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Or it’s a trick—
I stamp down on that part of my mind, remembering the way he thrummed hotly against me.
I carry over our plates and cutlery, and then take a seat next to him. The table is so small that our legs touch beneath it, and I must be going pretty crazy because even that subtle contact sends shimmers up my thighs. They dance over my sex, still wet from our kiss, my clit pulsing and my womb screaming at me from within.
Why did you stop? Kiss him, fuck him, take every single drop of his seed he’s willing to give you.
“Jesus,” Markus says, closing his eyes for a moment after he’s swallowed his first mouthful. “This is incredible.”
Delight sparkles through me at the compliment, our eyes locking for a moment. Giddiness whelms within me as time seems to flit forward, and for a second it’s like we’re a couple sharing a meal, and maybe our children are asleep upstairs, safe and sound, and everything’s going to be okay, always …
Talk about getting ahead of yourself.
I bet he’d sprint straight out of the door if I shared any of those thoughts with him.
“Where did you learn to cook?” he says, after swallowing another mouthful.
Alarm blares through me at his question, but I find myself not wanting to lie to him, even if I should lie to him considering we hardly even know each other.
But it feels like we do.
Talk about making no freaking sense.
“Growing up, I guess,” I murmur.
“You guess?” he smirks, with a playful note in his voice, his eyes teasing with an undertone of pure beastly hunger.
“Growing up,” I say firmly, shooting him a sassy look, unable to stop myself.
Bantering with him just feels so sweet.
“It was my escape, in a way,” I go on. “Where I lived, we didn’t really have money for books. I love reading now. And once I got my library card, that was it, I was addicted. And my Kindle? That was like a drug to me. But that came much later. The library was far away and I could only go there so often. But what we did have was this whole collection of cookbooks. I sort of lost myself in those, dreaming up all the dishes I’d make one day. Then when I finally had a kitchen and a chance to try my hand at it, I realized I’d already learned a bunch of this stuff in my head. I made mistakes along the way – I still make mistakes – but I really care about improving. I want to be a head chef. One day. But I’m trying to be realistic about it, too.”
I break off, stunned that I just unloaded like that, I stare down at my food, I realize.
Markus reaches across and touches my chin, bringing my eyes to meet his. I shiver with the desire I felt when he kissed me, the almost unstoppable chorus of it rising inside of me, screaming, yearning.
“If this meal is anything to go by,” he growls, “you’re going to be an incredible chef.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We both go back to eating, Markus clearly loving the food, savoring the taste of it with each mouthful.
When his eyes swim like that, I can’t help but want them to swim for me, for them to fill with hunger when he strips me bare, covers every inch of me in kisses and bites, and then …
And then what? And then you try to compete with the women he’s been with before? Good luck with that.
“So you lived rurally growing up?” Markus asks.
“No,” I say. “Why?”
“Just the comment you made about living far away from the library.”
“Well, we sort of lived far away,” I murmur. “The library was technically only four miles away, but the city we lived in had terrible public transport and it wasn’t exactly the sort of place you want to walk around on your own, especially late at night.”
Markus nods, listening.
“It was an orphanage,” I say, shocked at myself for sharing this, for even speaking about this. “My parents died when I was five years old. I can’t even remember them. It was a house fire and I was the only one to survive because the door to my room was closed and kept the fire out long enough for the fire department to save me. Apparently, the dryer overheated and it just tore through the house and …”
I cough back a sob, the old sadness rising up with a vengeance and embarrassing tears start streaking down my cheeks. I try to push them away, knowing that this is the last thing I should be doing on a date, after a kiss, if I want him to keep being attracted to me.
But on and on, the tears come, punching sobs in the back of my throat.
