“Where did you learn to cook?”
He chooses a knife from the butcher block and begins chopping up an onion.
“Mama taught us all to cook.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just look gorgeous and keep me company.”
“Charming,” I reply with a sigh. He’s in another black T-shirt and blue jeans, which I think is unusual for him, but look amazing on him. His forearms flex and bunch as he chops. Just like they bunch when he’s over me, gripping onto the mattress as he thrusts in and out of me. His whole body gets tight. And this man isn’t short on muscles.
I want to lick him.
“Kate?”
“Huh?” I blink rapidly and try to focus. “What did you say?”
He sets the knife on the cutting board and smiles. “What were you just thinking about?”
My first reaction is to say nothing, but instead I walk very slowly around the island toward him. “I was thinking about licking you.”
He leans his hips against the island and crosses his arms, making his biceps flex, and just like that, I want to tear his clothes off.
“Is that right?”
I nod.
“Where would you like to lick me?”
I grin and drag a fingertip down his neck. “Right here.”
He swallows hard, making me even wetter. I love turning him on.
“You’re distracting me,” he says evenly, and it would bruise my ego if his eyes hadn’t just dilated and the pulse in his neck sped up.
“I think that’s the point.”
He shakes his head and returns to chopping. “I’m cooking dinner.”
“I don’t particularly give a crap about dinner.”
He smiles, like he always does when I don’t use the usual curse words, but doesn’t look me in the eye.
“You’ll give a shit later, cher. You’ll need the energy for what I have planned.”
“That sounds fun.” I cup his very firm, stellar ass in my hand and kiss his bicep. “Let’s skip to that part.”
He laughs, turns and lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and kisses me mindless, until I can’t think; I can’t even feel my fingertips.
But I can sure as heck feel the pulsing between my legs.
The next thing I know, he sets me on the counter top, plants a smacking kiss on my lips and backs away, returning to the cutting board just a few feet away.
“Stay.”
I stick my lower lip out in a pout and bat my eyes at him, but he just reaches over and smooths the pad of his thumb over my lip, drags his knuckles down my cheek, and whispers, “Trust me. Let me feed you. Let me pamper you a bit. I like it.”
Well, how in the heck am I supposed to say no to that?
“Can I snack while you cook?” I ask, as he chops through celery surprisingly quickly.
“Sure.” He passes me a celery stalk. “Wine?”
“Always.”
He pours us each a glass of white, we clink our glasses together, and take a sip before he resumes chopping and I munch my celery.
“You feed me a lot.”
“You’re a good eater.”
I pause with the celery halfway to my mouth and frown at him.
“What are you implying?”
“That you eat well?” He asks with a shrug.
I glance down at my small-ish chest and flat-ish stomach and then back at him. “Am I fat?”
He busts out laughing, not breaking his stride in his chopping.
“No, Kate. You’re not fat. You enjoy food. And in doing so, I enjoy watching you eat. I’d feed you every meal every day if I could.”
Oh.
“Can I have more celery?”
He grins, passes me the celery, and kisses me soundly before pulling away to get back to work.
Sitting here, watching him cook, is not a hardship in the least.
***
Dinner was delicious. Eli is just one big surprise after another. It’s amazing to me how normal he is. The whole family, really, and it shouldn’t, because I’ve been so close to Van and Dec for so many years, but this family is rich beyond my wildest dreams, yet they’re as grounded and down to earth as anyone else. There aren’t servants bustling about. Their cars are new and expensive, but no Aston Martin.
And on a Sunday afternoon, I’m lying on the couch with this powerful man, who has the ear of governors and high-powered people, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise with ease and efficiency.
He’s snuggling me, on his back, with me lying on his chest, watching some stupid movie on cable, while his fingertips glide up and down my bare arm, my shoulder, my neck and into my hair and back down again.
If I could purr, I so would right now.
“We have the whole house to ourselves, and you want to watch a movie?” I ask lazily. He plants his lips on my head, takes a deep breath, and hugs me tight before his fingers resume their trek over my skin.
“Is there something else you’d rather do?”
“Well…” I grin and kiss his heart, over his T-shirt, breathing him in. He smells good. Clean. A little citrusy. I shift my pelvis over his and feel him start to harden, and his fingers still on my shoulder. “Yes.”
His fingers sink into my hair as I kiss down his torso, lifting his shirt as I go, and plant wet kisses over his flat, chiseled abdomen. His breathing speeds up, but he’s quiet; the only sounds are the TV and my lips smacking on his smooth, warm skin.
