His hands came up on either side of my head, caging me in against the shelf. His body pressed as close as my belly would allow. His eyes were locked on my mouth with laser focus.
“You don’t own me,” I said. But my voice came out way breathier than I’d intended because having him this close was doing things to my traitorous body.
“I know I do not own you. But you own me completely. And the thought of another male touching you makes me want to burn this entire building to the ground and salt the earth.”
He leaned down with the very clear intention to kiss me. Maybe the jealousy skit had gone too far, but I’d missed him. Missed the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the entire world that mattered.
So I closed my eyes and tilted my head enough that he could kiss me.
His mouth was gentle at first, almost cautious. Then it turned demanding. His tongue swept against mine and I melted into him like I had no self-control whatsoever. Heat pooled low in my belly. My hands fisted in his shirt without my permission. I made a noise that was embarrassingly needy.
He groaned against my mouth and pressed closer. I felt him hard against my hip and satisfaction rushed through me.
Excellent. This was better than jealousy. Let him suffer.
I pushed against his chest and stepped away. Smoothed down my sweater. Started pushing the cart again like absolutely nothing had happened.
“We still need milk,” I said casually.
He stood there for a long moment looking completely dazed and disoriented. Then he adjusted himself and followed me. I glanced down and had to bite my lip hard to keep from smiling at the very obvious problem he was having in his jeans.
I really hoped he was suffering as much as I was. Probably more, actually.
We checked out and drove home in loaded silence. He kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat. I kept my eyes on the road and pretended not to notice his discomfort.
Back at the apartment, he insisted on carrying all the bags inside despite my protests.
“You need to rest and conserve energy. I will handle the physical labor.”
“I’m pregnant, not dying.”
“You are carrying precious cargo. Our pup. Let me provide for you both.”
I rolled my eyes but let him have his way because arguing was exhausting. He started unpacking groceries and putting them away following my guidance. Then he turned to me with determination written all over his face.
“I want to cook dinner tonight. Put my newly acquired skills to use.”
I looked at him skeptically. “Your cooking skills.”
“Yes. I am ready to prepare a proper meal for you.”
“Mal, I really don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Please. Let me do this.” His expression was so earnest and hopeful. “I want to take care of you. Provide for you. Show you I can be useful in human ways.”
Against my better judgment and all my survival instincts, I nodded. “Fine. Don’t burn my kitchen down.”
“I will be extremely careful. I promise on my honor.”
He started pulling out ingredients and actually looked like he knew what he was doing. Looked at them with focus. Began prepping vegetables with surprising competence and proper knife technique.
Maybe the chef had actually taught him something useful.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I announced. “Try not to destroy anything while I’m gone.”
“I will not. Enjoy your shower, little mate.”
I headed to the bathroom and started the water, letting it heat up while I peeled off my clothes. My body was sore and swollen and I desperately needed this shower.
