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When I open my eyes, I’m alone in bed, and the light outside has that gray-blue which hints at it being late afternoon. Did I sleep the morning away?
I yawn, then sit up and gasp when I find him sitting at the foot of the bed.
"Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you." He reaches up and cups my cheek. "Did you sleep well?"
I nod, unable to speak. The words seem to dissolve within me… My brain cells don’t seem to be able to put the words together to form a sentence. Heat flushes my cheeks, and he watches my face with interest.
"Did you just blush?"
"I don’t blush," I protest.
"Hate to say it, but I’ve seen your face turn all shades of red in the last few hours."
"Only because you’re a filthy, dirty, man." I try to pull up the sheet but am unable to budge it because he’s sitting on it.
"Don’t cover yourself up. I love your body."
I lower my hands to my sides and take in the T-shirt he’s pulled on over the same gray sweatpants he was wearing earlier. What a pity I can’t see those chiseled abs. On the other hand, Hunter in a worn, black T-shirt that clings to his shoulders, and hair mussed about his face, is both sexy and adorable, and so endearing.
"Come 'ere." I crook my finger at him.
His lips quirk, but he obliges. He leans forward, and I dig my fingers into his hair, pull him even closer, then brush my lips over his. I mean it to be just a quick kiss, but Hunter being Hunter, deepens the kiss until it feels like he’s sucking my breath from my body. When he finally releases me, my heart is pumping, my blood thudding in my ears, and the heat between my thighs threatens to streak up my spine. "Wow." I swallow.
"Indeed," he says with a smirk. "You didn’t think I was going to let you off that easily now?" He rubs his nose against mine. "You hungry?"
"I could eat," I concede.
"Good." He straightens, then walks to the closet in the corner of the room. When he returns, he’s holding a silk bathrobe.
"I think I’d prefer to get dressed."
"I think you should wear this." He holds it out to me.
"You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?"
He smirks, and it’s so sexy, I can’t stop my heart from doing that little flip-flop in my chest. "Fine, but only this time."
He places the robe around my shoulders, and I shrug into it. Barely have I finished tying the knot around my waist, when he scoops me up in his arms.
"I really can walk." I try to sound angry, but my words come out in a giggle. Multiple orgasms can do that to a woman, I suppose. Also, the dick providing the orgasms is memorable. And as for the man attached to said dick? He’s proving himself to be irreplaceable. I’m reluctant to admit it, but always being the person in charge, and the one who makes the decisions at work… Well, it’s refreshing to lean on someone else for a change. I’ll probably question my train of thought later, but for now, I hold onto his shoulders as he strides into the kitchen. There are pots and pans in the sink, and going by the various open bottles of spices, the chopping board, the bags of half-used vegetables he’s been cooking. I sniff and draw in the heavenly scents of cooking. "You’ve been cooking again," I murmur.
"Indeed, I have."
He lowers me into a chair. A crisp white cloth is spread on the dining table. On it are plates, cutlery, two lit candles, as well as a bucket of ice with a cooling bottle of champagne. "And you laid the table?"
"You have to stop sounding so surprised." He laughs.
"You are Hunter Whittington. London’s most notorious bachelor, alphahole extraordinaire, GQ’s man of the year and one of Time’s most influential people of the year. Not to mention, the person tipped to take the leadership role in this country. To find you cooking and laying the table is—"
"Just another aspect of me. One I don’t show to the world—" He straightens.
"But which you are showing to me."
"But which I am showing to you," he agrees.
"Why are you doing this, Hunter?" I tilt my head back, and further back, to meet his gaze.
"Why am I cooking for you?"
