Page 37 of Shattered Dreams

And for you, because you deserve everything you give to other people.

Including me.

Andre lets out a sigh. “This again? I told you, Paul, I don’t mind. Really, I—”

I look up at him between chopping and seasoning my chicken.

“And neither do I,” I say firmly. “Which is why you’re going to sit there and let me make you lunch, and you’re not going to say another word.”

Andre sighs again, and I can feel his gaze on me as I slide the chicken into the stockpot, the sizzle a loud hiss between us.

“Oh, stop fucking pouting,” I say as I give the chicken a toss.

I glance back to see Andre, hands across his chest, watching me intently. As I drain the pasta, my back to him, he speaks softly.

“At least tell me what you’re making.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not a chance.”

I have to stifle my laugh because he mumbles something under his breath, though I wish I knew what.

It doesn’t take long for me to finish cooking, since this recipe is relatively quick, which is why it’s one of my weekly staples. I usually make a big batch, then portion it out ahead of time and take it in for lunch during the school year.

“Bone app the teeth, or whatever you say.” I chuckle as I slide him a fresh bowl of steaming pasta.

Dre looks up at me as he grabs his fork and stabs a piece of chicken. Though I know he’s trying to look menacing, it only comes off petulant.

My stupid cock twitches, and I grunt out a sound of annoyance, adjusting myself as I turn around to grab my own bowl of pasta. If Dre notices, he doesn’t say anything, and for that I’m grateful.

A moment later, I take my seat across from him and we both dig in.

The melty shredded cheese, mixed with the creamy cottage cheese and spices instantly makes me groan.

“Fuck…” I mutter. “That hits the spot.”

Andre takes a bite, and almost immediately moans his praise.

“This is really good, Paul.”

“I know,” I say with a grin.

Dre shakes his head with a low laugh as he stabs another piece of chicken, and just like that, the tension, that agitation that existed between us momentarily is gone.

Though I move to clean up, Andre doesn’t let me; insisting it was the least he could do because I bamboozled him at the store and bullied him into letting me make lunch.

I relent, if only because my stupid cock is driving me crazy, and if I do not take care of this issue soon, I might literally go blind. Or insane.

So I excuse myself while Andre cleans up and make my way upstairs to the shower to take care of just that. Even though we’ve been sharing his bed, it feels weird to just use his bathroom.

I quickly undress, my cock bouncing freely once I’m fully naked. I blink as I grab it in my hand, realizing just how hard I actually am.

Shit.

I have no idea what the cause of this is, but I’m not about to ignore it because I need this.

My sex life has been non-existent since the divorce. And even though I’ve tried to maintain a schedule for myself—when I don’t have Maddox, obviously—sometimes it just feels like a chore. Other times, I just feel guilty because I miss being touched by another person. Kissed by another person. Cuddled in bed by another person.

The minute the water hits my skin, the relief is damn near palpable and I can’t help but close my eyes, letting the hot water sluice over me.