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The cold air from the inside of the fridge startled me back into reality. The pickings were slim, mostly lunchmeat and beer, and that made sense if Colt had been waiting for Mom to do anything about it. She didn’t grocery shop on her good days, and she didn’t really care if she ate on her bad ones. I glanced at the wine rack in the corner and it was fully stocked. Colt must’ve been eating delivery food. I had no idea what they’d done because I’d mostly taken care of myself, eating while I was out of the house.
Groaning, I rested my head against the fridge door, then stared in bewilderment at the gas stove. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Shrugging, I grabbed out a carton of eggs and took it over to the counter beside the stove. I carefully unhooked a big pan from above the island, then put it on the stove. Feeling pretty proud, I searched the drawers until I had one of those flipper thingies in my hand. I turned the burner under the pan on low and flinched at the whoosh as the blue flames rushed to life, but when that didn’t seem to be working to get things hot enough, I nudged the heat to high.
I waited about five minutes, then cracked an egg into the pan. It sizzled so loud that I jumped back and dropped the shell into the pan, too, while my heart raced. Immediately it began to smoke. I tried to fish out the shell, but it was already sticking to the quickly curling egg whites.
“No, no, no, why?” I used the flipper to try to turn the egg, but it was stuck to the bottom and the air was starting to smell awful, so I lifted the whole pan and dumped it into the stainless steel sink. I tossed the flipper in afterward with a clatter.
“Ah! Why? How can eggs be so difficult?” I’d always thought an idiot could cook eggs, so I wasn’t sure what that meant for me. Of course, I’d never tried it before today. I turned the cold water on over the pan. The steam and sizzle were kind of scary. The flickering blue flames caught my eye. Oh, no! Could the stove get too hot and explode? Sometimes that happened to gas lines, right? That would be just my luck. I rushed over and turned off the burner while my heart tried to climb out of my throat.
“Okay, no more of that.” I pointed at the stove and the sink, where the pan was still sizzling a little. “Yikes.” I grabbed the carton of eggs and stuffed it back into the fridge. “You stay there,” I said sternly, as if the eggs were going to crawl out and go after me for hurting their cousins in such an atrocious manner. I slammed the door shut.
“He’s not going to be happy with this, but too bad. He can eat a sandwich,” I grumped to precisely no one because apparently “wives” cooked in the kitchen alone. I rolled my eyes and opened the fridge door again to drag out the sandwich stuff, which was plentiful, thank goodness. I found a bag of chips in the pantry and was kind of happy with myself when I added some to the plate with a turkey sandwich. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and took everything into the dining room, where I was surprised to find Colt waiting while he scrolled through his phone.
He raised a dark eyebrow in my direction, mouth thinning. “That’s dinner?”
Oh, he was going to judge me? He sat on his ass while I almost died in there, and he was going to have an opinion on it? Anger simmered low in my gut.
Colt slowly shook his head at me.
Embarrassment heated my cheeks as he ran his gaze up and down my body, disdain plain in his eyes, but oh well. If he didn’t like what I was wearing he could.... I didn’t want to think about what he could do. It probably wouldn’t be something good. I set the plate and beer down on the table in front of him.
He snagged me around the waist and dragged me down onto his lap, which I hadn’t been prepared for. I clung to his shoulders and was forcibly reminded of the way he’d used my body earlier. It was overwhelming, and wow, but I wanted more.
“Where’s your food?” He ran a hand along my side. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Shrugging, I sat up straighter, oddly ashamed that he’d manhandled me so easily, even though he was about four times my size. He’d slung me around more than once. I shoved at his chest, and he tapped my ass lightly, clearly a warning, so I stopped struggling.
“I don’t think I can eat,” I answered honestly. I’d been hungry earlier, but I was too wound up from all the upheaval of whatever was going on between us to attempt food.
He glanced at the plate, and I was also feeling kind of humiliated about the fact that a sandwich was about the peak of my skills, unless he wanted me to make him a cup of Swiss Miss or bring him another beer.
“What’s that smell?” he asked, frowning as he glanced in the direction of the kitchen.
“Nothing!” I flashed him a wide smile and snagged a potato chip from the plate, bringing it to his mouth. His eyebrows shot up as he took the bite from me and chewed, eyeballing me as he did. Prickles danced along my spine. Why was watching him eat hot?
“I like that,” he grumbled, rubbing his hand along my leg. I squirmed as he cupped my thigh high up near my groin and his thumb rested close to my crotch. I sucked in a breath. “Feed me.”
“Really? Is that a wife’s job, too?” I snarked.
He waggled his eyebrows. “Could be. Do you want that?”
I froze, shrugging noncommittally because I didn’t want to make him angry or give myself more work. He seemed satisfied with my nonanswer when I grabbed half the sandwich and held it out for him.
Colt didn’t rush through eating, much to my consternation. His hand kept sliding closer to my groin until he was toying with my dick while munching his food, and with everything that had happened earlier, it didn’t take long until I was hard and squirming on his lap. He didn’t mention what he was doing, and he played with me almost as if he was curious as much as anything else. He wrapped his hand around my cloth-covered wood and squeezed. Thankfully, I was feeding him the last of the chips because I dropped one and it skittered away on the floor intact—easier for my future cleaning duties.
“The beer,” he said, and I glanced back at the table.
Please jerk me off. Pretty please. There was no way I would beg, but it was difficult to think. Nodding, I grabbed the bottle and carefully tipped it to his mouth so he could drink.
He stared into my eyes while he toyed with my dick. Hell, for a straight man he knew how to tease me through my clothes. I was hoping he would tug down my pants and caress my cockhead with his bare fingers by the time he was drinking the last drops of the beer.
When I settled the bottle on the table, he lifted me off his lap, then slapped my ass, and I gasped at the sharp pain.
“What was that for?” I crossed my arms and glared. “I fed you!”
“Whatever mess you made in the kitchen—” He smirked, brown eyes full of mischief. “—I expect it to be cleaned up. Do you know how to cook? Maybe my new wife has no idea?” He tilted his head, being much nicer about the situation than I’d anticipated. A little bit of my panic dissipated.
“No,” I said with a laugh. “Not at all.”