He chooses a knife from the butcher block and begins chopping up an onion.
“Mama taught us all to cook.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just look gorgeous and keep me company.”
“Charming,” I reply with a sigh. He’s in another black T-shirt and blue jeans, which I think is unusual for him, but look amazing on him. His forearms flex and bunch as he chops. Just like they bunch when he’s over me, gripping onto the mattress as he thrusts in and out of me. His whole body gets tight. And this man isn’t short on muscles.
I want to lick him.
“Kate?”
“Huh?” I blink rapidly and try to focus. “What did you say?”
He sets the knife on the cutting board and smiles. “What were you just thinking about?”
My first reaction is to say nothing, but instead I walk very slowly around the island toward him. “I was thinking about licking you.”
He leans his hips against the island and crosses his arms, making his biceps flex, and just like that, I want to tear his clothes off.
“Is that right?”
I nod.
“Where would you like to lick me?”
I grin and drag a fingertip down his neck. “Right here.”
He swallows hard, making me even wetter. I love turning him on.
“You’re distracting me,” he says evenly, and it would bruise my ego if his eyes hadn’t just dilated and the pulse in his neck sped up.
“I think that’s the point.”
He shakes his head and returns to chopping. “I’m cooking dinner.”
“I don’t particularly give a crap about dinner.”
He smiles, like he always does when I don’t use the usual curse words, but doesn’t look me in the eye.
“You’ll give a shit later, cher. You’ll need the energy for what I have planned.”
“That sounds fun.” I cup his very firm, stellar ass in my hand and kiss his bicep. “Let’s skip to that part.”
He laughs, turns and lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and kisses me mindless, until I can’t think; I can’t even feel my fingertips.
But I can sure as heck feel the pulsing between my legs.
The next thing I know, he sets me on the counter top, plants a smacking kiss on my lips and backs away, returning to the cutting board just a few feet away.
“Stay.”
I stick my lower lip out in a pout and bat my eyes at him, but he just reaches over and smooths the pad of his thumb over my lip, drags his knuckles down my cheek, and whispers, “Trust me. Let me feed you. Let me pamper you a bit. I like it.”
Well, how in the heck am I supposed to say no to that?
“Can I snack while you cook?” I ask, as he chops through celery surprisingly quickly.
“Sure.” He passes me a celery stalk. “Wine?”
“Always.”
He pours us each a glass of white, we clink our glasses together, and take a sip before he resumes chopping and I munch my celery.
“You feed me a lot.”
“You’re a good eater.”
I pause with the celery halfway to my mouth and frown at him.
“What are you implying?”
“That you eat well?” He asks with a shrug.
I glance down at my small-ish chest and flat-ish stomach and then back at him. “Am I fat?”
He busts out laughing, not breaking his stride in his chopping.
“No, Kate. You’re not fat. You enjoy food. And in doing so, I enjoy watching you eat. I’d feed you every meal every day if I could.”
Oh.
“Can I have more celery?”
He grins, passes me the celery, and kisses me soundly before pulling away to get back to work.
Sitting here, watching him cook, is not a hardship in the least.
***
Dinner was delicious. Eli is just one big surprise after another. It’s amazing to me how normal he is. The whole family, really, and it shouldn’t, because I’ve been so close to Van and Dec for so many years, but this family is rich beyond my wildest dreams, yet they’re as grounded and down to earth as anyone else. There aren’t servants bustling about. Their cars are new and expensive, but no Aston Martin.
And on a Sunday afternoon, I’m lying on the couch with this powerful man, who has the ear of governors and high-powered people, who runs a multi-billion dollar enterprise with ease and efficiency.
He’s snuggling me, on his back, with me lying on his chest, watching some stupid movie on cable, while his fingertips glide up and down my bare arm, my shoulder, my neck and into my hair and back down again.
If I could purr, I so would right now.
“We have the whole house to ourselves, and you want to watch a movie?” I ask lazily. He plants his lips on my head, takes a deep breath, and hugs me tight before his fingers resume their trek over my skin.
“Is there something else you’d rather do?”
“Well…” I grin and kiss his heart, over his T-shirt, breathing him in. He smells good. Clean. A little citrusy. I shift my pelvis over his and feel him start to harden, and his fingers still on my shoulder. “Yes.”
His fingers sink into my hair as I kiss down his torso, lifting his shirt as I go, and plant wet kisses over his flat, chiseled abdomen. His breathing speeds up, but he’s quiet; the only sounds are the TV and my lips smacking on his smooth, warm skin.
