“Iamsurprised. I’ve never seen you cook.”
“You come for sex and leave.”
“Fair point, but…” She looked at me with what I could have sworn was a tentative expression. “You cooked…for me…?”
Both the question and the slight hint of surprise in her tone caught me off guard. I cooked…with her in mind. So, technically speaking, I guess Ididcook for her.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I cooked for myself, and you just happened to be here to eat what I was going to save for leftovers?”
I could see her gears turning until she deemed my deflective question satisfactory enough and nodded. She peered at the stove again. “So…what did you make?”
“It’s a surprise,” I said as I turned to the stove, putting my back to her.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Well, that’s just too damn bad, now isn’t it?” I smirked when I heard her grumble.
She sniffed the air again. “It’s something tomato-based, that much I can tell. So, I’m guessing some kind of pasta dish…”
“Impressive.”
Ten minutes later, I set a plate in front of her at my smalldining table and poured her a glass of Pinot. She looked at the dish with both a critical and skeptical eye—tomato-braised chicken over a bed of pasta. “Chicken cacciatore?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “One of my personal favs.”
“It looks…decent. And smells…alright.”
I rolled my eyes as I took my seat. “We really need to work on your compliment skills.”
She chuckled as she picked up her fork, gathering a piece of chicken and a small bit of pasta on it before lifting it to her lips. Her eyes met mine, and I watched with a curious grin as she took the first bite. She chewed slowly, and I found myself slightly anxious as I awaited her reaction.
“Shit,” she whispered after swallowing. “That’s…it’s really good.”
I smirked. “Not only does this day mark the commemoration of our deal, but I’ll always remember it as the day I genuinely impressed Morgan Hayes.”
I’d always been a sucker for Italian food, and I learned over dinner that so was Morgan. It turned out that, much like myself, one of her weaknesses was anything pasta. And not to toot my own horn, but chicken cacciatore—which I always made with spaghetti—was kind of my specialty, and if the way she cleared her plate was any indication, I’d knocked it out of the damn park.
I took the plates to the sink once we finished, then leaned against the counter, waiting while Morgan finished up her second glass of wine. She set the almost empty glass on the table, her cheeks slightly flushed from what I assumed to be the alcohol while she rolled the stem between her thumb and forefinger and glanced up to meet my gaze.
It was utterly silent, almost like we suddenly didn’t knowwhat to do with ourselves. But as we looked at one another, I could feel my body stirring, the air between us crackling with a familiar potent mixture of desire and tension.
After only a few minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore and cleared my throat. “Dessert?”
Morgan nodded, shot up from her chair, and I yanked her to me, crashing my lips against hers as I guided her down the hall. Both of our shirts were gone before we made it to the bedroom, and my hands were already yanking open the button of her jeans.
I shoved her denim over her hips, and when I drew back while she stripped them off, that’s when I noticed the red lace of her matching bra and underwear. I thought her rose scent would be the death of me, but her inanythingred had jumped to the very top of that list and was sure to be my undoing. I was trying to maintain a modicum of self-control, but I wanted to fuckingdevourher already.
My hand curled around the back of her neck as I backed her against the wall, and my lips found hers again. I reached down, hooking a hand under her knee and lifting it to my waist. My other hand slipped between her legs, pulling the thin scrap of lace to the side and drawing a moan from her when my finger stroked against her clit.
“Poor thing. How long have you been this wet for me?” I teased with both my words and fingers.
She let out a frustrated breath from my teasing. “Wes, I swear to?—”
The threat died on her lips when I pushed two fingers inside of her, watching her mouth fall open with a moan as she arched her hips into my hand. “That’s it. Fuck my fingers.”
And she did.
She rolled her hips against my hand, my fingers pumping in and out of her as my thumb rubbed her clit. I brought her right to the edge, and when I could feel her starting to tip over it, evident by her ragged breaths and whimpers, I abruptly pulled my hand away with a smirk.
