by Amanda Faye
Eli has wrapped himself around me. Or maybe I searched him out in the night. Either way, our limbs are tightly entwined. Somehow, I didn't peg him to be a cuddler. Or at least, I didn't until last night. Last night opened my eyes to all sorts of things.
I try to go back to sleep, lured in by the warmth of Eli's embrace. But my body simply won't allow it.
With as much care as I can, I ease myself from Eli's grasp, inching toward the bed's edge. His arm searches for me, grasping at the now empty sheets, and I take a pillow and put it in my pace.
He pulls it to him, rolling, so he's now on his front. He's catty-corner across the mattress, taking up as much space as possible. Is this the way he always sleeps? I can't wait to find out.
Seeing him still against the white sheets, it dawns on me.
He sleeps.
I mean, of course, I knew that. Everybody sleeps. But knowing it, in theory, is different than seeing it in action. He doesn't just doze. He’s out like the dead. I've never seen him this calm before. Eli’s still, quiet. Not only his body, but his soul.
He's beautiful.
He's still naked, and the blanket has fallen to bellow his waist, giving me a perfect view of that perfect butt. I thought he looked good in jeans and a t-shirt. Eli, out of his clothes, is nothing short of otherworldly. His ass curves and swells, blending into a muscular back the way the shoreline bleeds into the ocean.
A wild thought rips through my imagination.
Crawling onto the bed and leaving an imprint of my teeth in a perfect, sweet ass cheek, like he did my thigh last night. Would it hurt? Or would he arch underneath me, pleasure overriding the pain?
I should cover him up. That's what he'd do for me, after all. But I don't want to obscure the vision that is Eli at peace.
My bladder reminds me of why I'm awake when he's still blissfully unconscious, and I shake my head to clear it of the inappropriate thoughts.
He was reluctant enough to bring me home with him. Thinks he's going to be some sort of evil influence, whatever that means. Seducing him before he even wakes up probably won't help his opinion on the matter.
I tiptoe into the bathroom.
Eli got his wish; I am sore. Achy, but in all the best ways. It even hurts when I wipe, the flesh tender and raw.
When I meet my eyes in the mirror, a wicked smile lights my features. I look positively debauched. It's tempting to take a picture of myself and send it to Steven, but that would be uncouth. Even for us. If it were because of some rando from a bar, I might. But it was Eli's touch that made me feel so good and look so bad. I don't want to share what's his and mine.
Hickies mark my skin, along with red patches where his beard rubbed against my flesh. My hair looks like an animal slept in it. I have bags under my eyes and a smile gracing my face. I feel fantastic, for all that I look like hell.
First, I pull my pill pack out and swallow today's dose with a handful of water from the sink. I promised Eli he could trust me, and the last thing I want to do is break that trust. He's as skittish as a newborn puppy. I don't want to scare him away when I'm finally breaking down the walls he uses to protect himself.
I run the hairbrush through my hair, fighting with more tangles than I would have thought possible. I need a shower, but Eli only has one, and I won't risk waking him up. I gather my hair with a bend at the waist and knot it on top of my head, ignoring how messy it looks. At least it's better than it was.
I pull my travel toothbrush from my bag, turning on the water and giving my mouth a good scrub.
My clothes are still in the living room.
I sneak out of the bathroom, careful to moderate my steps and not disturb Eli, and head in his closet's direction.
I take the opportunity to examine his bedroom thoroughly. It's about the same size as the front room, which means it's bigger than my entire apartment. Closet space takes up a whole wall, and it boggles my mind that a man who primarily wears jeans and a t-shirt has so many designer suits. He has more shoes than I have silverware.
There's a weight bench in a corner. One Eli puts to good use.
My eyes stick on the sight of him lying in bed, and before I lose all sense of myself and actually bite the man, I reach into his closet, yank a shirt off a hanger, and high tail it out of his room.
I pull the shirt over my head, and when I look down at myself, I can't help but snicker. It's another cello shirt.
