Marry him!
He seems oblivious to my internal freak-out because he points toward the stairs. “There are four bedrooms upstairs. One is the primary with a bathroom and then one bathroom for the other three rooms.”
I peer up the stairs. “Now I’m even more curious,” I admit without looking at him.
Titus clearing his throat draws my attention back to him. His eyes dart upstairs and then back to me. Very interesting.
“Why do you keep looking up there?” I can’t help it; the question tumbles out of me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tries to deflect, but it falls flat. I narrow my eyes at him, but he doesn’t seem at all bothered by it. Not that I can blame him, I’m not exactly intimidating. “So, food?”
He moves toward the kitchen without waiting for me to answer. When I follow behind him, he glances at me over his shoulder.
“What?” He sounds surprised, “You don’t want to check everything out?”
“And miss my new favorite cooking show? Not a chance.”
I get comfortable at the island and tuck my hands under my chin while grinning eagerly at him. He huffs out a sound that might be a laugh and pulls open his fridge. It looks surprisingly well stocked.
I’m fucking mesmerized watching him grab ingredients. There’s something profoundly capable about his movements.
“I do have to feed myself,” his tone had an edge of defensiveness. “I’m not a complete moron when it comes to the kitchen.”
With my hands held up in surrender, I offer, “I just said I didn’t want to miss the show. Will you be putting on an apron? Will you be wearing anything under it?”
He grins at me. “I’m making sheet-pan kebobs. How’s that sound?”
I wave my hand over what he’s pulled together. “Please. I can’t wait to watch this.”
After grabbing a knife, he gives me a pointed look. “As long as you don’t start recording me or some shit.”
My head tips back as I laugh. “I would have thought you’d be into making a video,” I tease him.
He pauses, shoots me a heated look that goes straight to my hussy of a clit, and then starts cubing steak and cutting vegetables. “If you’re talking about a sex video, I would maybe be down for that.”
When he looks at me again, like he’s really thinking about it, my pussy clenches. One side of his mouth curls up slightly in a sneer and he shakes his head.
“Nope,” his voice is harsh, “I can’t allow it to even exist because everything is digital and that’s a messy as fuck thing to keep completely safe from hacking. I’m not willing to risk it,” he says decisively.
“I gotta say, this possessive thing is really working for me, Prez,” my voice might be sultry, it also might sound like I’m eating taffy.
The heated look Titus gives me is enough. More than enough.
I can’t tear my eyes away from his hands, the strength in them, the way he holds the knife steadily. Every cut he makes is precise. He even pulls out a selection of spices. And uses them.
Damn; his hands. There are a few callouses and tattoos on a few fingers.
Hand porn. It’s a real thing.
Fuck. I can barely look at the man’s forearms, which are on full display, for fear of combusting on the spot.
After he closes the door of the oven, he’s stalking around the island. He lifts me up while nudging the chair out of the way. When he steps between my legs, I loop my arms around his neck. It feels natural to stand here with him like this.
“It’s going to take a little while to cook,” he informs me, like I wasn’t watching his every movement with stalker-like intensity. I nod slowly, the closeness of his body to mine making it difficult to concentrate. “I could give you a tour right now,” he offers.
“You look like you have other ideas about how to spend the time,” I lob back at him.
Because he’s looking at me with hunger. Not just me, but his eyes are darting between meeting my gaze and my mouth.
