When Effie returned from the pantry, he said, “This will be ready as soon as the cheese melts. We can eat right here if you don’t mind. I eat in the kitchen a lot. It makes clean up simple.” He poured more wine into his glass and topped off Effie’s.
Her cheeks had taken on a flush, no doubt from the wine. A dark scowl bruised her face.
“I don’t mind.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the pantry. “You do realize an entire family could live in there, right? I’ve never seen such an enormous pantry. Why do you need all that space?”
“Because I have a lot of money.” He smiled and retrieved two Tuscan hand-painted dinner plates and two salad plates. Next, he set them on the island.
“Right,” she said, the word dripping with contempt.
He shook his head, frowning.
“What’s that mean? Do you have a problem with me? With my money? Because it seems to be the thing that’s going to save your education,” he said, frowning.
She scowled. “And, what exactly do you do in there?” Her expression cut through his heart.
What the hell did she mean by that? He glanced at the pantry door. His cheeks began to heat when he remembered fighting with Trisha here in the kitchen and then fucking her hard in the pantry when she chased him in there. But that was six months ago. Did I leave some incriminating evidence in there? I haven’t been the best at keeping house. “I store shit to cook with,” he snapped. “What else do people do in pantries?”
She dropped her gaze.
“I’m sorry. Thank you for your generosity.” She spoke in a monotone voice.
Whatever.
“Silverware’s in that drawer there. Get some large spoons for the chicken and the tomatoes.” He pointed at the drawer. “Napkins are in the drawer next to the silverware.” He proceeded to wash the pan and the bowls, and then return unused items to the pantry, glancing at all the gleaming shelves loaded with ingredients.
He spied one of Trisha’s bras peeking out from under a shelf. Shit. Goddamn it. He snatched it up and shoved it in his pocket.
When he emerged, the kitchen was empty. He dropped the bra in the trash bin and made sure it found its way underneath the chicken packaging and soiled paper towels, where it belonged.
After grabbing a dishcloth, he wiped down the area Effie had used to chop tomatoes and basil.
Effie shuffled back from wherever she’d disappeared. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
Shit. Was she crying? Zander wanted to kick himself for leaving a fucking bra in the pantry.
She set the silverware carefully next to the plates. “You’re a meticulous cook.”
“My sister made me her sous chef for a while. She was a tough taskmaster.” He snorted.
When the timer rang, he pulled a couple of hot mitts from a drawer and slid the bubbling dish from the oven.
“That looks wonderful,” Effie said, her mood lightening.
“We’ll let it cool while we eat our salad. Want some water?”
“Sure.”
He retrieved water glasses and filled them from the filter attached to the sink. When everything had been assembled and arranged, he said, “Ready to eat?”
“I’m famished.”
The minutes sailed by as they ate and conversed. Thankfully, she must have forgiven the bra discovery as she shared her love for her education throughout the meal.
“What’s your favorite course in school?” he said, pushing back his empty plate.
“I don’t really have a favorite. Microbiology and physiology are right up there, though. Next semester, I’ll be taking immunology and biophysics. They’re both extremely difficult courses.” She picked up her napkin and wiped her lips. “This meal was fantastic. I’m stuffed, as well as a little tipsy.” She waved her hand at her empty glass. “I’m a lightweight.”
“Duly noted,” he said.
“Where did you grow up? I’ve been dominating the conversation,” she said.
“I grew up in Florida,” he said as they worked on the dishes. “My parents own a yacht club in the Florida Keys. Donna and Windom King. I grew bored with the yacht and cocktail party lifestyle my parents are accustomed to, so I moved out here. I went to college at the University of Washington and started rock climbing, base jumping, paragliding—if there was a high-risk adventure, I was there.”
“Sounds way more exciting than my life. I grew up in eastern Washington. I moved to Seattle to attend school.” She handed him a plate she had dried.
