by Staci Hart
“Maybe a little.” I laughed.
She groaned. “Aren’t you mad at me?”
“Of course not — I might have made the same assumption. But if you really feel inclined to make it up to me, I can think of a few things you could do.”
She smiled and looked up at me. “Oh, I’m sure you could. I’m sorry, Cooper.”
“Quit apologizing.” I kissed her cheek. “As long as you believe me, we’re fine.”
“I believe you.”
“Then we’re fine.” I brushed her hair back from her face. “You hungry? I was just about to make dinner.”
She raised an eyebrow. “As in, cook?”
“That surprises you?”
“I just figured your kitchen was for show.”
“You can only order takeout so many times before you’re over it, and I’m not busy enough to warrant having someone to cook every night for me.”
“No, but you’re rich enough to.”
I chuckled. “Come on. Let me introduce you to another on one of my many talents.” I dragged her inside and into the kitchen where she sat at my island bar. I fired up the stovetop grill built into my gourmet kitchen.
“Is that a real grill? Inside?”
I smiled at her over my shoulder. “Sure is.”
“That is swanky.”
“See? I can’t have this kitchen and not use it.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I was sure it was being used, just not by you.”
I pulled out chicken I’d been marinating from the fridge and set it on the counter. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, do you?”
“No, actually. Just when I think I do, you surprise me.”
I smiled and grabbed the chicken breasts with tongs, setting them on the grates with a hiss. “To be fair, I don’t clean. I don’t grocery shop, either.”
She laughed. “Oh, God. I can just see you walking through the produce, sniffing cantaloupe.”
“I am very picky about my melons.”
She snickered. “Do you need any help?”
“Just with this.” I grabbed a bottle of wine and gave it a little shake.
“All right. I’ll do my best,” she joked.
I opened it and poured her a glass. “Let’s play a game.”
“What kind of game.”
“Truth or dare.” I smiled and handed her the wine.
“Maybe we should wait until after dinner.”
I poured myself a glass. “Oh, I’ve got plans for dessert already.”
She smiled and took a sip. “So, who goes first?”
I smirked and took a drink. “Truth or dare?”
“I feel like I owe you a dare after yelling at you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Shit,” she muttered.
“I dare you to wear nothing but this apron for the rest of dinner.” I opened a drawer, grabbed an apron, and tossed it to her.
She picked it up curiously, laughing when she opened it up. “Really, Coop?”
I just smiled.
She stood and held it up to her body. It was a replica of Botticelli’s Venus, made to look like the wearer was the goddess of love herself, fingers on her bare breast. “Where the hell did you get this?” she asked with a laugh.
I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms. “Florence. I have David, too.”
“Of course you do.” She sighed. “Well, a dare’s a dare.” She set the apron on the counter and smiled at me as she kicked off her shoes. I leaned against the counter, folding my arms across my chest as I watched her strip. The apron hit her mid-thigh, and she tied it around her waist, blushing. “There you go.”
“Give us a spin.”
She spun around, and I caught a glimpse of her pert ass. “Happy?”
“You have no idea.”
Maggie took a seat and picked up her wine again. “My turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Boring. Okay, um …” She looked up at the ceiling. “Most outrageous place you’ve ever had sex.”
I didn’t miss a beat. “Confessional booth in Barcelona.”
Her jaw hung open, and a surprised laugh slipped out of her.
“Her name was Vivica. It was also the only time I’ve been propositioned in a church. I doubt it was the first time she’d made the offer, but I couldn’t pass it up.”
“Was there a priest there? I mean …”
I chuckled. “No, it was empty. My turn. Truth or dare?”
She blinked and shook her head. “Ah … okay. Dare.”
I raised an eyebrow and turned flipped the chicken. “Not feeling like sharing today, huh?”
She gave me a look. “All right, bossy. Truth.”
“Too late.” I grabbed a wooden spoon and handed it to her. “Sing me happy birthday like Marilyn Monroe.”
Maggie laughed as she stood and made her way over to me. “Dammit, Cooper.” She snatched the spoon and tried to stop giggling as she bent over, exaggerating the pucker in her lips, breathing the words as she stepped closer and ran her hands up my chest.
“…Happy birthday, Mr. Sexypants.” Her hands slipped lower, trailing between my legs. “Happy birthday to you.”
Her face was tilted up to mine, and I smiled as I pressed my lips to hers. Her body was flush against mine, the thin fabric of the apron all that separated me from her naked breasts.
I broke the kiss while I could, taking the spoon and popping her bare ass with it. She squealed and giggled, and it was the most glorious sound I’d ever heard.
“Truth or dare?” she asked.
I watched her ass as she made her way back to her wine. “Dare.”
She pointed to the drawer where the aprons were. “If I have to be Venus, you’ll have to be David.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you I had it.”
She smiled.
I made a show of taking off my clothes, tossing my shirt in her face as she cheered and cat-called me. I tied the apron and held up my hands in display.
“Give us a spin,” she said slyly.
I spun around and smiled.
