by C. J. Wells
“So, where are we going?”
Flashing his baby-blues, he smiles towards me. “I’m taking you to my flat. I hope that’s ok? It seems I can’t help wanting you all to myself”, he winks.
“Oh”. I digest the stunning idea that he wants to have me alone; my own deep desire to see where he lives intertwined in my thoughts.
As a comfortable silence surrounds us, I relish in the warmth emanating from his hand holding mine, my thoughts trailing amongst the fast moving view out my window. Envisioning his home, I imagine sorted scenarios of its décor. Each subconsciously altered room interrupted with heat inducing images of what we might do there.
Are we even going to bother eating dinner? I bite at my bottom lip as my appetite for Alex triggers a repeat performance of the bass drum vibrato between my legs.
At the release of my hand, I glance towards the absence of his firm hold momentarily before finding his molten eyes.
Lifting his hand to my lip, he gently tugs it from my bite, caressing it with the pad of his thumb before dropping his hand to find mine once more; his gaze returning to the road ahead. “I can’t be held accountable if I catch you doing that again. I may have to find a place to park this car”.
Holy crow. That was HOT.
I sit in electrified silence once more; my previous visions replaced with scorching hot images of sex with Alex in his sexy car.
Coming to a slow stop, he expertly maneuver’s into a tight spot on the street before getting out and walking to my door.
“Come, beautiful”.
His inadvertent request flares an erotic reminder of his skillful hands’ and their ability to make me do just that, so easily. I feel an instant wetness pool in my thong at the sexy order. I’m insatiable for this man. He can seduce me with one simple word.
Entering his home, I stare admiringly at my surroundings. It’s beautiful, as I imagined it would be.
A sleek black spiral staircase leading to the second floor occupies the front foyer. To my right, I spy what appears to be a family room, and I take in the sleek pine hardwood floors, black comfy chairs and flat screen TV adorning the large wall. The cream-colored walls and large window give it an airy feel, lending to its sense of hominess.
For someone who travels as much as Alex does, I’m somewhat surprised to find this is a home, versus a place to simply rest his head when he’s in town. It’s the epitome of a bachelor pad - a very expensive, well-decorated bachelor pad.
“The kitchen is this way”, he leads me past the spiral staircase into a very modern kitchen.
The aroma of tomato and garlic intoxicate my senses. “Smells delicious”.
“I hope you like lasagna. Take a seat”, he points to the clear bar stools.
“I love lasagna”, I reply, pulling the stool out from under the island and taking a seat.
“I’m glad. I’ll be just a moment”, he flashes me a quick smile before stepping out of the room.
Left alone, I take in the kitchen’s contemporary, sleek design, with its grey cabinets, black marble countertops, and state of the art appliances. It’s stunning. I can’t help but smile as I note the two place settings prepared on the island.
Who would have thought Alexander Tate would be so domesticated? I think to myself as soft music begins playing through built-in speakers.
My mind is reeling. Not only has he cooked me a meal, he’s also setting the stage. And a romantic one at that. I can honestly say that I’m slightly overwhelmed. I can’t help but struggle with exactly why I’m here. Why he would want me here. I’m certainly no super model, for whom you would expect this man should be cooking a romantic dinner for.
“Wine?” he asks on his return, setting two plates of lasagna and garlic bread on the sleek black placemats.
“Sounds perfect”.
Opening a bottle of red, he pours, handing me a glass before taking a seat beside me. “Bon appetite”, he smiles, clinking our glasses together.
Smiling, I attempt to lure my gaze away from him; praying my sudden heated need to eat his face isn’t obvious.
“So”, he takes a sip of his wine, “I did a lot of talking yesterday, Miss Ryan. I would love to hear more about you this evening”.
Oh! I’m suddenly nervous that I’m the topic of conversation. “What would you like to know?”
“You would like me to choose one of the very many things about you that intrigue me? That’s a difficult task”. His smirk is dazzling.