He stacked it on the other one and placed them in the cupboard. “There’s still time for some excitement in life. Your education sounds fascinating.”
She blushed. “You’re toying with me.”
“I’m not. I’m truly intrigued by your choice of topics. I used to be a rock climber. I dabbled in physiology, trying to understand the efficient use of the body in a climb. I was a competitive climber. I used to win all the competitions I entered. I’ve scaled some walls that shouldn’t be scalable. It all comes down to body dynamics.” He tapped his temple with a bio-finger.
“So, why’d you give it up?” Effie turned around and leaned against the counter.
“Personal reasons.” A wall began to slide into position.
“Why don’t you pick it up again?”
He shook his head. “It’s something I’d prefer not to talk about.”
“Zander, you’re amazing. Clearly, rock climbing and adventuring is something you adore. Why not resume it? There are athletes with all kinds of disabilities.”
The wall fell into place with a solid clunk in his chest. He hated being thought of as disabled. The last thing he wanted to be known for was “being good at something in spite of his disability,” or being pitied. And the shame of Trisha’s response to him still rankled. He shook his head.
Her expression fell.
He knew she wanted more information, but some things were better left unsaid.
“How about a bath?” he said, in an abrupt topic change.
“A bath?”
“I said I’d feed you and warm you. Doesn’t a bath sound good?”
“Um, sure, if that’s what you want,” she said, reverting to her “please the sugar daddy persona.”
“That’s what I want,” he said, glowering. He preferred her when she wasn’t acting like his geisha. “Let’s go.” The strain of being around her gorgeous body and not devouring her was intense, consuming him. He’d let her soak, then send her on her way.
But his body had other ideas—much, much naughtier ideas.
Chapter 12
Zander
Zander seized Effie’s hand and practically dragged her upstairs, along the curving staircase. Without realizing it, she’d pried open a scab to reveal an extremely unhealed wound—his reluctance to get back to adventuring. At the top of the landing, he led her toward the master bath.
A huge Japanese soaking tub occupied the center of the bathroom.
“My God,” Effie said. “Wow. And you can take in the view while you soak.”
“Pick out a fragrance you like,” he said, indicating a row of bath salts sitting on the counter.
She cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t give baths to women all the time if that’s what you’re thinking. I bought those for you,” he said, resuming his snappish, bossy persona. “Or, rather Mia, my assistant, picked them out at my request. They’re bubblicious or bubbleopolilis or some damn thing. I don’t remember what she called them.” He swished his hand through the air.
“I see.” She retreated into herself and shuffled toward the bath salts. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
And there’s that damn polite voice.
“Ha! There’s a stretch.” A grumbling growl threatened to burst from his mouth.
She reached for one of the containers and pried off the lid. She took a sniff.
“This one’s nice,” she said.
“How do you know you won’t like another?” He cranked on the
faucet.
The water spilled down the sides of the tub like a waterfall.
“I don’t. But I choose this one.” She tapped the lid.
He huffed out a sigh. “Look. I’m sorry I’m an asshole again. There are just some topics that aren’t up for discussion, like why I don’t compete anymore, got it?”
“Understood.” Her head bobbed up and down. When her head stopped moving, her gaze focused on the polished concrete floor.
“Look. I’d like a do-over, okay?” He tipped her chin up with the forefinger of his left hand. “I can be a jerk since my accident—and before you ask, I’d rather not talk about it. I haven’t always been this way. So, let’s do this. You get in the tub. Relax. I’ll go read or something.” More like jerk-off. “Then, I’ll take you home, all right?”
Her eyes grew wide and guileless. She lowered her gaze. “You can take a bath with me if you like.”
“Nah. Tubs aren’t my thing.”
Liar. He loved to soak after a long day, or after a workout. But usually, he removed his prosthesis. No way would he let Effie see his stump. Rejection coming from Trisha was one thing—to be rejected by this amazing woman would wreck him. If that happened, he didn’t think he could deal well.