This one reads, 'It's okay if you don't like playing the cello, it's kind of a smart person instrument anyway.'
Burn.
I swallow back a chuckle as I silently shut the bedroom door behind me.
Freezing, I turn and take in the living room. My first pile of clothes is on the floor by the couch. The shirt I wore is crumpled on the floor by the overturned chair. I don't remember the chair tipping, but I was all but comatose when we made it back into the bedroom last night.
I collect my clothes and fold them before placing them on the now righted-chair. Before I let them graze the polished wood and metallic strings, my fingertips hover over the cello resting on its stand. It's wrong, touching another's instrument without their permission.
But even though he's only a room away, caressing his cello makes me feel closer to him.
His kitchen is both what I expected, and not. Filled with top of the line appliances, it holds an expresso maker and an electric can opener. A blender with individual blender cups lined up next to it. That makes perfect sense.
The coupons and grocery list held to the fridge by magnets don't. Eli doesn't exactly scream coupon cutter to me. I look for the coffee grounds, surprised to find cupboards overflowing with snacks and food: energy bars and protein powders.
I can't picture Eli at a grocery store. Walmart? The thought makes me giggle out loud. Yet, there are even orange blossom tea bags tucked next to the coffee container.
It takes me a google search to get his coffee machine working correctly, then I search for breakfast. Or lunch, as it may be, since it's already one p.m. His fridge surprises too, though I guess it shouldn't, after getting a look at the pantry. I was expecting a few condiment containers and take out cartons.
Instead, it's packed full of juices and leafy greens, lunch, and hamburger meat—everything a family of four could ever want. I grab the carton of eggs, peppers, shredded cheese, bacon, orange juice, and coffee creamer.
It isn't until I glance at the shopping list again and notice the feminine tilt to the handwriting that the puzzle pieces finally fall into place. Next to it, there's a second note addressed to Nora, in a script I recognize as Eli's. No wonder his fridge and apartment are sparkling. Eli has a housekeeper.
There’s a touchscreen on the wall, about the size of a Samsung tablet. It doesn't take me very long to figure it out, and within minutes I have the bedroom speakers turned off and Lady Gaga telling me to just dance as I crack half a dozen eggs into a bowl.
I've finished the bacon, toast buttered on a paper towel, and I'm turning off the gas to the burner that holds the eggs when the sound of a throat clearing pulls me from my dancing at the stove.
Holy Shit.
The spatula drops to the floor as my hands rise to my chest, pulling my heaving heart rate back under control. Then I get a look at him, and my heart takes off again for a whole other reason.
He's wearing a pair of black joggers low on his hips, and nothing else. His chest is on full display, and my eyes follow the trail of hair that leads into his waistband. There’s a perfect v framing his happy trail, and his abs look like they were sculpted from stone.
His hair is out of control, going every which direction. As I stare, he runs his hands through it, pushing it away from his forehead and smoothing it back, and I feel my lady parts clench around nothing as my libido stands up and waves for attention.
Eli is wearing glasses, and I can't stop staring. I've never seen them before. Why have I never seen them before? I didn't know I had a glasses fetish until this very moment. Now though? I'm neve
r going to let him take them off.
Ever.
He lifts them from the bridge of his nose and scrubs his hand across his eyes before putting them in place again.
"Glasses," I breathe out, far past caring how embarrassing it is to be drooling over a man while in his kitchen.
"Oh, yeah," he says, his voice still low and gruff from sleep. Buckets of moisture pool between my legs as his voice licks over my eardrums. "I usually wear contacts, but I left them in too long last night, and my eyes were burning when I woke up." He gives me a quizzical look. "Is it a bad thing?" he asks, pulling them away to look at them before slipping them back on his face.
"No," I shout, throwing my hand out as if he's about to drop them to the ground and break them. He smirks, finally interpreting the gob smacked expression on my face. "No," I say quieter, hoping to regain my composure, "it's not a problem. I just wasn't expecting it, is all." I clear my throat in embarrassment. "Hungry?"
