by R. C. Martin
Before I get a chance to type a response, there’s a gentle knock at my door. I blackout the screen on my phone, setting it down as Veronica pops her head inside of the room.
“Hey, sweetie. How’s it going?”
“Fine, I suppose.”
“Do you need anything before I go?”
Her departure coming as a surprise to me, I don’t hesitate to ask, “Where are you going?”
“I told you yesterday, I’m going to do some shopping and then I’m meeting up with Francine for dinner,” she says, speaking of our mayor’s wife.
Frowning, I try and recall this information. I know for a fact that I would remember being told that she was to be out for a good few hours this afternoon and evening. “When? When did you tell me?”
“You were in the shower. You responded, so I assumed you heard me.”
Shaking my head, I’m already thinking about the possibility of seeing Blaine tonight as I mutter, “I don’t recall.”
“Okay, well, I’m going out. There are leftovers in the fridge if you don’t feel like making anything.”
“I might go out, too,” I start to say, trying to think of something that’ll keep me out late. “There’s a game on tonight. I think I’ll go someplace to watch it.”
“You should—you deserve a break,” she tells me, nodding toward the paperwork scattered across my desk. “I’ll see you tonight.” She blows me a kiss before she turns to leave, calling out over her shoulder, “Love you.”
“You, too,” I mutter distractedly, checking the time.
Noting that it’s just after two, I decide to put in a couple more hours of work before cleaning up and heading over to see Blaine. Ideas of how I’d like us to spend the evening cloud my thoughts, making it difficult for me to concentrate. I pretend to be productive until around four, and then it hits me—how I’ll make up for disappointing Blaine yesterday afternoon. Wanting to put my plan in motion, I abandon the office and make my way to the bedroom to have a shower.
GATHERING THE GROCERY bags off of the seat beside me, I move to get out of the car, hoping that my surprise visit won’t turn out to be a horrible plan. If Blaine isn’t home, I don’t know what I’ll do. Truth be told, I wouldn’t be above waiting for her to return. I need to see her. I need to feel her—to touch her—to taste her. It’s been too many days. In spite of my growing sexual appetite, I haven’t touched Veronica all week. She’s not the woman I want. She’s not the woman I crave, and I don’t want to wait anymore.
Looking out into the parking lot, I realize that I don’t even know what her car looks like in order to get a clue as to whether or not she’s here. I make a mental note to ask her, and then I move to get out of the backseat. With one foot out the door, I pause to address Clay.
“If I’m not out in five minutes, you don’t have to stay. You could come back.”
“You know I can’t do that, sir,” he states matter-of-factly.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“I’ll be fine, sir. I always am.”
I hesitate, looking up at the building. I’m well aware that Clay spends most of his days following my movements. Furthermore, this won’t be the first time that he’s brought me here only to wait for me to return. That said, it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty to know that I’m here to indulge myself while he’s left to keep watch when I’m sure there’s no need for a watchman.
“Governor,” he says, turning to address me over the seat. I give him my full attention. He stares at me pointedly and dips his chin in a nod before he insists, “Enjoy your evening.”
I can’t explain why—perhaps it’s the look in his eye, or the lack of judgment in his expression—but it seems as though he not only understands why I’m here, but he gets it, too. I find myself wishing I had the time to inquire further into what he’s thinking, but I know the moments I have are stolen, and I have a woman to see.
“Thank you, Clay,” I mutter with a nod of my own.
I don’t linger, but step out and close the door behind me, hurrying inside. Pulling out my phone as I make my ascent up the stairs, I find Blaine’s contact information and push through a call. She answers on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” I reply, unable to keep the smile off my face at the sound of her voice. “How are you?”
“Good. Well, mostly good. I miss you. How are you?”
“Dying to see you. Are you home?” I ask, rounding the top of the staircase and taking the last few steps to her door.
“Yes. Why?”
