“Really? You cooked? I mean, I—I didn’t know you cooked. Not that you couldn’t. There’s been lots of take-out and delivery.”
He brought her back to the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves, and began removing dishes from his fridge. “While my repertoire isn’t huge, last night, I did my best. Tonight, at Casa del Mar, you will feast on picadillo a la habanera con pollo, blackeye pea salad, and fresh mango paired with a bottle of white wine.”
Clarissa’s eyes were huge watching him place the aluminum foil-covered pan to reheat in his oven. “Wow. Sounds amazing, even though you lost me in the Spanish.”
“It's chicken, shredded, slow cooked with potato, tomatoes, wine, bell peppers, onion, and garlic served over rice. Casa del Mar is me.” He turned the oven to three hundred, channeling his mother. The dish literally meant shredded meat of Havanna.
“Casa del Mar? My very rusty high school Spanish suggests that’s house of the sea. Except there’s no seafood.” Clarissa, without being asked, got out plates and wine glasses.
“Right. House of the sea or ‘marine’ as in Dr. Marin.” He explained his name.
“Guess I’d better brush up on those skills in my free time.” She sounded defeated.
This wasn’t going how he’d planned the moment. He put his arms around her. “Lissa, when I was a resident, I was deployed and ate MREs, which is a step up from the hospital cafeteria food you survive on. Indulge me to pamper you with all four food groups.”
She relaxed into his arms. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“It’s the opposite. I might be your first boyfriend, but you’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to cook for,” he confessed. He’d made her the quintessential Cuban comfort food, as he’d imagined what he’d have wanted as a resident on the harder days.
Clarissa took a nip of his shoulder. “Fine. I’ve won the world. Tamed a cranky hot daddy anesthesia chief, who redecorated and is feeding me nice healthy food, including dessert.”
He dropped a kiss on her hair. “Oh, mango isn’t what we’re having for dessert.“
“Okay, Casa del Mar’s menu includes a serving of naughty sex.” She lay her hand on the top button of his dress shirt.
He dodged her hand and used a corkscrew on the bottle of wine. “I promised to feed you first. We don’t have to have sex every minute we’re together.”
She held up the cups for him to fill. “We could if you wanted. I’d be down with that.”
“Patience. Good things come to those who wait.” Her general deliciousness wasn’t going to derail him from feeding her a real meal. “Food first.”
She took a few sips from her glass as he plated their salads and mangos. “Definitely won the world.”
“Eat.” He handed her a fork and contented himself with holding her other hand.
Instead of eating, she rested her head on his shoulder. Her breathing became steady, assuring him his efforts were paying off.
He could imagine them doing this every night after a long day at the hospital. Sure, whipped and domesticated was fine with him.
Tranquil. Calm.
“Do you think you want to be a submissive for me?” she asked abruptly.
So much for calm. That made him sit straight up. “What?”
She was quite red at his reaction. “Um, when I talked to Lillian about the band, I think maybe her cop fiancé is submissive to her.”
Not what he had expected to hear. “And you determined that by?—?”
“She called him a bad boy and made him go stand in the corner,” Clarissa averted her eyes to focus on her wine. “Are you interested in doing that with me?”
In most cases, he wasn’t, as it didn’t appeal to his inherent machismo. Then again, if Clarissa was correct, Mr. Cop Fiancé wasn’t threatened. He’d guess Paramedic Amber and Dr. Salke would be down to try it too.
Besides, central to his enjoyment of Clarissa was being present for every moment of her sexual discovery. His cock tightened in agreement, loving the idea of exploring any kink she wanted.
He’d better reassure her because she was two seconds from withdrawing completely from him.
“Of course. I’m into anything that lets us play together.” He tickled her chin, encouraging her to expand on her ideas. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