I bend at the knees to scoop the spatula off the floor, then turn to grab a clean one and pull two plates out of the cupboard, divvying up the eggs and bacon between us.
I refuse to look in his direction but feel every step in my gut as he closes the distance between us and encloses me from behind.
"I like your hair like this," he whispers as he peppers my neck with tiny kisses. Shivers run up and down my spine as goosebumps break out over my skin. He hugs me, sucking an earlobe between his teeth, and slowly rubs his hands over my hips and down to the edge of his shirt.
Then my stomach growls and his kisses turn to chuckles against my throat.
"Food first, I guess," he laughs, as he reaches around me and grabs both plates from the counter.
Eli steps back, just enough for me to turn in his arms, and then drops a lazy kiss onto my lips before walking the few feet to his kitchen island.
It’s so domestic, the sensation of my belly dropping out as my heart speeds up makes the room spin around me.
I stand there in a daze, my fingers rubbing the spot his lips just left, until Eli is in front of me again, thumb replacing my fingers.
“Good morning,” he mumbles against my lips, then he gives me a shit eating grin as he leaves me standing there, to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Shaking myself out of my lust haze, I grab the juice and follow him to the island.
CHAPTER THRITEEN
ELI
I should take her home. At least make the suggestion. But I find I no longer have any desire to push her away. She’s a smart woman; she’ll figure out soon enough that I’m no good for her. I might as well bask her in glow for as long as I can.
There isn’t much conversation while we eat, both of us left to our own thoughts. Like, for instance, that Natalie is wearing my favorite shirt and cooked me breakfast. For a heartbeat when I woke up, I thought I’d dreamed being with her last night. Then I saw the red strand of hair lying across my pillow.
When I left my bedroom to find her dancing in the kitchen, I thought I was still in the dream.
My food is long gone, and I’ve been reaching across the countertop stealing bites of hers for the last few minutes. She’s such a slow eater, but I already knew that. We’ve shared plenty of meals the last few months.
I’ve been hers since the moment she kissed me. Even if it makes me the vilest of men. I’m hers until she’s finished with me.
She’s squirming on her barstool, unable to find a comfortable position, and I have to avert my gaze to keep from smirking at her.
“Problems, baby girl?”
I try to keep the grin off my face. I really do. But by the way her eyes flash in my direction I can tell my voice still sounds smug.
Fuck me. All I want to do is bend her over the back of the couch and see how swollen her cunt is.
The last piece of bacon flies through the air as she throws it at my head. Her face is a war of emotions, irritation fighting with embarrassment. Finally, her smile wins out, and she bites on that damn finger as I pop the bacon into my mouth.
“Nope,” she says, pushing her plate away from her. “I feel fresh as a daisy. I could run a marathon.” My smile matches hers, and when she winces climbing down from the barstool, I swallow back my laugh.
“Come here,” I say, pulling her away from where she’s gathering up the dishes. “I know something that’ll help.”
A blush, ripe as a fresh strawberry, creeps its way up her throat.
“Eli, I’m not sure I’m up to that. Yet.”
I quirk my eyebrow at her assumption I’m talking about sex.
“Fine,” she mewls, running her hands down her chest. “But be gentle with me.”
All the blood in my body goes straight to my dick, and I close my eyes as her fingertips graze my skin. But when her hands reach my waistband, I wrap my fingers around her wrists and bring them to my chest.
“Not what I had in mind baby girl. But noted for future reference.”
She yelps in surprise when I scoop her into my arms. I can’t get enough of holding her. It’s all of thirty feet through my bedroom to the master bath, but she’s sunk against me anyway, her arms around my neck and her head against my shoulder.
I set her on the toilet lid, then turn towards the bathtub, leaning to turn on the water.
“How hot do you like it?” I ask and turn over my shoulder to see her watching me.
“Are you going to join me?”
“If you want.”
“I want,” she says. “Hot.”
