That’s what Joss needs. A plate of food he hasn’t cooked himself. Hasn’t thought about, planned, and tested until he’s sick to death of it.
I tug Joss away from the refrigerator and point at a stool. “Sit.”
“That an order?”
“If you like.” A smirk twists my lips. Whether it matters or not, fooling around with a dude is different. But this part is the same. The back and forth. The banter. Is it flirting? Would I make these jokes with Tanner?
Yeah. I would. I just wouldn’t need to turn away to disguise the effect it had on me. Because we’re friends. Not—
Not what?
Hell if I know. And Joss has meditated me into not worrying about it for a little while.
I find pasta and canned tomatoes in my bare kitchen cupboards. My mom’s spaghetti sauce has four ingredients and it’s not gourmet, but I know it’s good. I was raised on it.
Joss watches me work. Like me, he often forgets to turn lights on in the apartment, so the glow limning his face comes from the extractor hood. It makes his crooked half smile kind of ethereal, and I take a minute to wonder ifanyof it is real. If the mind-blowing pleasure we’ve shared is something my overactive imagination has cooked up.
I have no trouble picturing the worst things. Why not the best?
When the water boils, I add the spaghetti and give it a stir. I turn the heat down a little and let the noodles cook. Then I make the sauce, and watch that simmer too, hands braced on the counter, hunched over a little, deep in thought, despite my best intentions not to be.
I’m still shaking from what Joss did to me with his mouth. From taking him in my own. It’s not a tangible, visible sensation, but I feel it everywhere, as if my jaw is steady, but somewhere deep inside, my teeth are chattering like a motherfucker.
Joss steps up behind me. I close my eyes, breathing deep as he slides his arms around my waist, his face between my shoulder blades. I feel his cock pressed against me and I like it—Iwantit—and it doesn’t take much to make the leap and wonder if I want him inside me. Or if I want to be inside him.
If it matters.
I know it doesn’t, but I pull on that thread anyway and the conclusion is another surprise that isn’t really a surprise at all.
Joss digs his teeth into my back, a shock of delicious pain that makes me shudder and him groan. “You’re irresistible, you know that?”
“Nope.”
“Well, know it now. Believe me.”
“What are you resisting?”
“Lots of things.”
Something flexes between us, underscoring the realization still ricocheting around the huge space he’s carved out for himself in my life. “Why do you have to resist them?”
“Lots ofreasons.” Joss kisses the nape of my neck. I wait for him to pull back, but he doesn’t. He spins me around and claims my mouth, kissing me like a runaway train that can’t be stopped.
I drop the spatula I’m holding and grasp his hips, hauling him closer. I’m taller than him, but there’s somethin’ about us when we’re this close that makes him seem like a giant among men.
He’s so solid and strong.
So warm.
We kiss and grind together. I just came ten minutes ago, but I think I could come like this, kissing him, holding him, fuckin’ half riding him as he crowds me against the counter.
It’s a beautiful mess. I love it. Holy shit, I feel like I lovehim.
“Fuck.” Joss rips his mouth from mine and drops his head to my shoulder, panting. “I came over here to see if you have black pepper, not to bang you against the stove.”
It takes me a second to form words. Even then, they’re not the ones I mean. “I ain’t complaining.”
Joss makes a tortured sound. “If there’s one thing that can distract me from sex, it’s usually food. What are you doing to me, Tree Man? Are you some kind of warlock?”