“Now, flip the chicken.”
“You want me to touch the breasts while you watch?”
“Give them a good fondling. They need to be hot before we eat them.” Her brow was up as she took a sip of her wine.
I laughed and made lewd noises while I poked at the chicken, knowing she was staring at my naked ass.
“All right,” I said when the show was over. “Truth or dare?”
She hesitated before answering, “Truth.”
I thought carefully, turning to lean on the counter again. Her eyes fell between my legs at David’s cock, and she giggled.
“I don’t know if I can take you seriously in that.”
I didn’t miss a beat. “What would it take for you to date me?” I threw the question at her knowing full well I’d catch her off guard.
Her smile fell. “Cooper …”
I shot her The Smile. “Don’t wimp out on me now, Williams.”
But her face was tight, unamused. “All right. It would take a time machine, a peace treaty with my brother, and proof that you were serious about something. Anything. Truth or dare?” she shot, closing the conversation.
I nodded and wet my lips, letting it go like I knew I should, even though I wouldn’t forget it so easily. I turned and took the chicken off the grill. “Truth.”
“What’s your deepest, darkest secret?” The question was pointed, and I turned to look at her.
You. I raised an eyebrow. “Wow, this escalated quickly.”
“You started it.” She took a sip of her wine.
I pushed off from the counter, part of me not believing what I was about to do. But she’d asked, and I found that as nervous as it made me to answer, I wanted her to know. “Come here and I’ll show you.” I extended a hand.
Her eyes widened as she took it and slipped off the stool. “Why am I a little scared?”
“Go ahead. Open it.”
She clasped her hands in front of her, fingers threading together. She looked tentative, eyeing the door with uncertainty. “If there are whips and chains and butt plugs in there, I’m probably going to freak out.”
I smiled. “Just open it, Mags.”
She took a breath and turned the handle, gasping when she saw what was inside. “Oh, my God.” She spun around, gaping. “Are you for real?”
I wasn’t sure if her reaction was good or bad, but I stepped into the room and around her to explain. “I’ve been collecting ever since I was a kid, obsessively, really. I’ve just always loved comics and sci-fi, my dad too. You should see his collection.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed and wandered around the room, awestruck, stopping in front of my The Empire Strikes Back movie poster. “How do you have Stephen Spielberg’s autograph?”
I relaxed, smiling at the wonder on her face. “My dad’s firm manages his finances.”
“This is amazing, Cooper.” She moved to the shelves. “First edition Harry Potter … are these signed too?”
“They are. They were the first novels I ever read.”
She blinked. “I think I just had a bookgasm.” She reached for one. “May I?”
I nodded, and she pulled out the first book reverently, opening it to the inscription.
“Wow,” she breathed. “You are officially the most hardcore geek I’ve ever met.”
I laughed, relieved, feeling the unfamiliar comfort of sharing myself with someone else. Someone I trusted. “Now you know my deepest, darkest secret.”
She set the book back down and turned to me, her eyes soft. “No one knows?”
I shook my head.
“Not even West? How were you able to hide … this?” She motioned to the room.
“He knows a little. I’ve always collected comics, but he doesn’t know how serious it is.”
“Yeah, because this is pretty fucking serious, Coop.” She smiled, wandering past me and over to the Batman costume.
My eyes were glued to the apron string that swayed back and forth as she walked. She turned to me, and my eyes snapped up to hers.
She shook her head, smiling. “Please tell me you’re not actually Batman.”
I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. “No, I’m not actually Batman.”
She leaned back into me. “Is it from a movie? You didn’t have it made, did you?”
I paused. “Maybe.”
“For Halloween?”
“ComicCon.”
A laugh bubbled out of her. “Put it on.”
“Can’t. We need one more person to assist.”
She laughed even harder. “I bet you look amazing in it.”
“I do. Have I scared you off yet?”
She turned in my arms. “Um, no — one look at the Harry Potter books has me seriously hot and bothered.”
“Just wait until I show you my Tolkien collection.”
She smiled, lips parted as she angled her face to mine. There were maybe two millimeters of slinky fabric between us, and I could feel the warmth of her body just on the other side. When I brought my lips to hers, she wrapped herself around me and tightened her arms until I was as close as I could be.
My hands roamed down her back and to her bare ass. I squeezed, and she laid her hands on my chest, pushing gently, moving us back to the only piece of furniture in the room, my black leather recliner. The backs of my knees hit the seat, and I sat down, but she didn’t follow right away, just stood in front of me, smiling. My hands were on her hips, fingers on bare skin.
She touched my face as my hand moved down her thighs and under the apron, trailed up the inside of her thigh and between her legs to cup her, squeeze her. My middle finger rested against the line of her, and I ran the pad down the length before slipping inside. She leaned into me, eyes closed, her face soft and relaxed as I stroked her.
