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My dick was so. Fucking. Hard.
“Yes, Dr. Wilder.”
“You little—” He didn’t even bother to complete the sentence, yanking my boxer briefs down, bending me back over the sofa, and after rolling on another condom, he fucked me hard for the second time in the space of an hour,leaving me breathless and shaky-legged.
When we were both cleaned up again, I gingerly took a seat on one of the cushioned stools at the kitchen island, sore in the best way. He caught my wince and smirked at me.
“Feeling a little sore?”
“Well, you did fuck me twice in an hour, and your dick’s on the large side. I’m going to be feeling it tomorrow.”
“Good.” His smirk curved into a satisfied smile, but then he frowned, turning away from me and rummaging in one of the kitchen cupboards. He pulled out a small cardboard packet and slid it across the island to me. “Take two ibuprofen. It’ll help to ease any inflammation. You can…you can have a bath if you like. I’m sorry. I should’ve offered.”
Warmth spread through my chest as I opened the ibuprofen packet, popping two pills from the blister pack and swallowing them with the glass of water he’d placed in front of me. Having someone taking care of me after sex was new and definitely not unwelcome. I guess we were both going through a number of firsts today. “Thanks. I’ll be okay, though.”
“Alright.” He paused. “But…if you change your mind, you know where the bathroom is.” Killian’s expression had shuttered, and I knew that if he was feeling anything like I was, this weird level of domesticity we’d somehow slipped into had to be scaring him, at least a bit.
I nodded, keeping my tone light. “Come on, then. Impress me with your cooking skills. What are we having?”
He crossed to his fridge, examining the contents. “Any allergies? Any foods you dislike?”
“No, and no.”
“Good.” Pulling out ingredients, he assembled them on the island. “How competent are you in the kitchen?”
That raised brow he directed at me did things to me. “Excuse me, Dr. Wilder. I’ll have you know G taught me to cook at a very young age. I did a lot of the cooking for us until we moved out of our house, in fact.”
“Is that so? In that case, you can chop these peppers.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “If I’d known you were inviting me here to be your unpaid prep chef, I might’ve said no.”
His eyes lit up with amusement, and fucking hell, this man was doing things to me. Things I didn’t know how to deal with.
Placing down the kitchen knife he’d been holding, he rounded the island, coming up behind me and planting his hands on the counter on either side of my body, caging me in. He dipped his head to my ear. “I’d say you’ve been fairly compensated so far, wouldn’t you?”
Leaning back slightly so that my back pressed against his chest, I sighed again. “That was mutually beneficial. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t count.”
“Greedy boy,” he murmured, trailing his nose down the side of my cheek. “Always wanting more.”
Fuck, my dick was responding to him like I hadn’t just come twice in an hour. “You’re no better.”
One of his hands came up to cup my jaw, tilting my head to the side. His teeth nipped at the side of my throat, and then he kissed me. I shivered against him. “You’re the most tempting fucking thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of having in my flat, but how about an IOU? We both need to eat.”
The most tempting. I was feeling far too happy with all these firsts. Why was this so easy between us? It was so unexpected.
“I suppose that’ll do.” I twisted on the stool. “Kiss me, and then we’ll cook.”
Killian’s thumb stroked my jaw as his lips met mine, softly and far too quickly. When he stepped back, his pupils were blown wide, his gaze hungry, and I fucking ached for him.
“Don’t look at me like that, Joshua.” As if he wasn’t the one looking at me like he wanted to devour me. “We need to eat.”
When he was back on the other side of the island, I could breathe again, concentrating on the process of methodically cutting the peppers into long, even slices.
“You used to do a lot of the cooking?”
I glanced up at Killian. He had his back to me, tipping ingredients into a large wok on the hob. “Yeah. It was just the two of us, and I wanted to help my grandma. She was…unconventional, I guess, keeping odd hours and having friends over all the time. She let me invite mine, too. Our house was open to everyone. But when I was at school, obviously, I had to stick to a schedule, and so I did a lot of the cooking. I ate when I needed to eat, and I always made sure I cooked enough for her, too, so she could have it whenever it suited her. On Sunday mornings, she used to do a huge breakfast for everyone who’d stayed over, and those were probably my favourite times. We’d put on one of her old records, and she’d tell me wild stories—half of which had no basis in reality—and dance me around the kitchen in between cooking mounds of bacon and eggs and whatever else we had in the cupboards.”
“That sounds nice.” There was a note of wistfulness in Killian’s tone.
