“Hi, room service?” Donovan kept going with the call. “We would like one of each entrée, and one of every dessert.”
I raised an eyebrow when he looked up.
Holding his hand over the receiver, he said, “This way we don’t waste time looking at the menu.”
I decided a glass of water was in order and poured myself a Pellegrino.
Now, Donovan padded toward me, phone call over, and he wrapped an arm around my waist from behind. “I shouldn’t want you as much as I do, but here we are,” he whispered in my ear.
“Don’t hurt me,” I whispered back, which was easier said while not looking at him. Somewhere deep inside, I knew the pain would be inevitable. My mind was screaminghis mom has an arrangement for him, while the heart beating in my chest simply didn’t care.
He didn’t saynever, orI won’t. He replied, “I don’t ever want to hurt you, Tulya.”
I craved him so badly, this was enough for me.
It was sometime in the middle of the afternoon, Donovan sat on the floor, still wearing his suit pants, dress shirt untucked, feet under the coffee table, with a half-eaten spread in front of him.
I’d stood up to get myself some more water but couldn’t help sneaking a glance at the man in front of me.
We’d laughed over the enormous amount of food he’d ordered and then devoured a bite of everything. It had been more fun than expected.
“I’ve never had a room service party before,” I admitted, showing another card I probably shouldn’t have. Messing around with Donovan was a game of high-stakes poker, and the house always won.
“Room service picnic,” he corrected.
“I like it.” I spoke freely, smiling. It was the first time I’d felt genuine happiness in a long while.
“This is really good,” Donovan said, pulling me into the present, helping himself to some more chicken paillard.
We were only eating, a basic function. I needed to stop getting ahead of myself. “It was, but I have to say I’m partial to that burger,” I joked while slipping next to him, our thighs touching on the floor.
“Have a bite.” He pointed to the plate with the ginormous cheeseburger and onion rings.
“I’m saving myself for that chocolate cake.”
“Are you now?” Donovan raised an eyebrow and reached for the plate with the molten lava cake, or whatever they called it.
“I love the way the center melts…”
He put a spoon in the middle of the confection and opened up the pastry, allowing the gooey sauce to run over the plate. Scooping up equal parts cake and chocolate lava, he brought the spoon to my mouth. Like a well-trained dog, I opened my mouth and bit down on the offering, a moan of unparalleled proportions coming from the back of my throat.
With watchful eyes, Donovan spoke. “That’s torture. Plain torture, watching you do that.”
He scooped a second bite and teased my lips with the spoon. My body obeyed, my tongue coming out to taste the goodness.
“You try,” I kind of mumbled.
“Are you sure?” he teased, one side of his mouth turning up in a smile.
I nodded, grabbing the spoon, filling it with chocolate lava and lifting it to his mouth. He took the bite with fervor.
It didn’t take him long to snatch the spoon back and set it on the coffee table, before yanking me close and taking me in a long kiss.
He slid us together to the carpet until we were lying side by side, our lips in a well-choreographed tango. His palms held on to my cheeks and his forehead lightly grazed mine.
“A chocolate kiss,” he grumbled into my mouth and my hips scooched closer to him.
We stayed like that for a while, kissing, grinding like two young fools, as if we didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Our breathing in sync, Donovan was the only oxygen I needed in this moment.
