"Food? No. Wine, yes." He takes both of our plates over to the sink.
"Are you sure you want more wine?"
"Are you going to be my daddy now too?" He sucks in an audible breath. "You want to shake your head at me, don't you?" I can't fight a smile.
"But I didn't." He grabs the bottle of wine and pours me another glass before going to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water to sit next to it. "Truly, I'll be a good husband to you if you let me."
Even sitting in one of the high-top chairs at the kitchen island, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"Do you think you've been a good husband thus far?" He glances away from me and then back, seeming to contemplate my words. I swear if he says he has, I might lose it.
"I thought I was doing what was right."
His words surprise me. "Is it what you wanted to do?"
"Personally?" I nod. "No." Right. Of course he hadn't wanted to get married to me. He was forced into it.
"I wanted to be your wife," I tell him. "But you knew that, didn't you? I always had a crush on you." I lick my lips, and his eyes drop there. "Back then," I add for my own pride.
"But you no longer have a crush on me?" I shake my head no. What I have is far past a crush. He reaches over and grips my chin, moving in closer to me.
"I'm your wife. We have passed crushes and me being a silly girl."
A whisper of a smile appears. "I enjoyed when you were silly, always full of light."
"And you were always cold."
"To you?"
"I suppose not back then. When I was younger."
"I promise you, Truly, that when it comes to you, I'm far from cold." This I believe. He'd been pissed today in his office.
“You’re angry when it comes to me.”
“Yes, I am angry about how things have played out. It’s not ideal.”
“Ideal.” I roll my eyes. His hold on my chin tightens.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he tells me. I’m sure my eyes widen in surprise at that.
“Why?” I ask because this has taken a sudden turn that I was not expecting.
“Because I’ve been dying to know what you taste like.” He’s slow as he leans down, giving me the chance to pull away, but I don’t.
I want him to kiss me, and tomorrow I’ll blame it on the wine. This sounds like a perfectly good plan.
A groan leaves him the second his mouth meets mine. I let my eyes fall closed, wanting to feel every part of this kiss. How long have I craved to know what it would be like the first time he kissed me? My imagination couldn’t even have dreamt up what it feels like in reality.
I part my lips when his tongue slides along the seam of them. Blake hungrily takes the opening, deepening the kiss. His hand tangles into my hair, and he gives a small tug to tilt my head back farther so he can deepen the kiss even more.
I moan into his mouth as he devours mine like a man that has been dying to do so. I want more, my body starting to throb. I’ve waited so long for this.
“Blake,” I whisper. He pulls back, pressing his forehead to mine, both of us breathing heavily. Then he brushes his lips to mine gently one last time before stepping back.
“The bed is yours,” he tells me. I watch as he heads toward the door.
“You’re leaving?”
