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“Food and then...” But she drifts off.
I figure she’ll say what I’m thinking. Food and then fuck.
But she doesn’t. Or can’t. Won’t say it.
That same tone in her voice, that look on her face whenever that comes up.
Her big secret or whatever you want to call it.
Having heard my own little tale out loud, I don’t judge her for not telling me just yet.
She can tell me when she’s ready, whatever it is, big or small we can face it together.
Chapter Eleven
Becky
The food is great, I can just tell. And way better than paper sack leftovers.
I see at a glance from the neat, crisp beige boxes and foil trays with white card monogrammed lids that Dillon’s choice of take-out is on point.
Mostly though, I can tell from the fresh aroma of quality ingredients prepared with something I’ve never tasted since today.
Love.
The chef who made this has more than skill, they understand human needs as much as Dillon understands my need for him in a very different way.
The need for food, for nourishment versus the need for something bigger than all of us.
The need to have babies, to reproduce.
That’s what Dillon stirs deep within me, making me wonder if that’s what he really wants from all this or if it’s just the effect he has on me.
A man like him? He wouldn’t want to be tied down with a wife and kids. Would he?
This is no drive-thru service either, he makes me go into the restaurant with him, and speak with the cook who’s also manning the register in the pre-dawn light, he makes sure I order what I really want.
“My place is right around the corner,” Dillon smiles once we’re back in his truck, pulling his door closed after tucking me on my side.
The rain is still leaving little rivers on the windshield. The aromatic box of food making my thighs hot.
Leaving me time to think of everything that’s going to follow the food.
I’m dessert. But I just don’t know how far he wants this to go tonight…
Distracting myself with the cheese fries from the red and white checkered cardboard basket Dillon ordered. I have something to munch on for the ride home, as I cast my eyes over to him again.
Still unable to fully comprehend how the past day has panned out.
I want to worry about my apartment, all my stuff. But that’s all it is when I’m with Dillon. All my worldly possessions are nothing when I have the man himself right next to me, knowing he can grant my every need, my every desire with a single look or touch. With a simple movement of his hand.
“You still have money though?” I hear myself ask, groaning in apology as I squelch thin strips of cheese and potatoes between my jaws, offering him one by way of formal apology which he gladly accepts while keeping his keen eyes firmly on the road ahead.
His lips hold my fingertips again, driving a pulse of white heat straight between my legs.
Making me forget I even asked him anything.
“I have a month on several cards before repayments are due. Not everything went through the business or before the courts,” he says curling his lip in satisfaction.
“The house and my truck? That’s still under investigation but deemed necessary by the courts so I have a safe place to stay and means of getting to my court ordered means of income. The whole thing leading up to my job at the club,” he says, confiding in me like I know he hasn’t with anyone else, ever.
“I still have a few tricks up my sleeve though,” he adds. Shooting me a rare but full smile, showing his perfect rows of gleaming teeth that seem to dance in the rain-dappled night.
Catching the reflections of an endless spray of street lamps and the warm glow of his own truck’s dashboard, I study his mouth. His chin.
His eyes.
“You really are perfect, you know that?” I ask aloud, not meaning it to be a question for him.
He looks at me sidelong as I feel the truck slow.
“Here we are,” he announces, shifting my attention to the glossy black wrought iron gates swinging open in front of his truck.
“Home sweet home,” he sighs.
For now? I wonder, letting my eyes drift to the huge house set on at least a couple of acres of well-kept gardens with a fenced off area with shimmering blue light I just know is a huge swimming pool area.
“Forever,” he says firmly, reading my mind. Spelling out for me he has no intentions of letting his house nor his truck and livelihood slip out of his grasp.
How could he? He’s Dillon—
“What is your last name?” I ask, feeling my eyes grow wide, my mouth forming into an O shape as we pass through the huge gates.
Like the diner which was more like a high end restaurant, this house. The whole street. The neighborhood is on a side of town I’ve only heard about.
