“Give me those,” he ordered, gently taking the chicken away from me. He placed the styrofoam package in the sink and scanned the kitchen before settling on a bowl filled with veggies I had purchased the day before.
“Do you know how to dice an onion?” he asked me, glancing over his shoulder. There was no snideness in his tone. He was genuinely asking me, which made me feel better about the fact that I wasn’t really sure if I did.
“Ithinkso? That’s when you chop ‘em real small, right?”
He nodded and tossed me an onion.
“Show me what you got.”
I pulled out a cutting board and got to work. He stopped me almost immediately.
“If you cut it like that, your eyes are going to be leaking all night,” he informed me. “This is the root, and it’s where that chemical that makes you tear up lives. The trick is to avoid cutting the root right off. Here…”
He sliced the onion in half and laid it face down before cutting off the end opposite the root. Making quick work of the peel, he passed the knife into the flesh of the onion horizontally, then vertically, cutting a grid into it. He did this all while pointedly avoiding cutting too close to the root.
“Now, you slice it like you normally would, and look, it cuts apart into a perfect, even dice.”
“Woah! That’s sweet!” I said, genuinely impressed. He’d reduced half of the onion to tiny pieces so quickly and efficiently. Usually, when I cut up veggies, I just attacked them without any rhyme or reason.
“Now you try,” he said, handing me the knife.
I nodded, taking the utensil from him and doing my best to mimic what he’d shown me. Everything was going well until I got to the part where I was supposed to slice.
“No, not like that; you’re going to chop your fingers off!” He barked, a tinge of alarm coloring his usually calm, even tone.
“What? Then how?—”
Suddenly, he was behind me, caging me in with his arms.
He lay each of his hands over mine, and I shivered as he rumbled instructions into my ear.
“Curl your fingers on your left hand… like this, so you don’t accidentally cut yourself,” he murmured, his hot breath sending sheets of goosebumps down the side of my neck.
“Now, run your knife through the onion; you don’t even need to take the tip off the cutting board; just use a rocking motion…”
I had a sudden visual of me using a rocking motion while grinding on top of him, and my dick swelled between my legs again.
“Focus, Finn,” he hummed in my ear, and I pretended not to notice the fact that he was so close that the tip of his nose was pressed into my hair.
I swallowed embarrassingly loudly, and I was sure he heard it. Powering forward, I tried to focus on the motion he was guiding my hand through.
“Good. Yeah, perfect. Just like that,” he murmured as I diced through the onion, my movements becoming more steady and confident with each swipe of the knife.
God. Why was everything he said so fucking hot?
We were cutting anonion,for Christ’s sake. It shouldn’t be turning me on this much!
He told me to stop a few inches before the root and stepped away. I felt cold, suddenly, missing the way his warm, hard body had been pressed up against mine.
“There. Now you know how to properly dice an onion. Let’s do a sweet pepper next, and then we’ll season the chicken. Did you buy any rice?” he asked, completely unaffected by what had just happened.
“Uhm. Yeah. In the cupboard over there.” I pointed, and he moved to retrieve it.
And this is how the rest of dinner prep went. Riddick teaching me new things while unintentionally turning me the fuck on.
Every time he touched me, my whole body reacted to him, and by the time we sat down at the table, I wasso tiredof being hard.
I could barely stand it anymore.
