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“Love you too.”
I hung up right before I opened the door to our room and was immediately greeted by the most wonderful spicy, meaty aroma. I inhaled again, a hunger I hadn’t had five minutes ago making my stomach growl. “That smell is definitely not craft services sandwiches.”
“Nope.” Malik grinned from his perch in the center of his made bed. “I finished my day before you and decided we both needed some real food. Went into the nearby town because I figured, if nothing else, they might have better burgers there, but I found this amazing hole-in-the-wall Greek place disguised as a coffee shop.”
“Of course you did. Gotta love you foodies.” Quickly shedding my coat and shoes, I sat down next to him, surveying the picnic he’d set up on the bed. “Tell me you brought gyros back.”
“Yep. Two gyro platters, rice, bread, carrot salad, dolmas, and salad with house-made dressing. And they had a cake with rose syrup.”
“Damn. I do love you.” I meant I loved him bringing me dinner, and I knew he got my meaning, but the word still brought a strange flutter right below my heart.
“Hey, I did it for me too.” He rubbed my shoulder before passing me a plate. “I was getting sick of turkey sandwiches as well.”
“Leave it to you to find the best Greek in Colorado.” I dished up food from the various containers as Malik poured wine into the little hotel glasses.
“Wine?” He offered me a glass. “They had some good ones, so I couldn’t resist even without proper glasses.”
“God bless those temp workers. I wouldn’t drink if we had night duty, but go past-you for delegating the lock checks.”
“Go, past-me.” He gave me an indulgent smile as he clinked glasses with me. And damn, the wine was good stuff: heady, crisp, and complex without overpowering the Greek food. The gyro meat was spicy with a cooling tzatziki sauce and some of the best pita bread I’d ever had.
At some point, Malik refilled our glasses, and halfway through our second plates of food, I groaned and leaned against him. “Damn, I better slow down if I want to have the energy to fool around after this.”
“Oh?” He leered down at me. “Got plans?”
“Always. Not sure what it is, but lately, I want it more than ever.”
“Maybe I’m just that good?” Malik pretended to blow smoke off his knuckles, and I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Well, you beat jerking off, that’s for damn sure.” I adopted a mock-casual tone even though he deserved all the praise I could heap on him for the amazing sex.
He made a scolding noise. “Such a sweet talker.”
“Hey, I leave the sweet talking to you.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.
“I know,” Malik smirked. “You’re hardly quiet about what you like when we fuck.”
He meant sex and getting off, but that word hung between us, like my breath outside earlier. And if I were honest, it was a word I’d been thinking a ton about the past few days. Fucking. I let the word roll around in my brain for a few seconds. The wine had loosened more than a few neurons and, apparently, my tongue.
“You ever think about fucking for real?”
Malik inhaled sharply. “Damn, that’s a hell of a transition.”
“Sorry.” Heat rose up the back of my neck.
“You been thinking about that?” Malik coughed and took a swig of his wine before setting the glass aside.
“Maybe. Some.” I looked down at the floral cover, tracing one of the gaudy flowers with my finger.
“Like you want to fuck me? Thinking about that?” Malik sounded wary.
“Not exactly. The other way.” I gulped and really hoped his next reply was more enthusiastic.
Chapter Twenty
Malik
“The other?” I gave Avery a pointed stare. As interested as I was, this conversation wouldn’t get far if he couldn’t say the words.
“You doing me. Fucking me,” he said softly, as if he were tasting each word, deciding whether he liked the flavor. He swallowed hard again. “I keep thinking about it even though it scares me a little.”
“It scares you? Because you think it will hurt?” I quickly moved the remaining food and our plates to the nightstand so I could put my arm around him, gather him close. It meant a lot that he trusted me enough to have this talk, and I wanted to both support and reward his honesty.
“That.” He leaned his head against my shoulder, burying his face in my neck for several long breaths. “But also…sometimes, when we’re moving together, I want that, want you inside me so badly it scares me. Like the wanting is scary-big. But also scary-good because if I let myself pretend for a moment, I come extra hard. But after I come, the idea goes from scary-good to scary-scary because I’m not even entirely sure how it works. And I’ve heard about it hurting or being gross or unfun.”
