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Driving down Route 12 at sunset might be one of my favorite things about living in Sonoma. Fields of grape vines fly by, the fruit already picked for the year. The golden sunlight hits the hillsides at long angles, casting shadows and illuminated arcs of green grass and trees. It’s nothing short of magical.
By the time we get back to my house I’ve formulated a plan and, I have to admit, I’m feeling pretty smug about it.
The second we step inside the front door, I grab a fistful of Mateo’s shirt, pulling him toward the couch. He shuts the door behind him, a devastatingly handsome half smile lifting one side of his lips. I lick my lips, looking up at him through my lashes, and crook a finger at him so he’ll come willingly.
When I’ve got him where I want him, I wrap a hand around his neck, coaxing him to lower his face and kiss me. It’s almost too easy and maybe I should feel guilty… Nah. I run my hands down his chest and unbuckle his belt. Unzipping his fly, I get his pants halfway down his thighs before peeking up at him.
“Sit down,” I whisper against his lips. Oh, man. I am going to get it later for teasing him like this. I place a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto the couch gently. I drop in front of him, taking his shoes before pulling his pants down his legs.
Any guilt I might have felt over tricking him evaporates when I see his knee. It’svisiblyswollen. No wonder it fucking hurt.
“Wait here,” I say in a breathy voice. I give him a little wink and, for a brief second, I worry that might have been a bridge too far, but Mateo hasn’t caught on yet. I go to my kitchen, digging in my freezer for the ice wrap I keep for emergencies. Grabbing a clean hand towel, a bottle of water, and two ibuprofen, I head back into the living room.
Mateo gives me an adorable puzzled look as I approach him with the ice pack, but then it clicks. A smile creeps over his face as he shakes his head.
I lean close, brushing my lips over his as I whisper, “Never bullshit a nurse about pain.”
Mateo chuckles as I drop in front of him. “This isn’t exactly how I’d hoped to see you on your knees,” he jokes.
I wink up at him, handing him the bottle of water and the ibuprofen. “Well, maybe if you’re a very good patient, I’ll find another reason to stay down here.”
He shudders as my fingers brush over his surgical scars. If I had to guess, I’d put money on multiple pins, maybe even a plate. The thought of him going through that with no one by his side makes me physically hurt.
“You don’t have to take care of me. I’m fine.”
That sends my eyebrows straight through the roof. “Really? The same way you didn’t have to stay when I told you about Grimaldi?”
He shrugs but doesn’t have an argument for that.
“Iwantto take care of you. So just let me. It’s not a personal failing to need an ice pack here and there.”
He grunts at me, but otherwise cooperates. Pulling the coffee table closer, I prop his leg up on it with a pillow off the sofa. I take my time, wrapping the ice pack around his knee, getting it situated just right.
“There. Fifteen minutes on, elevate for an hour.”
Sitting next to him on the couch, I snuggle into his side. Mateo wraps an arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head. I lean into him, loving the way he feels. He smells a little like me after using my shampoo and body wash, but that woodsy undercurrent still pulls at me.
“Pick a movie,” I say, handing him the remote. He scrolls through Netflix while I pull up the delivery app on my phone and quick-order some Chinese, smiling to myself when I click on the crispy pork that he always loved.
* * *
Mateo and I spend the next two days in a bubble of our own making. Surprising no one, “lying low” is a lot more pleasant when you get to do it with six-feet-five-inches of sexy-as-sin man candy. Bonus points if he insists on making you come at least three times before letting you stumble all wobbly legged to the shower before making you breakfast.
We hole up in my house like a pair of hermits. Actually, sex starved rabbits who talk to each other while they wait out the refractory period might be more accurate.
It’s like one long, never ending date. Mateo tells me stories about his combat buddies, the pranks they played on each other, how he hustled them at poker until they finally refused to play with him if there was money on the line.
My stories from nursing school pale in comparison, but he listens to me with rapt attention, anyway. I’ve never felt so relaxed or pampered in all my life. He strokes my hair, rubs my back, and goes downtown every chance he gets.
By Thursday night, I’m worrying that we’re verging on sex addiction territory. I briefly wonder if we should put on clothes and go out, if only for the fresh air. But I quickly toss the thought out the window when Mateo strolls back into the bedroom, buck naked, big dick swingin’, and carrying two glasses of much needed ice water.
Hydration is everything.
I smirk at his shameless display as he sets the water on my nightstand.
“See something you like?” he asks, crawling over me and trailing kisses down my neck. His hands skim down my bare hips, his finger tips raising goosebumps in their path.
“Eh… maybe,” I tease.