She lifted her gaze toward him and frowned. “So, why do you have this incredible tub?”
He sidestepped the question by saying, “It came with the house.” After I designed it and paid to have it installed. “I’ll go take a shower. I’ve got another bathroom up here in the guest room. You take some space from me and my assholish behavior. I’ll be in a better mood when I return, okay?”
“You know,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “You’d do yourself a favor by not putting yourself down.”
His eyebrows raised. “And I’d do you a favor by not lashing out. We do what we do. I’m trying. So, goddess, have a good soak. I’ll leave a robe on the hook just inside the door. The bedroom is right there.”
He pointed to the door opposite from the one leading from the hall.
“Okay,” she said. “And thank you for thinking of me. I mean, buying my favorite tea, purchasing bath salts. I really appreciate your thoughtfulness. There’s a nice guy in there when he’s not lashing out.”
She looked so sweetly innocent, he wanted to take her in the bathroom. Just bend her over the soaking tub and insert my cock from behind. A wicked smile replaced his annoyed demeanor.
“What?” she said, inclining her head.
“Nothing. Have a good soak.” He pivoted and headed down the hall.
Once inside the guest bath, he peeled off his fake-arm and set it on the counter. One of his many doctors advised removing it for bathing and showering so he could clean the skin underneath. Before getting in the shower, he locked the door, just in case. While he scrubbed himself clean, he debated about having sex with her then sleeping with her in his embrace. No way would he remove his arm. No fucking way. He didn’t usually sleep in it, but he could deal. He debated turning the lights out, like a 1950’s virgin, but thought better of it. I’ll keep them low, though.
When he emerged from the bathroom, clean shaven and artificial-arm in place, his mood had improved. Jerking off in the shower had helped. Still naked, he retrieved a woman’s robe from the guest room. He’d had Mia purchase a few things in what he hoped was Effie’s size. Striding down the hall, robe in hand, his excitement began to grow at the thought of pleasuring all over this woman. He tapped on the door and cracked it. “Robe’s right here,” he said, hanging it on the hook. “I’ll be in the bedroom.”
“Oh,” she said, her forehead furrowing. “I thought you were taking me home.”
“I thought we could have a chat first,” he said, his cock stirring to life. Instead, he planned to change the sheets—something he neglected to do on a regular basis lately. And, also scheme on how he might get her to spend the night.
“Okay. I’ll be right there,” Effie said, her eyebrows still bunched together.
“Take your time,” he said. “I need a minute to clean up my room.” In the hall, he grabbed a set of sheets from the bottom shelf—they were nice, seldom used, still in good condition, and soft.
In his bedroom, he dimmed the lights to a soft glow. He removed the dirty linen from his king-sized platform bed and replaced it with the clean ones. He pitched the unwashed sheets in the laundry hamper in his closet and stood for a moment, surveying his room.
Yeah. It looks clean enough.
The bed frame and headboard had been upholstered with soft brown leather. Two simple Rosewood side stands, with leather tops, flanked the bed. A 72” television could be lowered from the ceiling if he didn’t feel like gazing at the city and water view.
He sat on the bed and rolled onto his back, plumping the pillows behind his head. He grabbed the remote and flipped on some washout beats on his music system. His cock had already stiffened in eager anticipation of the beauty about to get in bed with him. He kept his gaze trained on the doorway. A few seconds later, his wait was rewarded.
“Hi,” Effie said, stopping just before entering the room.
Mia had picked out the perfect robe. The pink silk clung to Effie’s curves, spilling along her body until it brushed the floor.
“Wow. You’re beautiful, Effie.”
“I don’t know about that. But, thank you,” she said, ducking her head. “It helps to be clean.” Her gaze lifted to scan his body. “And you’re…hard again.” She sucked in her breath.
He chuckled.
“All for you. Come here,” he said, patting the space next to him.
She shuffled toward the bed and perched at the edge.
