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ect.”
“Let’s not. Let’s talk about Saint-Jean-de-Luz.”
“Leave it alone,” he warns, his tone going cold.
“Wow. Okay, that was a fast regression.” He lifts to hover above me, leans in to kiss me, and I turn my head.
“Don’t you dare think of denying me,” he growls, pulling my lip with his teeth.
“My, my, Frenchman, how demanding we are.”
He runs his erection along my thigh. “You called my name,” he murmurs, getting lost as he lines himself up with my entrance. “Fucking beautiful.”
“You’re just a gauntlet of emotions today.”
“I’m losing my fucking mind,” he narrows his eyes at me, “and you’re the reason.”
“Now I’m to blame?”
“Take it. Please take it,” he says softly. And I nod, just before I float away in his kiss.
“It’s vanilla.”
“It’s cinnamon,” I counter as he pulls the milk and eggs from the fridge.
“I hate cinnamon,” he grumbles.
“Hate is a strong word,” I argue as I start the coffee, grinding the beans for my new French press.
It’s become a morning ritual. He cooks for me, and I watch him while goading him for kicks. He stands in nothing but black boxers. His hair still damp from our shower. The bulge of his ridiculously thick thighs along with his impressive length and muscled ass strains the fabric where he stands only feet away. The sight of him tempting from any vantage point.
He woke me up this morning with my wrists secured in his hands, his head between my thighs. An apology for his day late return from a ‘business trip.’ I’d waited, restless, worried, especially with the image of his last injury fresh in my mind. He only spent two days away, but the wait felt like an eternity. And I endured it just for another stolen moment. With his wicked tongue, he apologized profusely until I’d verbally mouthed my forgiveness and only let me go when I shuddered beneath him.
Then he teased me mercilessly until I begged him to take me. And when he did, all playing ceased, our eyes locked, and he tore through me equally as starved. He kissed me with so much fervor, that I forgot myself, forgot that we were wrong.
In those minutes of his tender and apologetic lovemaking, as he hovered above me gripping the top of my mattress and thrusting into me like it was his birthright, I just knew, no other man in my life would ever know me so intimately, or could ever reach inside me the way Tobias has.
When we’re together, he makes it easy to forget the dangerous game we’re playing. To forget that we’ve been stealing selfish moments for the last three weeks. Three weeks that we’ve spent playing house in Roman’s mansion.
Being with him this way feels nothing like punishment. It’s been just the opposite, unparalleled bliss. I haven’t regretted a minute. Foolishly I’d tucked my heart away for safekeeping only to turn around and gamble the whole of it on a man I still can’t fully bring myself to trust, despite all his confessions. My heart is weary, and I will not fault it for being cautious.
But it’s not as if I have a choice. With Tobias, it was never a decision. He’s obliterated all my barriers save one, and in giving in, I’ve been thrust into a living dream.
My sensibilities have been warring lately as I toy with the idea of trying to trust him, because my heart can’t stop the free fall it started since the night he confessed the one thing he wanted is me, is us, and more selfish moments. And like him, I’m choosing daily to play ignorant to what that means.
We’re ignoring the cracks in the ground of our foundation, tap dancing over them while consistently giving in to the pull and getting lost in the other. We’re kinetic when we’re together, magnets drawn continuously to the other.
Since we’ve given in, I’ve memorized him. The faint mole on his cheek, the weight of him when he’s on top of me, the depth of his kiss, the curl of his tongue, his salty sense of humor, his quirks, his fetishes. He’s become an expert at gauging me, just as capable of goading me, of finding my buttons. He sees our similarities, because he studied his opponent, considered me an obstacle before setting himself free to indulge. And that’s the hardest part to get past. Because if some part of him still considers me business…
Yet, that’s damn near impossible to believe at this point. Inside Tobias, I’ve discovered the heart of a romantic. More than once, he’s surprised me with gestures fit for a queen. He’s spent endless hours while I work my shifts preparing multiple course French feasts and pairing them with wines before and after we dine to share in our place, another of our daily rituals. Days ago, we got caught in a storm in the clearing and made love through it.
He’d fed me his dizzying kisses as we lay in the grass drinking from each other’s skin. After, we stayed up until dawn, playing chess as he spoke to me about his favorite frequents in France. Sharing just enough to keep me intrigued but not enough to uncover the secrets he guards.
And therein lies the real problem.
He’s all but mastered my anatomy both inside and out. He quenches my desires while fueling my insides. But his greed doesn’t seem to be for my benefit alone. It’s as though he’s living out some of his thousand dreams with me.
It’s the idea that eventually we’re going to have to stop playing ignorant to what’s happening between us that keeps me on edge. I don’t want to find out once again that I’m the fool.
