He’s the only one I’ve found myself fantasizing about. The only one who fills my thoughts when my mind is left to wander. I think about doing things with him that I didn’t even know I wanted to do. But I’m not scared. I’m not being bullied. He has no power or influence over me that could be used for nefarious purposes. I mean, except maybe his insane good looks, but he doesn’t even wield them as a weapon.
I’m attracted to him. And more than that, I have feelings for him. Some would say strong feelings for him.
Okay, fine. All would say that.
I’m pretty morose by the time I leave the bathroom. I drag my feet through overly plush carpet and hurry past Roe’s room for fear of further pity. But something snags my attention. Roe.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. His elbows are on his knees, hands clasped, head down. It’s almost like he’s praying. His entire room is lit up with dozens of candles. When I pause near the entrance, he shoots off the bed like he’s been waiting for me.
“What’s with the fire hazard?” My voice comes out soft, despite the teasing.
“I know, it’s silly.” He runs a hand through his wet hair. He’s shirtless in jeans. Freshly showered. The fine soap he uses fills the air. His toes wiggle in the carpet.
I’m still only wrapped in a towel. And I’m very aware of that fact. I clench it tighter, worried it might try to jump off my body and make a fool of me. I take a step back, but he raises a hand.
“I just thought…”
He steps toward me. His movements are confident and lithe. It’s hard not to study his form like fine art. He looks up at me through come-hither eyebrows.
“…It might be nice for when you show me all the places you think about being touched.”
27
Roe
“Yes. Like that.”Maggie smiles at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Perfect.”
I bite my lip and study her every movement. She groans in delight.
“Mmm, nice.”
“The trick is to wait until the bubbles break through from the other side.”
Maggie’s making me pancakes. This must be what contented happiness feels like. Pancakes on a lazy Sunday morning, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. My eyes roam her body hungrily. She pauses in her explanation to look at me.
“Are you listening? This is important. Everybody should know how to make pancakes.”
My chin rests in my palm as she flits comfortably around my kitchen. I replay some of the highlights from the night before: how sweet her nipple tasted in my mouth, how warm and wet she was as I slid a finger into her, how her scent wrapped around me. It’s forever and officially my favorite.
“You’re so not listening.” She leans over the kitchen island and gives me a soft kiss. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
I’m half a breath away from sighing like a Disney princess—smitten. And yes, I’m comfortable enough with my masculinity to say smitten.
She pulls back but I stop her. Once again I kiss her, only this time I delve in to explore her mouth. Our kissing quickly goes from Disney to HBO. It is my life’s duty to kiss her as often as possible.
“Not cute enough to burn food for,” she mumbles against my mouth before going back to the stove. “How many do you want?”
“Whatever.” My voice is rusty from misuse. You’d think our evening of exploring each other would have led to some relief, but nah. I’m spent but not sated. Last night was all about discovering what Maggie likes. And I liked that very much. Now, I’m free to imagine all the things I wouldn’t allow myself before. All the different things we can try together.
I can’t think about a time when I’m not around her. It unsettles me. Things have moved fast since I met her, especially my feelings. But I’m not ready to analyze that.
She sets a fat stack of carbohydrates in front of me. Butter melts on top of perfectly golden-brown pancakes, dripping syrup down the side. It’s like a commercial. My stomach growls loudly. The fork shakes in my hand as it moves through the sugary calories. I hate wasting food. I cannot waste food but I can’t eat this. I haven’t earned it. All the bliss of a moment ago evaporates.
Little progress has been made with the factory. If I start celebrating it’s as good as saying I’ve stopped caring. No. There is still too much work to be done. I push the plate away.
Maggie grabs my fork from my hand and uses it to take a bite as she wiggles her ass into my crotch. I’m momentarily distracted again as I wrap my arm around her waist and nuzzle into her delicious-smelling neck.
“What’s wrong? Are they not cooked all the way through?” She takes a big bite and her tongue comes out to lick some syrup from her chin. “They’re perfect,” she says around a mouthful.