Clearly I have to share something. But where do I start? Well, I certainly know where I don’t want to start - at my life with Liam, for example. But that’s twelve years of my life.
So what the hell do I talk about?… “Four-Ever-Friends”, I reply unconsciously - the memory of a childhood game suddenly in my thoughts.
His fork paused mid-way from his lips, he tilts his head; his eyebrow raised in question.
Shaking my head, I give in to sharing my reminiscence. “I was rather quiet as a child”, I clarify, noting the intrigued expression on his face. “My sister, Beth, didn’t share my shyness; she actually came up with this game, calling it Four-Ever-Friend”.
Rolling my eyes at his urge of interest, I begrudgingly continue, “Basically, she explained that each time you meet someone new, you should ask them four questions. The next time you see them, remember to mention something about those four things in conversation… Ensuring you to be forever friends”. I can’t believe I just told him that. I feel silly.
“That’s really cute”, he smiles, taking another bite.
Cute? Nice. Me and my big mouth. With an awkward smile, I pick up my wine, taking a large gulp.
“You’re close? You and Beth?”
Hmmm, that’s a good question. We were once. “As children, we were inseparable. Until, our teenage years, of course”, I absently run my fingers along the edge of my plate. “I remember feeling so lost when she turned thirteen; no longer into playing with her little sister, she left me to hang with her new friends”.
Smiling at the painful memory, I look towards Alex, his attention never waning. “I got over it. I completely understood her change, three years later, when I became a teenager myself. And then the games began”. Laughing, I note his eyebrow signaling his further curiosity. “I don’t know how the brother-sister dynamic works, but for teen sisters, it’s an endless hormonal hissy fit”.
“I bet”, he laughs. “You eventually became close again, as adults?”
“We did… for a while”, I look down at my barely eaten food once more. Shaking off an inevitable segway into accidently divulging my own marriage, I offer Beth’s instead, “She fell in love, had this incredibly beautiful family. Gap-ad worthy, I might add. We just drifted apart a little over time, I guess”.
“Aby”, he lifts my chin to his gaze. “Why do I sense that you belittle yourself in comparison to your sister? You really don’t realize how beautiful you are, do you?”
Pulling my head slightly at his words, the memories of my self-confidence-lacking days of childhood flash through my mind. Though I’ve grown to accept, and even love, my God-given form; I’ll always have the lingering reminder of being compared to my sister.
Side-by-side, at relatively the same height, our differences are apparent. My average length legs against her long, go-on-forever gams creates a seemingly abstract perspective. And although my breasts appeared well before hers - her boyish lean body peaking in her late teens - her perky large chest is something I regret missing out on.
But hey, I finally snap myself back to my body-loving present, she missed out on my great ass.
And that ‘Pantene’ hair - my inner dreamer twirls around, showing off her long luscious locks.
Pulling my lips into a smile, I gently rub Alex’s bent knee at my side. “I’ll accept that as a compliment, Mr. Tate”.
“Please do. You’re beautiful, Aby. It’s one of the many reasons I can’t stay away from you. One of the very many reasons”, he pulls me towards him to take m
e in a brief kiss, lingering at my lips. I note his deep intake of breath. “You need to finish your dinner”, he begrudgingly releases me, sitting up.
Returning to his own meal, his gaze towards me persists amid his bites.
Is he waiting for me to talk? I can’t talk. He lost me at ‘beautiful’, his sexy statements leaving me victim to an overload of gravity defying euphoria.
Besides, he told you to eat - my inner actress reviews her script.
Alex pushes his empty plate away slightly, removing his napkin from his lap to wipe his mouth; his working of the corners with such gentlemanly stature perfectly apt for ‘Table Manners 101’, the video manual.
“So”, he discards the black linen near his plate, picking up his wine, “Shall we play?”
A frantic intake of breath amongst my chew, I almost choke. Looking towards him, I watch his lips pull into that sexy grin.
“Your friend game”, his eyes are alight with mischief. “You ask me four questions, and I’ll do the same”.