Smiling mischievously, I end the call, slide my phone into my pocket, and then knock on her door. At the sound of her hurried footsteps, my smile turns into a grin. Then she’s standing in front of me—wide-eyed and adorably marvelous.
Her hair is up in a messy bun on top of her head, and she’s got a rolled up, white bandana tied in the front—though, that doesn’t stop a few strands from falling around her gorgeous face. She’s wearing a pair of black jeans that sculpt her legs perfectly, and a loose fitting, light pink tank top that dips low, showing off the top swells of her little breasts. I laugh when I read the front, which says: Feed Me and Tell Me I’m Pretty.
Stepping toward her, I wrap my free arm around her waist, pulling her against my chest as I dip my head. I graze my nose along hers and murmur, “I’ve come to make you dinner—and I think you’re beautiful.”
Bracing onto the back of my biceps, she leans into me and gives me her slight weight as she whispers, “Holy shit. Are you serious?”
I press my lips to hers as I chuckle, slowly backing her into the apartment. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Blaine. I told you—I had to see you.”
A whimper spills from between her lips, and she presses up on her tiptoes, circling her arms around my neck as she kisses me. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she mumbles into my mouth.
“You have no idea, angel.”
Blaine
I HEAR THE DOOR slam shut, but I don’t see it happen.
I’m lost.
Unabashedly, I cling to him, kissing him greedily. As I tangle my tongue with his, I seek to express two things. The first of which is that I’ve missed him more than my pathetic text messages could possibly convey. The second is that I have no intention of allowing him to break away from this exchange until I can no longer breathe. When I hear the plastic bags he holds in his hand rustle and fall to the ground, I know we’re of the same mind right now. He brings his freehand up and around the back of my neck, holding my head in place as he tilts his and deepens our kiss.
I fucking love it when he does that.
I tell him as much with an honest moan, and he grunts his reply.
His surprise visit is by far the best thing to happen to me all week, and I can hardly believe he’s here. Holding me. Kissing me. Finally.
“Mm,” I hum in protest, burying my fingers in his hair and keeping him close as he tries to slow us down. “I’m not done, baby,” I pant against his lips.
“Creo que nunca me cansaré—nunca tendré suficiente,” he mumbles before nibbling on my lower lip. I don’t get a chance to question his meaning before he goes on to say, “Take as much as you want, angel.” He then plunges his tongue into my mouth, and I instantly forget we were using our words at all.
We kiss until I can no longer stand the feel of his erection pressed against my belly without going insane. As much as I want him, I haven’t forgotten that he promised to feed me, and that’s something I don’t want to miss. When I pull my lips from his and seek out his eyes, I find his stormy blues and melt even further into his arms.
“I love the way you look at me,” I whisper, still incredibly breathless.
He gives the back of my neck a gentle squeeze before his chest rumbles with his voice as he asks, “How do I look at you?”
I sense the blush that creeps across my face as I bite my cheek, not having expected his follow-up question. His eyes seem to trace every surface of my face as he waits for my reply, a
nd my stomach clenches in giddy excitement. I decide that underneath his stare, I am capable of holding nothing back. I want him to know how much I’m in this, even though sometimes it’s frustrating as hell. I imagine it’ll only get worse, but I don’t care—not so long as he’ll hold me just like this.
Speaking softly, I finally tell him, “Like you think I’m just as wonderful as I think you are; like you want to hold onto me as much as I want to hold onto you; like you missed me…”
He lowers his lips to my ear before he says, “I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t as wonderful as I believe you are. I’m enjoying getting to know you, and I want more—more of all that there is of you. And I’ve more than missed you. I’ve been aching to hold you since we last said goodbye. I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Blaine—but I don’t want you to stop.”
His words make me all tingly, and I shudder in his arms as I bury my face in his neck. From the very beginning, he’s been upfront about what he wants from me and about how he feels. It’s one of my favorite things about him. He’s not a boy playing games, but a man who knows what’s at stake. I don’t have to be anxious over his intentions because they mirror my own.