When the temperature’s where I want it, I flip the drain closed and rise from my squat.
There’s bubbles and Epsom salt under the sink, and I pour a generous helping of both under the running water.
“I never pegged you as a bath man,” Natalie says, still perched on the toilet lid where I dropped her.
Her feet are tucked up under her now, and I have no idea how she’s sitting Indian style on so small a space.
“Went through my closet, but didn’t check under the sink, huh?”
I’m picking on her, and she knows it, but still, she blushes bubblegum pink.
“You try spending hours bent around a cello,” I say, “and we’ll see what your back feels like. I admit, the tub was here when I bought the place. But I put it to good use. I’m just lucky its big enough to fit me.”
The way her eyes trail up and down my body make me what to skip the bath and take her straight to bed.
“You are a big man,” she whispers, and, before I can stop myself, I yank her to her feet and kiss her senseless.
“The water,” Natalie pants, and I jerk as if electrocuted, letting go of her to twist the knobs closed on the faucet. When I look back, that fucking finger is between her teeth, and a fire is lit behind her eyes. We stare at each other as I reach into the tub for the drain, letting some of the water out of the over filled bathtub.
“Do you see what you do to me? I can’t fucking think when you’re close by. My senses, my thoughts: they’re filled with nothing but you.”
I shake my dripping arm at her, and she shies away laughing, covering her face with her hands.
I step into her arms, and she links her hands around my neck, dropping little kisses onto my chest.
“If we don’t get in now,” I groan, head tipped back to give her access to my throat, “I’m going to take you on this bathroom floor. And as much fun as that would be for me, I want you to be able to walk tomorrow.”
She smiles against my Adam’s apple, and I feel her lips turn up against my skin.
“I’m waiting on you,” she quips. “This is your show.”
When did she become so sassy?
I dip my hands under the hem of the shirt she’s wearing and tug it up and over her head, freezing when the shirt hits the floor.
She’s covered in marks and bites, and I’d almost feel bad if it didn’t turn me on so much. Besides, she’s pale. Her skin marks easily. I’m almost painfully hard to realize she’s been wearing my shirt with no panties on a
ll fucking afternoon.
“You’re killing me, baby girl. Absolutely killing me. Get in the bath.”
I drop a quick kiss onto her lips, then hold her hands as she gingerly steps into the water.
“Too hot?”
“Perfect,” she replies, lowering herself into its depths. It is a big tub, deep, with sides that curve to make an oval. There’s a dip on either end, a small enclave to rest her neck. Or Natalie’s head, since she’s so damn short.
I chuckle escapes me, and I shove my pants off my hips, joining her in the tub.
I sit so I’m facing her, and when the water precariously rises up the sides of the ceramic, I reach for the drain and let another inch out. Funny how the water level barely rose at all when she got in the tub.
She sets her feet in my lap, fingers playing with the little patches of bubbles. I lift a foot in my hand, bringing it to my chest and massaging the sole with my thumbs.
“The heat feels fantastic, thank you.”
“You’re welcome to my tub anytime,” I reply, meaning every word.
I lean forward, flicking my tongue across her toes, and she jerks in the water, yanking her foot and complaining about it tickling.
“You’re gross,” she huffs in between giggles. I shrug, before running my hands through my hair, using the water to smooth it back.
The heat has flushed her skin, making the marks on her neck that much more obvious. I reach for her in the tub, slowly pulling her to me. She turns into the motion, so her back is against my chest. It reminds me of last night. My dick is hard, trapped in between us. When she squirms against me, I know she’s thinking about it too.
Her hair, still piled on top of her head, is going twisty turny in the humidity. I liked it up, but now I want to run my fingers through it. Use it, to arch her against me.
“Take your hair out. I want to see it wet.”
I watch from behind her as she untwists the knot, then slips under the water, rising with her hair slicked back, like a mermaid rising from the ocean.
I gather her against my chest, and she pulls my arms until they encircle her belly, linking one of her hands in mine.