“Can we go back to making out now?”
He laughs, feeling better and lighter than he has in ages. “Fuck, yes.”
Alexander knows he’s probably being overdramatic, but kissing Eden is the best damn thing in the world. It was never like this with him and Bea. Not even for a second. With Bea, it was clinical and formulaic and rigid. But with Eden, he’s never been so gladly out of his element before.
Everything about her excites him to no end. He feels like a teenager because it’s only been two seconds into kissing her and he’s rock hard again. Eden seems to know this, deliberately rotating her hips against him to send pleasure flooding through his body.
He knows it’s too soon to do anything with her. He really likes her, and he doesn’t want to mess things up by moving too fast. But at the same time, Alexander desperately wants her out of her clothes, splayed out in front of him, ready for him to have like a starving man at an open buffet.
The anticipation is torture. It may very well be enough to kill him.
He can’t stop thinking about what she must look like underneath it all. Are her cute freckles exclusive to her cheeks, or are they hidden away like naughty little secrets, spread out across her skin like stars against the night sky? Where exactly will she allow him to leave love bites? Is that something she might be into? He pictures her covered in dull red marks on her breasts, the side of her neck, on each of her inner thighs.
He can’t wait to have her. But for now, he needs to be patient. For now, he needs to savor what he already has.
He has the gentle curve of the small of her back. He has the smell of her vanilla shampoo fully memorized. He has her lips on his, tender and sweet. He has her pulse racing and breathing uneven, her excitement electric enough that he can feel it in the air.
He wants this to last forever.
He should know he’s never that lucky.
Alexander’s phone goes off four times in quick succession, a series of incoming text alerts startling them both.
“Ignore it?” Eden mumbles against his lips, practically pleading.
“Can’t,” he replies, wholly apologetic as he checks his phone with a squint.
“Who is it?”
“Sebastian.”
The name is more effective than a sudden plunge into cold water. The mood is dead, kind of like the soulless creature living in Sebastian’s husk of a body.
“I have to get going,” he tells her softly.
“Are you sure you can’t stay a while longer?”
Alexander thinks she’s so sweet, she’s going to give his heart cavities.
“Unfortunately. He’s tightening his leash. If I don’t answer, I’ll be in deep shit.”
Eden nods slowly, wearing a gentle and understanding smile. “Okay.”
They readjust their clothes before Eden leads Alexander to the apartment door. They linger, giggling and smiling like children who’ve gotten away with something.
“Still helping me with the menu tomorrow?” he asks.
“Of course. I’ll see you then, chef.”
Alexander dips in one last time to kiss her chastely and—ah, crap—he can’t remember the last time he felt this happy to be anywhere and this sad to be leaving.
There’s something lovely about walking into the kitchen to find Alexander busy at work, diligently turning something over on the stove in front of him.
It’s his hands, she thinks. His big, strong hands and sturdy fingers that know exactly where to go and what to do. They’re mesmerizing. What she wouldn’t do to have his hands all over her—
We’re at work, Eden.
It’s truly a privilege to watch him cook. He’s facing away, but this gives Eden ample time to admire the expanse of his broad back. The back that she was pretty much clawing at last night.
