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“Eat pineapple and drink pineapple juice today.”
“Why?”
“Because I love to swallow and pineapple makes your cum taste sweet.”
His bottom lip fell open. “Uhh …” Was all he could manage to say.
“Okay, bye. See you soon. I can’t wait for tonight.”
His dick twitched again and he groaned as he leaned over to open up the door, squishing his half-chub until a tear nearly sprung to his eye. “Yeah, me neither.”
***
Okay, full disclosure, the other reason he’d been putting off having sex with Rayma for so long, since it was now early March and they’d been seeing each other since the end of December, was because he knew she wasthe oneand he did not want to fuck things up with her.
He knew he wanted to marry this brash, sassy woman the moment she stood up to two of the biggest badasses he’d ever met on Christmas day.
Brock, a behemoth of a man with mountains of muscle and a perpetual scowl had extended an olive branch to his mother’s new beau by offering the head of the table to Grant. But Grant declined to say he was content sitting next to his woman. Brock also wanted to sit next to his wife, so it became an awkward Mexican standoff with everyone’s rumbling bellies wishing they’d just stow their extra reserves of testosterone so the rest of them could eat. But it was Rayma who actually spoke up, directed traffic, told them each to take their seats, then she took over Brock’s spot at the head of the table.
Jordan had kept his head down during most of the ordeal because he knew his smile would be too big and probably piss off Brock—who also happened to be his Sergeant’s husband. But his body jostled with mirth as Rayma chastised them all saying that just because she handed out a thousand turkey sandwiches to the homeless didn’t mean she ate any and was starving and tired of their bullshit.
He knew after that that Rayma was the woman for him.
He loved strong women with tough outer shells and tender hearts on the inside, and after watching her later with her nieces and nephews, then getting to know her over the last couple of months as his girlfriend, he knew she had the tenderest heart out there.
He also knew that as bossy as she was in life, she was desperate to relinquish that control in the bedroom. Just the few interactions they’d had where he asserted some dominance over her, he could see how much she loved complying. How much she relaxed when she knew he was in control and she didn’t have to think. When she felt safe.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t still a defiant brat, though.
That night in the restaurant when she grabbed him and kissed him was evidence enough. He hadn’t wanted to take things any further than a kiss, but when she came just from his fingers on her inner thigh, well, how could he deny either of them that pleasure?
With fresh sheets on his bed, the Puttanesca sauce simmering on the stove, and the perfect al dente pasta in the strainer, he put on some soft rock on his phone to drift softly from the surround speakers in his small apartment, then lit a couple of candles.
He’d never considered himself the most romantic person, had never gone this long dating a woman before taking her to bed, but there was something different about Rayma.
And it wasn’t just her age.
She wasn’t a virgin, he knew that. But he wanted their first time together to be special, not just a box to tick off. He’d enjoyed getting to know heroutsideof the bedroom. Because he knew it would help him uncover her preferencesinsidethe bedroom all the more.
A quick check at the time on the stove clock said it was 7:55. She would be here any minute. She’d probably show up waving her toothbrush around with a giant smile on her face. Or she’d be pissed off that he didn’t give her more warning because she couldn’t go and get waxed. Hair, no hair, he did not care.
A quick check on the garlic bread in the oven said it was done, so he pulled it out, but kept it covered in foil to stay warm. He had freshly grated parm, chopped parsley, garlic bread, pasta and sauce, a dark pinot noir—since he knew pinots were her favorite—and tiramisu for dessert. He would have liked to have made the dessert himself, but he just didn’t have time, so he swung into a popular bakery after he and Victor had lunch and bought the coffee-flavored dessert before the shop closed.
He had to keep a close eye on Victor since the man had a serious sweet tooth and had made more than one comment about how underrated ice cream was and that they should just eat the tiramisu when it was fresh and Jordan could just pick up some Ben & Jerry’s on his way home.
He glanced at the clock again. 7:58.
Why was he so nervous? His gut was in knots, the hair on his arms all tingly.
Had he made a mistake waiting this long? Had he put too much pressure on tonight and their first time?
What if he couldn’t get it up? What if he disappointed her?
Fuck.
Now he was overthinking things and that did not bode well for his prowess. If he was too much in his head, how could any blood get between his legs where it needed to be?
Bing! Bong!
