Pippin slipped his hands around her waist and peeked over her shoulder. “What are you making?”
Ivy turned her head to look at him, their cheeks nearly touching. “Applesauce.” She lifted the spoon she’d been stirring with. “Want a taste?”
He stepped around and took the spoon from her hand. He licked it, his tongue darting in and out, while keeping his eyes on hers. “Very good.”
She smirked at his little display. But she could do better. “Really? I thought it would need more cinnamon.” She took the spoon and dipped it in the pot, then brought it to her lips. She pushed it in--ever so slowly--and hollowed her cheeks as she sucked the sauce from the spoon. She drew it back out, slowly again. She used the tip of her tongue to clean the handle where it met the bowl, then chased a drip of apple down her wrist. When she had finished, Pippin was wide-eyed and panting slightly.
“Is it about done?” he asked, his voice low and full of desire.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He lifted the pot off the stove and set it aside, then took her hand and pulled her away to the bedroom.