“I would say I’m sorry I didn’t prepare any bread for you this week, but that would be a lie,” I drawl, leaning back in my chair to properly appreciate the view of Beck bending down to pop the tins in the oven.
Looking at me over his shoulder, Beck asks, “Why’s that?”
“Because I think your bread is better. And I like watching you.” A month ago, I would never have thought to share my thoughts so brazenly, but seeing the joy Beck gets from my unfiltered honesty only spurs me on.
“You really like my bread?” Beck asks, stalking toward me with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I tilt my head back to meet his gaze, my mouth also quirking up. “Would I lie to you?”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Beck answers as he cups my face with my one hand, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.
It gives me great satisfaction that he knows that I wouldn’t. Having his trust means so much to me.
Beck smiles down at me, his tone completely sincere as he says, “I can’t give you a list of everything I like about you, because I don’t think we’d have enough time. It’s practically endless.”
“Aren’t you the charmer?” I tease, leaning into his hand.
Beck tilts his head to the side. “Is that a good thing?”
I nod and place my hands on his hips, relishing how good it feels to touch him so freely. “For me, yes.”
“Then, I’ll try to charm you some more. But first, do you want to play some chess while we wait for dinner?” Beck asks, the offer of a familiar game a welcome suggestion to break all the sexual tension brewing between us.
“I’d love to. I might be a bit rusty, but I think I can still beat you.” Maybe a little friendly competition would help me think with my head and not my pussy. Surely chess can’t turn sexy.
“You can try,” Beck says, his tone holding a challenge as he heads over to the gaming cupboard. “Our last match didn’t end well for you.”
I cross my arms over my chess, pretending to sulk. “We were twelve. I dare say I’ve gotten better over the years.”
“So have I.” Beck gives me a cocky look as he sits down opposite me and starts arranging the pieces on the board.
My breath hitches at the confidence in his tone, sending a bolt of lust straight to my pussy. It feels like Beck’s implying he’s good at other things too. Judging by the way he’s kissed me, I’d wager to say that’s very true.
Feeling bold, I throw down my own challenge, “What should we make the winner’s reward?”
Beck shrugs. “Anything they want.”
I think on that for a second, then suggest, “How about the winner picks where they sleep tonight?”
Looking up, Beck pauses with the white queen in his hand, his brows drawn together. “What do you mean? Where else would you want to sleep?”
I reach forward and lay a comforting hand on Beck’s forearm, not wanting him to think I have plans to be anywhere else but here with him. “I mean, the winner can choose to sleep on the couch or the bed tonight.”
Eyes flitting between mine, I see a thousand thoughts pass through Beck’s head before he finally settles on a neutral response. “I guess that’s fair.”
Beck finishes up setting up the game for us and soon we’re lost in strategies, trying to predict the other’s next move, all while our legs remain intertwined under the table.
Beck lays a hand on my thigh, not in an overtly sexual way, but his soft caresses have me squirming in my seat. My mind strays from the game and to other fantasies about what those hands can do, my pussy getting wetter with each minute that passes.
Feeling like two can play at this game, I clear my throat and reach up to get the pins holding my slicked-back bun together. Beck’s mouth gapes open as he watches me undo my hair, and I may put on a little show of shaking it out, letting the long locks fall down my back.
“That’s unfair,” Beck almost pants, his hand tightening on my thigh as his eyes roam over me.
“What’s unfair?” I ask, playing innocent as I card my fingers through my hair, hoping they don’t snag on a knot and make me lose the sexy vibe I’m trying to exude.
Beck pauses mid move, scales fluttering all over his body. “You know how much I like your hair. I’m going to keep staring at it and then I can’t focus on the game.”
“That sounds like a terrible problem to have,” I joke with a fake pout.