“Are you hungry?” he asks on a mumble, pressing a kiss against my temple.
“Oh, dammit,” I gasp, pushing my way out of his arms. I dig into the back pocket of my jeans, were I shoved my phone a few minutes ago, and quickly pull up my message thread with Dodger.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I made plans tonight, and I almost forgot. I need to cancel them.”
He’s silent as I type a quick apology to Dodge, asking for a raincheck while assuring him I’m not merely bailing on his invite. I don’t wait for his response, since I know he doesn’t get off work until seven, but look back up at Michael.
“I apologize. I should have called. It was rude of me to—”
“To drop by unannounced, promise me dinner, and then kiss my face off?” I giggle as I shake my head at him. “We seriously need to have a talk about what you consider rude.”
He smirks at me, and I’m instantly reminded of my damp panties. In need of a distraction, I grab the abandoned grocery bags from off of the floor. Holding them up, I ask, “So you cook, huh?”
“Not often, but yes.”
“Well, I’m starved,” I tease, extending my arm as I gently thrust his ingredients at him. “What are you going to make?”
He takes my hand instead of the bags, pulling me against his chest again before taking his supplies. “Choriqueso empanadas. They’re not healthy, but I’ll be making a creamy avocado dip to go along with them, and that’s green. That counts for something, right?” he jokes.
“I love avocados,” I murmur, resting my hands at his sides as I press up on my tiptoes in anticipation of all that he’s mentioned.
“I know.”
My breath catches in my throat, my whole body seeming to respond to the fact that he remembered I like the fruit. No—not just that he remembered I like it, but that he thought to make it a part of dinner for me.
“I really like you,” I blurt.
Chuckling, he leans down to press a kiss to my lips as he mumbles, “The feeling is mutual.” He kisses me one last time before stepping away from me and pointing at my breakfast bar. “Sit. I’ve got work to do.”
“I could help,” I offer.
“All I require is for you to tell me where things are as I need them.”
Thrilled at the prospect of ogling him at work in my kitchen, I don’t protest. Instead, I make myself comfortable, perched on one of my stools, and watch him unload his bags.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever had an empanada before. I’ve definitely never had one that’s homemade.”
“Mmm,” he hums, frowning over at me. “In that case, I’m sorry for cutting corners. My mother would kill me if she knew I bought the dough premade from the store—but dinner is not the only thing on our docket tonight. The dough takes over an hour to make.”
I purse my lips together, fighting a grin at the thought of what else could be on our docket for the evening. Delicately clearing my throat, I insist, “I’m sure it’ll be delicious anyhow. I can’t wait.”
Mateo never made dinner for me. Not unless you count heating up a frozen pizza—and he definitely didn’t look as sexy as Michael while doing it. Even fully clothed, he looks delicious. The white V-neck t-shirt he has on shows off a little bit of his chest hair while simultaneously clinging to his broad shoulders and strong arms. His khaki shorts show off his sculpted calves and hug his amazing ass. I find myself trying to memorize his every detail as he moves about my space, wanting to lock away my memory of him for safe keeping—for when I’m forced to go days without him. How I manage to keep from drooling as I watch him at work is unexplainable. All the fantasies I already had floating around in my head of the two of us having sex in the kitchen are now even more vivid than before.
For the hundredth time, I swear—he’s way too hot to be a governor.
While I’m not too busy gawking at him, he tells me about how his mom taught him and his siblings how to cook. Apparently, while they were growing up, when they were old enough, they each had a night where they were responsible to help her with dinner for the family. I also find out that even though his mother speaks perfect English, he has been bilingual since he first learned to talk. To this day, he says that so long as everyone at the dinner table can speak Spanish, that’s the language they use while they dine.
“I like it when you speak to me in Spanish, even if I don’t know what you’re saying. Although, I’ll admit, I wish I knew what you were saying,” I confess.