“Okay, I’m game”. I’m actually excited at the idea. Though I suddenly realize I have no idea what to ask. “Let’s switch it up a little, though”.
Pursing his lips, his eyebrows flicker suggestively.
“No”, I playfully slap his knee, “I just mean I think we should revise it slightly. Four fast questions - quick, short and sweet”.
“Good idea, you have to catch up with your lasagna”, he gestures towards my almost full plate. “I’ve been keeping you busy talking. Though I’m thoroughly enjoying it”, he smiles, moving a stray strand of hair off my cheek.
“Ok, Mr. Bossy. You go first”. Brilliant, that will give me time to think of my questions.
“So, by short and sweet, are we talking one-word responses?”
I sense Alex is thinking too. Good. “Not necessarily. Though that does sound fun”, I smile. “I’m excited now, I’m going first”.
“Bring it on, Miss Ryan”, he laughs, his glorious wide smile lingering.
God he’s gorgeous…
“Okay, let’s start off easy. What’s your middle name - your full name?”
“Alexander William Tate, the one and only”, he sits up regally in jest.
Smiling at him, I continue, “Who’s your favorite childhood hero - superhero?”
Alex twists his head, his eyebrow signaling his opinion of my question.
“Hey, it’s a valid question. Pieces to the puzzle, Mister”.
“Hero, my Mum. Superhero, Superman”.
Oh Alex Tate, how very apt. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn you can actually fly.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” I wonder if he’ll give me the same answer he gave the interviewer.
“In five years, I would love to be married - happily married - with a family”.
Wow. He wasn’t kidding. And he certainly didn’t hesitate in replying directly to me as he did to the world earlier today.
Double Wow. Interesting…
“Okay, last question”.
He nods his head.
“Will you always live in London?”
Clearly he’s not impressed with my final question either.
“Listen Mister, these are my questions. I told you, pieces to the puzzle”.
“Well, I’m not sure…”
God, I love the way his eyebrow plays such an expressive role on his beautiful face.
“I’m not opposed to relocating”.
“So, that’s a ‘No’?”
“It’s not a ‘Yes’”. He takes in my pursed, unsatisfied lips. “I’m afraid this one’s going to have to be a wait and see”.
“Humph”.
“My turn”.
“Ready and waiting”, I smile, sitting up in my seat.
“What’s your full name?”
“Hey, that’s my question”.
“I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to share”, his eyebrow shifts once more.
We need to give that damn sexy brow a name. It certainly deserves one. Each time it reacts I want to pounce, like a cat at a dangling string. Even his eyebrow has an effect on me. I’m hopeless.
“Okay”, I realize he’s waiting, “Abigail Dawn Ryan. The one and only, of course”.
“Of course”, he grins.
There’s that sexy smirk. I swear I’m going to devour him.
“Favorite childhood hero? Superhero?”
I squint my eyes.
“Again, you didn’t specify no sharing”, he laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m building up to the tough ones”.
Oh. That’s not good.
“Hmm, childhood hero… Beth”, I smile at the memory of my sisters’ protective love. “Superhero… umm… Lois Lane”.
“Lois is not a superhero, Aby”.
I know, but she gets to be with Superman… and if you’re Superman, then I’m sure as hell going to be Lois Lane.
“Lost joke”, I smile at his miss of my inner humor. “Wonder Woman, without a doubt”.
“Nice choice, she’s hot”, he winks. “What’s one of your biggest regrets?”
Yikes. He wasn’t kidding about building up to a tough one. I certainly can’t blurt out my real answer - Getting married so young… waiting for so long to realize that I needed to leave. But I can simplify it…
“Waiting so long to make this move”, I look towards him, “I wish I had found… London sooner”.
We linger, staring into each other’s eyes; my sudden embarrassment breaking our gaze as I look down to my plate - the idea that he may suspect my unspoken inclusion of him in my reply is my undoing.
