And yeah, it probably is a little strange that it doesn’t bug me to eat in the embalming room, or any room in the basement or house above, but it’s not like I’m chasing my Oreos with a glass of blood or formaldehyde.
Besides, we sterilize the hell out of every inch of this place, use industrial cleaners and sanitize everything regularly as well as in between clients. Not to mention we have multiple tables like this one, which wasn’t the one Harlow used for Mrs. Liddell or the one Dad and I used for Hamish MacAllister because those two are in the morgue. Even so, I’m sure it’s weird to someone who doesn’t know all of that, someone that doesn’t work here or have the slightest clue how things play out behind the scenes, but hearing that from Snipe has me feeling self-conscious, judged, and a little embarrassed.
“Did you…” I swallow hard and turn back to the man currently staring holes into the side of my head. “Did Mac send you here for something?”
Snipe shakes his head and maintains eye contact as he reaches out and picks up one of the Oreo fillings from the napkin. “I just wanted to see you again, so I snuck in after Tank and Gunner walked out.”
“Oh.” I watch him place the middle of one of my Cookies into his mouth and can’t help the way my eyes follow the movement of his fingers, lips, and tongue. “Did you… did you need something then?”
“You know, I only like the cream in the center of the cookie?”
My entire body blushes as Snipe pops another one between his sinful lips. With lips as pretty as his, saying something like that to me while he eats the discarded parts of my snack—which almost seems to be him saying it doesn’t weird him out to be eating anything down here—in a way that could absolutely be taken as innuendo, makes me feel all kinds of things I didn’t think it would ever feel in this room.
Turned on being number one on that list.
“You do?”
“Yeah. I only eat the middle of the cookie.” Snipe nods. He picks up the last Oreo, twists it slowly, then lifts it to his lips. His tongue flicks out and he licks the filling off, then meets my eyes. “Something about the way it tastes. I like how sweet it is on my tongue.”
Jesus.
Why is this conversation so incredibly hot?
And why does it only get hotter when Snipe holds the Cookie to my lips and waits for me to open—which I do without hesitation—before sliding the chocolate into my mouth?
His fingers ghost over my lower lip and jaw as he watches me chew, his eyes darkening. Snipe’s gaze tracks my every move, and when I swallow, he grins and leans toward me. “Every now and then, I go for the Cookie, though.”
And then the man is kissing me.
Softly. Sweetly. Tentatively.
Snipe is kissing me like he isn’t sure I’m going to let him do it while still hoping that I do, but the second my eyes flutter closed and I kiss him back, his hesitation flies right out the window.
His fingers slide up the side of my neck and into my hair, curling into the pieces that have fallen from the messy bun. Snipe tilts my head just enough to slant his mouth over mine, deepening the kiss, his tongue flirting with the seam of my lips, and God help me, I open to him immediately.
He angles his body then, a moan of approval rumbling from his chest as his other hand lands on my hip and turns us so my butt is resting against the table. My hands move under his jacket to his waist, my nails biting into firm muscle and soft flesh through his t-shirt, and just as the best kiss of my entire life is about to turn bruising, as his body leans further into mine, the hard bulge in Snipe’s jeans pressing against my belly, the goddamn phone rings.
Snipe sucks my lower lip between his as he pulls back with a smirk. “Better get that.”
“Yeah…”
“Probably your dad.”
“Uh huh.”
“Could be important.” Snipe chuckles as I nod. “Wouldn’t want to miss any new cases.”
“Right.”
He dips his mouth toward mine again, another sweet kiss that has me gripping his sides tighter. “I’ll be seeing you around, Cookie.”
With one more gentle kiss, Snipe removes his body from mine, throws me a wink, and slips out the door as if he didn’t nearly kiss my scrubs off in the middle of the embalming room.
I smile a little as I lift my fingers to my lips, my mouth a little swollen and red, I’m sure, and when I finally move to answer the phone that’s ringing off the hook, my smile grows.
I still might not know his real name, but I’m going to make it my mission to find out because there is no way in hell I am ever going to be able to eat Oreo cookies again without thinking of Snipe.
And I’m totally ok with that.
