A Knock Away

Pizza Pleasure

Extending my hand, I knocked, my other hand holding a tray of freshly baked shortbread cookies.

The door opened to present Vince wearing grey sweatpants which showed his Calvin Klein underwear band, no shirt which showed his amazing form and a tea towel slung over his left shoulder, which showed that something was cooking.

"Smells fantastic," both the cooking pizza and his amazing cologne. I had to purposefully stop myself from staring at his bare chest, as he opened to door wider to let me in.

"That's just the first one, to ease the hunger pains while we make the others," he led me through his apartment which matched mine expect his was mainly black with coal coloured marble.

"Others?" I was confused.

Vince sent me a smile over his shoulder, "You came here to learn how to make pizza and I take education seriously."

"Yes chef," I giggled as he led me to the kitchen where I immediately became jealous. "How did you..."

We were staring at a massive stone pizza oven, with a proper wooden fireplace below it in the corner of the large room, which carried on into the lounge, where a flat screen TV hung on the wall and one single lounge chair. Kind of telling, that he was a lone bachelor.

"It was a pain trying to convince the owners," he explained, looking to the pizza oven, "but I said I'd pay for it and they could have it when I left, which I'm not planning on doing anytime soon."

No, I wouldn't have thought so, "You don't give me the whole settling down vibe."

Vince put his hand on his chest and said something completely opposite to what I was expecting, "Thank goodness, I wouldn't want anything like false hope ruining this long streak I have going for myself."

I gave him a shove, my hand touching his back which was even muscly, "I asked if I could build in my baking mixer and the lady said no." I crossed my arms, knowing full well that if I came in a male package with gorgeous features, I too may have my dream kitchen.

"You don't mind if I'm on top?"

"Either way," I smiled looking down at the mixture of dough he placed in front of me, ready to be kneaded. The hairs on the back of my neck stood upright, as I felt his fingers gently run over the top of my hands, moving them as if I were his tool.

"Using both hands, start from the top," his breath tickled my ear. "Then roll it in."

I couldn't help but think of the scene in Ghost where the couple moulds clay together, especially when Vince wet his hands a little to make the dough more malleable. I could feel his breath on my neck, my heart beating faster, his chest pressing into my back, my bottom pressing into his thighs.

"Better add some flour," I turned, but Vince didn't budge, his arms now against the reflective, dark kitchen bench, caging me in.

His black liquorish flavoured cologne was overpowering, a few strands of his coal hair flicking across his face as his eyes traced my lips.

In a moment of hesitation and fear I reached down and grabbed a piece of bocconcini cheese, biting it in half. It was cool and stung my teeth a little at the touch when very calmly Vince leant forward, lowering his mouth to mine and bit the other half, molding around my lips once he had taken a taste.

The cheesy goodness went down my throat, smoothly, replaced by his tongue which moved in rhythmic motions making me sigh involuntarily. His arms relaxed and stroked my waist, and slid into my short pocket, caressing my butt as he moved me forward closer to his body. Wrapping my hands around his neck he lifted me up, and my thighs wrapped around his hips tightly as he placed me on the end of the bench. Kissing my neck, my head rolled when he leant forward and used his free hand to lightly sprinkle me with flour. We laughed and it was clear that I wanted to explore his body as much as he did mine. Suddenly, we didn't have the time to bake pizza.