Looking up from his task—he’s stuffing the dough with filling now—he tells me, “Sometimes I feel like what I mean makes more sense in Spanish. When I’m passionate about something, it resonates deeper in my mother’s tongue.”
The thought of him being passionate about me makes me feel bashful, and I look down my cheeks, unable to keep eye contact with him. He does that to me—makes me want to be bold and daring one moment, and then he says something like that and I’m uncharacteristically shy. It’s like he’s got me on a rollercoaster. The thrill of the ride gives me a high I want to enjoy for as long as I can.
Michael
“OH, MY GOD—that was so good. How do you not eat those every day?” she asks, resting her hands on her belly.
Chuckling, I look down at myself and then back at her, quirking an eyebrow as my response.
“Right,” she laughs.
“It’s a treat. That’s how it remains my favorite.” I wink at her before I start to stand, reaching for her empty plate.
She slaps my hand away and shoots up to her feet, scowling at me as she scoffs, “You are not about to do the dishes. I sat on my ass while you cooked, and then stuffed my face—it’s your turn to keep me company.”
“While you clean up my mess, you mean?”
“Precisely.”
I watch her without argument as she piles our silverware on top of our plates and then takes a dish in each hand. Before she turns to head toward the kitchen, she looks up at me and puckers her lips. Smirking, I lean down and kiss her.
“Thank you for dinner. It was amazing.”
“I’m sorry I had to cancel yesterday. I wanted to make it up to you.”
She stares at me a moment, running her teeth over her lower lip before she says, “You know what? I can do the dishes later.”
My face breaks out into a grin as she sets the plates down and then circles her arms around my waist. I don’t question her desire as I curve my hands under her chin. I like it—her willingness to drop everything just to be in my arms. When I stare into her warm, hazel eyes, I know she’s not worried about the mess that’ll need to be attended to later. She’s not thinking about anything other than the fleeting moment that exists right here. There’s no to-do list in her head. There’s just us. There’s just now.
I press my mouth
to hers, softly at first. We start this kiss slowly, unlike the one we shared when I first arrived. She sighs sweetly, opening up for me when I run my tongue along the seam of her lips. I savor the taste and feel of her, moving my hands around the back of her neck as I kiss her deeper. Her small arms tighten around me, and my dick jerks in anticipation. I want her—I want her so badly. I feel as though I’ve been enchanted; like she’s too good to be true, and she’ll slip through my fingers if I’m not careful. I groan, kissing her harder and keeping her close.
I don’t want to lose this. As wrong as it may be, I don’t want to let her go.
She’s awakened a dormant part of me that I’m sure was meant to be alive all this time.
“Michael,” she breathes, sliding her hands over my chest before wrapping her arms around my shoulders. As she clings to me, her lips still connected with mine, she begs, “I need you to touch me. Please?”
“Is my angel ready to play?” I murmur, resting my forehead against hers.
She nods as she steps away from me, her eyes smoldering with desire. My cock begins to stiffen as she walks around me, dragging her fingers across my stomach as she passes. I don’t hesitate to follow after her. When we’ve reached her loft, she turns on her bedside lamps and then stands before me, as if waiting for instruction.
I don’t say a word as I reach for the hem of her tank top, slowly peeling it off of her body. I help her out of her jeans, next. When she’s completely naked, I untie the bandana from around her head and ask her to let her hair down. She does so without question or complaint, raking her fingers through her messy, wavy locks. Watching her has me so hard, I’m wondering how I’ve lasted a week without being inside of her. She’s gorgeous, and I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“Where’s the rope, angel?”
Her eyes widen in excitement as her cheeks turn rosy, and my chest swells. This is something I’ve wanted to try for years. I’ve looked into it before, more than a few times, but Veronica has never been willing to try. Watching Blaine turn to one of her nightstands to retrieve my purchase from earlier this week has me anxious to begin. I can feel my fingers start to twitch, my own excitement barely containable.