Chapter Sixteen
Now
After Christopher removes my glasses and sets them on the counter, he has me stand next to him while he cooks our dinner. He mostly keeps his left hand on me, cupped around the back of my neck, or his arm draped around my waist, holding me against his body.
Pulling me close so he can kiss me.
He doesn’t say I can’t touch him, so I do. Apparently, the factthat my cock is hard and dripping all over his jeans doesn’t bother him in the least, either. Before dinner is ready, I’m grinding against him, holding on to him, draped around him.
Basking in the warmth radiating from his body.
With his left hand splayed over my ass, his fingers dig into my cheeks and I remember our last night together, indelible in my mind, just like that whole week.
I slidemy hands up under his T-shirt, over the hard planes of his abs. He helps me remove his shirt, shrugging it off and tossing it onto the floor to join my sleep pants. I don’t know how he managed to get the pasta drained because we were too busy kissing for me to see him do it.
I mean, seriously sucking face, every kiss growing a little more urgent. He cups the back of my head and holds me in placeto deeply kiss me.
“We have to eat, baby,” he hoarsely says when he draws his head back enough to speak.
“Why?” As good as dinner smells, I don’t want to eat.
I wantHim.
The chuckle rumbles from him. “Because we’re gonnaneedit.” He slants his mouth over mine again, possessive, demanding, and I want it all. The rasp of stubble against my face, even against the week’s worth of scruff I sport,brings memories back to sharp, clear focus, memories I never thought I’d get to revisit in flesh.
This is better. Sooo much better.
The parched desert of my life is once again awash in rain and lush, sweet growth as his kisses quench my aching thirst.
Reaching down, he wraps his fingers around my cock, his thumb playing over the head and smearing pre-cum all over. I moan and try to fuck hishand, but he lets go. With his gaze locked on mine, he brings his thumb up to his mouth and sucks it clean, the meaning clear.
I’m on tonight’s menu.
Something else missing from my life—the passion, the intensity of what we had. Obviously it wasn’t a fluke, because it’s back, right now, thick and swirling through the air as if it were a hidden aromatic ingredient in the dinner he’s preparedfor us.
Belatedly, the fact that he’s concerned enough about me to actually cook me dinner smacks me in the face.
He plates our dinner and hands me mine. Then he pulls two beers from my fridge that weren’t there before his arrival, and he twists the tops off with his bare hands before handing me my bottle.
As stupid as this might sound, my heart skips another beat. I’m reminded how tough thisman is. Yes, he’s got grey in his hair, more lines on his face, a few scars I don’t remember seeing before. He’s spent over twenty years as a Secret Service agent, which requires a bare minimum of physicality.
If he’s worked the Presidential Protective Division, it requires a grueling training and qualification regimen to stay on The Shift. If someone’s in PPD but not usually directly protectingPOTUS all the time, their regimen is a little less grueling, but still tough.
There’s a reason you never see a fat Secret Service agent protecting POTUS. I don’t know about their office and support staff, but the men and women tasked with protective duties have to be elite athletes in many ways—tough, fast, hard.
He clinks bottles with me and meets my gaze. His low, hoarse whisper shreds mysoul. “Love of my life.”
Tears well, unbidden, and I lean in to kiss him before he can take a drink. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’ve always loved you, too. I’m sorry I wasted that time between us. I’ll take whatever you dish out to prove I’m not going anywhere.”
His smile holds no humor. “Remember that promise, baby. Because Iwillhold you to it.” He takes a swallow of his beer, picks up his plateand silverware, and heads to my living room.
* * * *
After dinner, I volunteer to clean up the kitchen. While I do that, Chris walks out to my lanai. I hear a splash a moment later and I look up just to see he’s stripped and jumped in naked. Now he’s swimming laps.
An eight-foot privacy fence surrounds my backyard, plus it’s now dark, so that’s not the issue.
My wanting to be in the pool withhim instead of stuck in my kitchen is the issue. Except I don’t want to have to get up in the morning to wash dishes.
