "By me?" I whispered, my cheeks heating instantly.
"Maybe," he said, leaning closer so our faces were almost touching. "Maybe a little."
I tried to focus on the cake, but he wasn't letting me. Every time I piped frosting, he leaned close, letting our hips brush, occasionally brushing a finger across my arm or shoulder. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh—or shiver—at the intensity of his teasing.
Then he noticed the smear of chocolate on my cheek from when I tasted the batter. He leaned in, gently licking it off, his eyes locking with mine. "Sweet," he murmured, grinning. I gasped softly, heat rising to my cheeks.
I grabbed the chocolate bar next, holding half in my mouth as I stirred the batter with the other hand. Keifer's eyes darkened slightly with mischief, and he leaned over, opening his mouth to bite the other half I held. Our lips brushed, and I froze, heart racing as he pulled back slightly, smirking. "Cheeky," he murmured, his breath warm against mine.
I couldn't help but laugh nervously, wiping a smear of frosting from my mouth, only for him to reach out and gently brush it across my lips with his finger. I shivered. "Keifer!" I whispered, trying to sound annoyed, but my pulse betrayed me.
He laughed low, teasing, and wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me close as we finished decorating the cake together. Every brush of his hand, every playful nudge, every close movement made my heart race.
By the time we stepped back, the cake was a chaotic masterpiece of frosting swirls, chocolate streaks, and sprinkles—just like our morning: messy, fun, and impossibly close. Keifer's arm still rested lightly on my waist, his eyes fixed on me with that teasing, unrelenting gaze.
"Not bad for a first attempt," he said, brushing a stray bit of flour off my shoulder. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of my arm in a way that made me shiver.
I tried to brush past him, but he caught my hand lightly, holding it. "We work well together," he whispered, and my heart skipped.
I nodded, unable to speak. Between the laughter, the messy batter, the accidental touches, and his teasing smirks, the morning had become hotter, closer, and infinitely more dangerous than either of us expected.