A few hours later, I’m back in the living room. The sleeping part worked fine, but the releasingtension one did not work at all. I’m unable to get the job done, which is something I’ve never struggled with.
My pussy is on strike, demanding James, and she’s not open for discussion. Wonderful.
I look through the fridge and the pantry to gather all the ingredients I need. I also have to check if there’s enough meat left after James’ failed attempt. If I was cooking for myself only, it would be enough, but I’m pretty sure that I have to double my usual recipe. There is no way that he sustains his body on 2000 calories a day and I decide to make a separate lasagna just for him.
I don’t want to risk not getting anything, and apart from that, I can freeze any leftovers for him to reheat when he’s getting hungry. Maybe I should reheat them for him, because if I have to listen to that fire alarm one more time, I’m going to take care of it with a baseball bat.
The next grocery delivery is supposed to come in two days and for a second, I think about asking James to drive to the supermarket with me. Grocery shopping with him must be fun, but it’s probably better to save this for another occasion.
Instead, I order the ground beef I need and a few other things. Mainly snacks for James and ice cream for dessert.
I wonder if he knows that I’m the one who orders all those sweets for him and that it isn’t some kind of pleasant coincidence that the grocery deliveries look like we’re hosting birthday parties for kids. Kids who also use protein powder and smoke too much.
While I wait for the groceries to arrive, I chop up onions, celery, and carrots and throw them into a big pot. Not even half an hour after I placed my order, the doorbell rings and there is a reason I never have to wait long for my deliveries.
I tip generously, not only because it gets me my stuff faster, but because I also enjoy handing out my father’s money to people who deserve it more than he does.
The smell of roasting vegetables hits my nose and I dash back to the kitchen with the bags in my hands before something burns. I can’t go around and laugh at James for his cooking skills and then mess up during the first step of my recipe.
I put the groceries away and turn the temperature down slightly before I add the meat. I’m glad that I decided on a huge pot. No way this would have fit in the one I normally use. As soon as the meat is nicely browned, I pour broth and red wine into the pot.
A bit of red wine also ends up in a glass, because I deserve it after being nice enough to cook dinner.
The ragu needs to simmer for a while, so I take my glass of wine and walk over to the living room. James is nowhere to be seen, and I figure he must be in the home gym or in his room taking a nap.
The couch is a mess, and it’s obvious that he slept down here last night. The remote is squished between the cushions and I ask myself if he deliberately tried to hide it from me. A relaxed sigh leaves me as I flop down on the couch.
I’m getting old.
Since James isn’t down here to complain about my taste in TV shows, I continue the dating show I started to watch a few days ago. It catches my attention quickly and as the alarm on my phone beeps to remind me that I need to check up on the ragu, it feels like time flew by.
I also need to fill up my glass and it’s a good thing that it’s empty because I surely would have spilled wine all over me as I run into James. His broad figure looms in the kitchen, like a goddamn burglar, and I don’t get how a man with his size can move so silently. But I also have horrible spatial awareness and notice next to nothing when I’m focused, so maybe I am the problem.
He’s standing in front of the stove, his balaclava shovedup, a spoon in his hand. Looking at me like a kid who got caught with the hand in the cookie jar before he gets himself back under control. He stands up straight and lets the spoon fall into the sink with a clatter.
Shaking my head, I put my glass down. The smell that wafts through the house must have drawn him in, understandable because the ragu already smells heavenly.
“Just wanted to check if it has potential or if I need to order pizza.”
“How dare you,” I say with my best offended expression on my face.
“What’re you gonna do, punish me?” he asks in a low tone and before I can think of a clever comeback, he steps closer, trapping me between his body and the countertop behind me.
“Maybe,” I croak out, realizing that my lack of satisfaction isn’t good for my quick-wittedness. I want to punch myself for it because this right here is the exact opposite ofkeeping the upper hand.
Suddenly, James grabs me by my waist and lifts me up to sit on the counter as if I weigh nothing. With the way he’s leaning down, his face is way too close to mine. One wrong move from one of us and our lips will clash together and all hell will probably break loose.
It’s not that I don’t want to kiss him. Fuck, I want to kiss him until I’m out of breath—but something is holding me back. Deep down, I know a kiss would probably ruin me. Because it means more than stupidly jerking someone off on the couch, and James seems to sense that. Using it to his advantage, that asshole.
During the span from last night to now, he seems to have found his love for makingmeblush. I can’t hold it against him, because I am the one who tormented him for the past few days and I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t fun. It’s less fun when you’re the one who’s horny and being teased, though.
“I swear to God, James. Test my patience and I’m going to eat all of that alone. You won’t get a single bite.” I fail at sounding intimidating and the slight flush on my cheeks that’s just there because of the wine isn’t helping.
Not to mention the heat that builds in my stomach and rushes down straight between my legs. And if all of this isn’t already bad enough, James puts his hand on my cheek. There must be a gas leak in the house and I’m hallucinating. It is either that or karma.
“It’s cute when you try to be strict, darling.”
Holy shit, apparently two can play this game.
