Why did that make my heart flutter? I need to calm down. This is just pretend, and this is just harmless flirting to get into character.
Alfie:Don’t eat. I’ve prepared something to practice for hosting.
I should tell him I’m right outside, but I’m enjoying this far too much. And the image of him feeding me something off a spoon whilst stroking my face is almost too delicious to ruin with reality. I’ve spent more time with Alfie in the last two weeks than in the last three years, and I’m afraid that my fantasy world is slipping into reality like a landslide. Barreling down the hill until the fantasy has moved from spoon-feeding to imagining myself on my knees as he pulls out his cock and feeds it to me in lieu of the actual dinner he cooked.
I need help.
I need serious help.
Me:What’s the recipe? And please note that what you say will depend on whether I say yes.
Alfie:It’s a surprise. Can’t give you a reason to back out now, can I?
Damn him. He’s making it so hard not to indulge my feelings for him.
Alfie:What time will you be here?
Double-texting, Dr. Adams? How very unchill of you. Maybe he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
Mia:I’m outside.
My boots crunch across the gravel driveway, the cool winter breeze nipping at my skin. I definitely should have worn a coat; my hands are freezing, and this sweater is a lot thinner than I thought.
I knock on the door, hopping from foot to foot, attempting to convince my body that it is warming up already. Alfie pulls open the door and the smell of oregano, basil and rich tomatoes hit me, my mouth watering instantly. Considering I was going to have a girl dinner consisting of cheese and crackers tonight, my stomach is doing happy flips.
Alfie stands barefoot, his normally knitted brows are relaxed, his full lips stretched into a smile when he sees me, his gaze dripping down my outfit.
“This is comfy?”
I look down at my body. I am wearing the same emerald green flowy skirt and a tight cami top tucked in as I was this morning, paired with black ankle boots. It is a casual kind of day for office attire as I don’t like wearing pencil skirts at the university. It makes me seem too formal and unapproachable tothe younger students. Plus, God forbid I had to bend down in a blouse, and they get an eyeful of my boobs.
“Uh, yeah, I came straight from class and I wasn’t sure how comfy you meant, but you’re in sweats.”
“I cooked a lot. I need the stretch.” He taps his stomach, and it makes that annoying solid sound, you know the type. Like someone slapping a bit of wood. Cue a swallow at the thought of him ripping off the plain white T-shirt he’s wearing to accompany the gray sweatpants. Or better yet, me tearing it off with my teeth.
I scoff and roll my eyes, causing him to chuckle, ushering me into the house and closing the door. Stepping into the entryway, warmth envelops me. Alfie heads past the stairs and down the hallway to the back of the house, which I presume is where the kitchen is. I glance quickly up the stairs. There’s a light on in one of the rooms causing a soft glow to warm the stairwell. Maybe it’s his bedroom light. Visions of a plush king size bed burn through my vision as I close my eyes to imagine what Dr. Alfie Adams’s bedroom would look like.
Swallowing hard, I step away from the temptation to find out and head to the kitchen.
“I put the wood burner on. I thought you might be cold.”
“Thanks, it’s only a few minutes, but I forgot about the long-ass driveway.”
“Hmm, you can borrow a coat when you go home.”
This is not a sleepover with my boss. Why am I even here? Because my feet may just fuse with the floor so I don’t have to leave. They’re ignoring my mental reminders that I will be going home. Not that I thought it would be anything different. Of course I know that. Will it help if I keep repeating it?
“Thanks, so what’s for dinner? It smells good. I never eat on a Wednesday, I’m always too tired.”
I slip my boots off, leaving my goofy penguin socks exposed.
“Cute.” He smiles, looking at my feet. Damn it, why am I getting so hot? “I made lasagna.”
My lips pull to the side; it’s one of my favorites. Surely that’s just a coincidence. Everyone loves lasagna.
“Sounds good. Can I help?”
“It would be good to look like we’ve cooked together for the dinner party.” He raises his eyebrows sternly.
