“Sure,” I say, turning and tending to the fire. I throw a few more logs on to get it warmer in here so her nipples stop showing through that damn shirt!
The theme music for theX-Filesplays, and I look up, rolling my eyes at the TV screen. “Anything but this. I can’t fucking stand the grays.”
“Oh, yeah, those guys are assholes.”
Okay, so we finally agree on something.
“How can you watch this?” I ask as the creepy intro continues. I can’t exactly tell her the truth about the gray aliens. Can’t tell her about all the sketchy shit they really got up to. Can’t tell her how many of our starships they hit and how many of theirs we blew to pieces. Can’t tell her that I nearly have a panic attack whenever I think about those gray bastards.
Virrindarians are not naturally aggressive. We’re protectors. But sometimes being a protector of what’s good means ridding the universe of what’s bad.
Doesn’t make it any easier to know you’ve been part of a war, responsible for killing and destroying other beings.
She bites her lip when David fucking Duchovny appears on screen talking some shit about how much he wants to believe in aliens.
I shake my head. I have no claim on her. She can drool over David Duchovny all she wants. “Whatever. Watch what you want.”
“I will.” She juts out her chin at me and somehow sticks out her tits at the same time.
Fuck, those nipples!
I let out a grunt of… what? Disapproval? Displeasure?
I stomp into my bedroom and rummage through my closet to find something for her to wear and realize it’s the complete opposite. All I have for her titsisapproval. All I feel when I think about them is my own fucking pleasure, and hers too. How good I could make her feel by rubbing those nipples between my fingers and thumbs, how it would feel to suck one into my mouth.
I throw an old zip-up hoodie in her direction and then disappear back into the kitchen.
The first sauce is ruined. Overcooked. But now that I have fresh tomatoes and a fresh bulb of garlic, I can make the sauce I’ve been dreaming about.
I try to get Clara’s nipples out of my mind and focus on chopping tomatoes, but it’s fucking difficult.
CHAPTER 5
Clara
Knox throws a gray zip-up hooded sweatshirt at me and then disappears into the kitchen again.
“Jerk,” I mumble. I’m about to pull the sweater on over my t-shirt, but it’s still damp. My jeans are even worse. I strip off everything except my black cotton thong and get cozy in his giant gray hoodie. It’s long enough to be a dress on me, and the fire is making this room so warm that my legs don’t feel cold at all.
I grip the sweater, pull it to my face and take a deep inhale of the scent of fresh laundry, a hint of smoke, pine and something woodsy and manly that I don’t think I’m fully prepared for. Is this what Knox smells like? Does he really smellthis fucking good?
I give up on theX-Files.Truth is, even though David Duchovny is a babe, it’s way too scary for me. I just didn’t want to admit that to Knox, who’s alothotter than David Duchovny, anyway. I go through the channels and eventually land on an old episode ofNorthern Exposure, one of my favorite old comfort shows.
I take a sip of the coffee that Knox made me, and it’s divine. Possibly the best coffee I’ve ever had.
When my cup is empty, I go in search of more.
“What is this coffee roast?” I ask, entering the kitchen.
“It’s the one you brought with my delivery a couple of weeks ago,” Knox says, his eyes still on the stove where he’s drizzling oil all over a pan of tomatoes and garlic.
Man, the way his large handsdrizzle! I have a sudden image of lying naked on his dining table as he drizzles oil over my breasts and then rubs it in.
I clear my throat. “You sure? I have that one at home and it never tastes that good.”
“I guess I’m just better at brewing coffee than you are.”
“Yeah. I guess so,” I say dryly. “Can I have some more, please?”
