“What—?”I let go of his hair.His head falls to the rug.I scoot back onto his chest.
I’m confused.Free-floating.Then I’m horrified.
I don’t know what just happened.
Evander seems fine, though.Maybe even better than fine, since he’s laughing.Then guffawing.And his face looks wet.His eyelashes are wet.His neck is wet.A few droplets pool in the hollow of his throat and sparkle in the firelight.
“What just happened?What did I do to you?”
My mouth drops open.Every cell in my body tingles.I feel like my blood vessels are electrically charged.
“Are you all right, Evander?I’m so sorry!I don’t know what that was!”
While his guffaws die down, he wipes his eyes.He’s still chuckling when he looks up at me.I guess he’s no worse for the wear, since I’ve never seen such a triumphant grin on a man’s face.
He raises up on both his elbows, which causes me to slide down his chest and land on his hard stomach.He tips his head and scrutinizes me.“So that’s never happened before?”
“No!”
He nods.“Excellent.”
CHAPTER 33
Evander
I’m a patient man.
So I give Phoebe time to collect herself.I make her another mug of my special imitation hot chocolate electrolyte drink, since I’m back to being concerned about the risk of dehydration.But not due to hypothermia.
She just orgasmed so fucking hard all over me that she needs a refueling.
I grab a mug of water for myself and find that I can’t stop smiling.That was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.
And then I serve up this evening’s dinner menu to both of us—a can of green beans and the delicious ready-to-eat packages of turkey tetrazzini.
I watch Phoebe eat without enthusiasm.
“It’s pretty bad,” I admit.“What’s your favorite thing to eat?”
“Well, I love a good enchilada in mole sauce.Or fresh trout with lemon butter and herb sauce.Peaches right off the tree have always been a favorite—when the juice just rolls down your forearm.Nothing better than that.”
She sighs.“What’s your favorite meal of all time?Like your death-row-last-meal level of favorite?”
“You mean besides the one I just enjoyed when you sat on my face?”
Her spoon pauses in mid-air.Her eyes widen.
I take a moment to just appreciate her.She’s wearing my much-too-big sweater, her thick wool socks, and nothing else.She sits cross-legged in front of the fire, holding the cracked mug.The light has wrapped her in an aura of gold.
Phoebe’s the most captivating creature I’ve ever seen.
She recovers, trying to hide her smile.“How about your second favorite, then.”
“This line of questioning is cruel and unusual.”I shove my tarnished spoon into my turkey, if that’s really what it is.“But I’d have to say thepaellainL’Arrosseria Xatva Les Cortsin Barcelona.Or Mustafa’s Gemuse Kebab in Berlin.Or any of the great sushi restaurants of Tokyo or maybe thegambero rosso di Siciliaat theArmani Ristorantein Dubai.But nothing beats a Wagyu beef ribeye steak from Yosemite Ranch, since I try to avoid carbs whenever possible.”
She stares at me, blinking.
“I like food,” I say.