Her arms rested on my shoulders, and she bent down to kiss me, a slow kiss, a heady kiss. She slipped a knee next to me, and I leaned back as she climbed onto my lap, reaching behind her to pull the apron string with a zip. I yanked it off and tossed it, her curly hair bouncing as it passed through the neck. Her hand skated down my stomach to the hem of my apron, her eyes down as she moved it out of her way and wrapped her fingers around my base, lifting me. She licked her lips as her hips rose, and I watched her lower her body onto me with a sigh. Our bodies met in a seam, no space between us, her hands on my chest, arms pushing her breasts together. The sight of her naked body straddling mine, her hair in her face, her hands on my chest as she rocked gently — I committed the moment to memory.
My hand found her breast, and I traced the curve and squeezed. The other hand rested on her hip, riding along as her body rolled in waves. Her fingers clenched against my chest, and her brows came together, the softness in her face shifting as she came closer. I knew her body so well that I could almost count down the seconds. A shallow breath she took — three — a small moan passed her lips — two — her nails dug into my skin — one. She came with a cry, grinding against me, pulsing around me.
After a moment, she slowed, lifting a hand to move her hair from her face, smiling at me lazily as she leaned back. She reached behind her, resting her hands on my thighs as she rolled her body, lifting her hips every time she rocked back. I watched our bodies meet and separate, my hands on her hips as I flexed into her, pulling her down faster with each motion until I couldn’t hold on. Her name was on my lips, my heart stopping for a long moment when I came, my body thrumming inside of her.
When I finally opened my eyes, she was smiling at me, lip between her teeth as she shifted to lie on top of me. Her lips found mine, soft and sweet, and my fingers tangled in her hair, not wanting to separate.
But she broke away, smiling down at me as her hand found my jaw. “Do you bring all the girls in here to impress them with your collection?”
“No one else has been in here besides you and my maid,” I answered quietly.
She watched me for a moment. “Why me?”
I smiled and touched her cheek. “Because we were playing a game, and I trust you.”
Some emotion passed across her face in a flash, too fast for me to catch it before she kissed me again. But the kiss was different, laced with longing, burning hot.
When she backed away, she seemed fine, just smiled at me once more and said, “I’m still hungry.”
And I let it go, because that was what she wanted. “Well, put that apron back on and let’s get you fed.”
She climbed off of me and grabbed the apron from the ground. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She headed to my room, and I cleaned up in the hall bathroom with every thought on her. And then, I made my way back to the kitchen to finish dinner, feeling lost and found, together and broken, all at the same time.
I had the bread and bacon on the flat top and was busy slicing tomatoes, grateful for the mundane distraction, feeling a little more together by the time that Maggie returned looking fresh as a magnolia blossom. She snickered, her eyes on my ass.
“I kinda forgot you were wearing that.”
I smiled as I set the bread on plates and smeared garlic aioli mayo on them, then laid the chicken breasts on the top.
She took a seat and sipped her wine. “Oooh, fancy sandwiches.”
I topped them with tomatoes, spring mix, and bacon. “I can’t help it. I’m just a fancy guy.” I made my way over to the bar and set her plate in front of her. “Bon appétite, Madame.”
“Merci beaucoup, monsieur.”
I took a seat next to her, my ass sticking to the leather.
She picked up her sandwich and adjusted her grip. “So what are you up to tonight?” She took a bite.
“Actually, West and Patrick are coming over in about an hour.”
Her eyes widened, and she froze mid-chew.
“You have an hour. Don’t worry.”
She made a face and started chewing again.
“I’ll call Bobby to take you home.
“I don’t need—”
I shook my head and picked up my own sandwich. “I’m not letting you walk through the park in the dark.”
“I can take a cab.”
“Maggie. Just let me call Bobby.”
She sighed. “Fine. What are you guys doing tonight?”
“Playing video games. You?” I took a bite.
“Well, I don’t have work tomorrow, so I’m not sure.”
I wiped my lips with my napkin and laid it back in my lap. “What’s left on your sightseeing list?”
“Chelsea Piers, Brooklyn Bridge, Coney Island, off the top of my head.”
I smiled and shifted the sandwich. “Let’s go to Coney Island tomorrow.” I took another bite.
She raised an eyebrow. “Who invited you?”
I shrugged and swallowed. “You shouldn’t go by yourself. Plus, when it gets dark, that place looks like where survivors of the zombie apocalypse go for group meetings.”
She laughed.
“Seriously. I once saw a guy beating a bench with a cane, laughing like a maniac.”
Her smile fell. “Maybe I don’t want to go after all.”
“It’s fine during the day, and with muscle.”
Maggie eyed me. “You’re telling me that you and I going to Coney Island wouldn’t be a date? How do you figure?”
“I won’t buy you a single thing, not even a hot dog or a soda. I won’t even try to win you a giant pink gorilla. I could, just to be clear. But I won’t. I’ll be good. But the second we’re back here tomorrow night, I make no promises.”
She laughed. “Sounds fun, but it’s a bad idea.” She seemed stalwart, but I pressed her anyway. I wanted to spend the day with her. I wanted to know if it would be everything I thought it would be.
“Give me one good reason why we can’t go to Coney Island.”