Shit.
I whip around, ready to bolt for the bathroom, but I don’t get two steps before Nick’s hand fists the back of my shirt and yanks me flush against him.
I crash into the hard wall of his chest, breathless.
His other hand slides between my thighs — bold, dirty — fingers slipping through the slick mess he left behind, gathering it like a prize.
I gasp, my knees threatening to buckle.
His voice is a low, wicked rasp in my ear.
“I told you I would learn what you liked. How does it feel to remember who you came with?”
Regret punches me square in the chest. I force the words out, even as my body throbs for him all over again.
“I told you that was a one-time thing. Now that we’ve got it out of our system, we can go back to pretending we like each other.”
Nick doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t move away.
He smirks — slow and sinful — then brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, savoring the taste of me with obscene, deliberate flicks of his tongue. His eyes gleam like a predator who’s just cornered his prey.
“I smell a liar.”
27
MELANIE
“You didn’t wake me up.”
I’m jostled awake from a deep sleep. Apparently, orgasms helped you sleep because I was having the best sleep of my life before Nick came upstairs—a very naked Nick. Well, almost naked. He was only wearing his boxers, and it should be illegal for a man to be this damn perfect. I tried not to gawk at the bulge in his pants but it was damn near impossible.
“What?” Rubbing my eye, I glanced over at the clock. It was ten minutes after two.
After I left the restaurant, he followed me shortly after in his truck, and I thought I had twenty minutes to spare because he usually doesn’t get home until eleven, but I didn’t. As soon as he walked through the door, he saw me pouring a drink. Within three strides he was knocking the glass out of my hand and bending me over, fucking me senseless. It all happened so fast, I didn’t have time to object. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. And it turns out I’m an alcoholic, but I'm no longer addicted to alcohol.
“Remember, grilled cheese sandwiches.”
I stared at him and I allowed myself one quick peek. Dear God, even soft, the man’s size is impressive.
“Oh, right.” I threw the sheets off me and followed him downstairs. Honestly, I wasn’t sure he would still want to make grilled cheese sandwiches anymore. Not after the line we just crossed. But who would have guessed grilled cheese sandwiches would be our therapy sessions we shared?
When I reached the kitchen, he was already cutting up some sourdough bread. I never met a man who could make a simple recipe into more. Every night, he’s been making a new type of grilled cheese sandwich, and I had to admit the man knew his stuff. I always became hypnotized as I watched him move in the kitchen like some type of ballet dancer. Every move is effortlessly and gracefully meticulous. It was mesmerizing, and his perfect chilled abs and toned butt helped keep it interesting.
“I can feel you staring at me.” He says, not looking at me.
Shit.
Embarrassed, I sat down and ignored his comment. I watched as he pulled a ripe tomato out of the refrigerator.
“Uh, what’s that?”
“Just trust me.”
“No, I told you I don't like tomatoes.”
“I knew you liked being bent over and fucked spontaneously so I’m sure you’ll like this. Besides, the tomato is sliced so thin you’ll barely know it is there. And if you can’t stomach it, then you can take it off.”