“This isn’t part of the sugar baby contract,” he said.
“Right. I remember.” Her head jerked back slightly. “So, what are you doing, then?”
He swallowed. Maybe she doesn’t want me like I want her. “I thought you might want to…I mean, I find you extremely attractive. But, you read the contract. Sex is forbidden. If sex were a part of these sugar baby contracts, we’d be shut down in a heartbeat. That’s prostitution. Not that other members don’t engage. You don’t have to do this.” His breath stuck in his throat as he waited to hear her answer.
“I see.” She clutched her hands together and rubbed them.
“Well, it’s late. So, I can take you home or…” Desperation to have her near clawed at his insides. “Or, you can stay here. You’re not obligated to do anything with me except sleep. I can even sleep in the guest room if you like.”
She shook her head.
“No,” she whisper-croaked. She cleared her throat. “No. Don’t go. I want to sleep with you. If that’s what you want, that is,” she added.
“Very much.” He reined in the flash of annoyance and forgave her the “slip and slide” into asserting his needs before hers. “Lay down next to me. Robe off.”
She inhaled sharply and shrugged out of her silken robe. Then, she crawled over and tucked next to him.
He placed his arm around her, pulling her close. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? This cold thing?”
He tapped her arm with his bio-hand.
“It’s a part of you…so…no. It doesn’t bother me.”
He rolled to his side and studied her face. Innocent beauty radiated from every pore. It stirred him in ways he couldn’t fathom. He prayed it didn’t stir the poison inside—that sick behavior he’d been caught in when with Trisha. “You’ve got bewitching eyes.”
He brought his live hand across to stroke her cheek.
“I like your eyes, too.” Tentatively, she placed her hand on his ribcage.
Scooting closer, he rocked his hips until the tip of his cock nudged her thigh, leaking pre-cum on her leg. Then, he wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her close for a kiss.
She smelled like bath salts and heat, shy passion and acceptance.
He pressed soft butterfly kisses on her closed lips. His cock jerked from the contact.
She p
ulled him closer and parted her lips. Snuggling into him, her lips connected with his, sending a thrill through his groin. A sizzling current passed between their mouths. He flicked her tongue with his. The taste of her kicked any good sense he might have about restraining himself to the moon.
She yielded to him, matching his movement. Her moans sent sharp spikes of pleasure roaring through his system. Unable to hold back, he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He wanted her. He wanted to ride her until they both were obliterated into a throbbing, pulsating pool of pleasure. He longed to bury all the pain and heartache from his past by plunging inside her sex, losing himself in the feel of her juicy pleasure around his cock.
She sucked hard on his tongue, making him ache with pleasure. A soft moan escaped her throat. She threw her leg over his hip.
He pressed closer, pressing into her nest of blond curls. Kissing her had to be one of God’s greatest pleasures. He kissed her and kissed her until stoned with pleasure.
Her hips rocked toward his, tempting him to push inside her. She kept vocalizing moans and humming into his mouth.
Finally, he tore his mouth from hers and said, “Sit on my face. I want to make you come.”
Her face lit up like he’d given her the Taj Mahal. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Would you like that?”
“I honestly don’t know. I mean it looks fun. What do I do?”
“You mean you’ve never had a guy lick you out?” A surge of pleasure washed through him at the thought of giving her a new experience.
“I’ve explored it. But never a proper, um, licking out.” A nervous chuckle left her throat.
He rolled on his back and wiggled his fingers. “Straddle me. You can grip the headboard if you like. And I’ll make you feel really, really good.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth, stifling a smile. “Okay,” she said. “Are you sure? I don’t, like, taste weird or anything, do I?”
Her mom used to bring in scented “feminine odor reducing” products from GBS, with names like Island Sunrise, and “discretely” leave them in her bathroom. They were supposed to leave her feeling “clean and fresh,” since apparently her natural scent was deemed unsavory. She tried one once, but it made her all itchy inside.
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