“I choose to combine two question’s for my last one, however, you can keep the answer brief if you wish”, Alex pauses at my squinty eye. “Where do you see yourself in five years? And do you think you will still be in London?”
“Wow, I don’t know. You’d think I would have mentally prepared myself with all of your question stealing”, I smirk.
“Sharing”, he corrects me, “Question sharing. Quit stalling, Abigail Dawn Ryan”.
His smile is playful. And I’m on the same page. This game has actually been a lot of fun.
“Off the top of my head?” I flash a cheeky grin.
“That’s the way we’re playing. You’re still stalling…”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist”, I laugh, though more so at his accuracy. He’s right, I am stalling. “Well, I do have my ‘tall bill’, as you know.”
He’s unflinching, his waiting smirk urging me to go on.
“So, naturally I would love to fall in love with the man of my dreams and have our happily ever after”, I pause for a moment, suddenly nervous at the similarity in our admissions. “Anyway, that’s that”. I stand to take our plates to the sink in an attempt to get past this damn game, and its unnerving end on my part. “That was delicious. You’re a fantastic cook, Alex”.
“Thank you. I’ll relay your gratitude to my Mum”.
Coming up behind me, he engulfs me in his arms, clasping his hands at my abdomen.
“You haven’t answered the second half of my question”, he leans his chin gently on my head. “Do you think you will still be in London?”
“Well, I’m not opposed to it”, I reply smugly, grateful for the chance to tease my way out of my discomfort.
Laying the rinsed dishes in the sink, I turn to face him amid his unmoving embrace, looking up to reach his gaze.
“I guess that one’s going to have to be a wait and see?” he asks, smiling.
“Well, technically the entire question begs a wait and see answer doesn’t it”. I’m rather proud of my playful note, pointing out the unknowing outcomes of our perfect plans.
“Indeed”, he nods, his dashing smile doing things deep within me. “That ‘tall bill’ of yours… a wait and see?”
“I’m afraid you’ve run out of questions, Mr. Tate. I hope you’ve enjoyed the game”. Well played, if I do say so myself.
“Very well played�
�, he leans down for a gentle kiss.
The man can read my mind.
Taking my hand, he picks up the bottle of wine and our empty glasses, leading me into a room I was unable to see from the foyer.
This room is austere in comparison to the laid back family room; furnished with a soft cream couch and side chairs, with a stunning white fireplace.
Sitting down, he smiles, patting the space beside him as he leans back on the comfy-looking sofa.
That smile does crazy things to my body, I realize as I take my seat beside him.
With the distraction of eating behind us, and the heat from having already consumed a full glass of wine, my need for this man returns with a vengeance.
The way his muscular arm rests along the back of the sofa, his legs spread, one slightly pulled up as he turns to face me; he’s simply divine.
I feel my heart rate accelerate, and my skin feels hot, alive, at his avid stare. I’m suddenly assailed with visuals of him all over me; the way he kissed his way up my back, traced the outline of my tattoos... The interview. I’m dying to know…
“You know, those ‘wait and see’ questions could allow for some improvisation of the game. Can I have a do-over?”
“You can have anything”, he replies in a soft, sexy tone; his luscious lips curved in a sweet smile.
“What is it about floral tattoos that you like so much?”
His head tilts back in laughter.
His laugh makes me smile in wonder; he’s simply stunning to behold.
“So, you did watch my interview today”. There’s a devilish gleam in his striking blue eyes.
Oh crap. Damn wine. “Ahh, yeah, I did. The tail-end at least”, I confess.
Laying his glass on the coffee table, he looks at me intently, serious in expression. “Aby, I can’t say floral tattoos meant a whole lot to me until I met you”.
Oh my God. He was referring to my tattoos! I’m speechless at his confession, staring at him wide eyed.
“What? Did you think I was referring to someone else’s floral tattoos?”
“Possibly… I don’t know”, I avert my gaze, “I just don’t understand”.
“What is it you don’t understand?”
All of this… Being here with you…