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ALWAYS BEEN A SHOWBOAT
COLE
Pullingthe baked fettuccine alfredo out of the oven, I find myself uncharacteristically nervous about this dinner Layla and I are about to have.
After sneaking around for the better part of a month, I can say the sex is only getting better. Fucking her on my desk last night? A goddamn wet dream come true. Time with Layla is what I look forward to the most each week. And our text conversations get hot on nights we don’t see each other. Which is only about twice a week, but I’ve gotten her to stay the night twice now and waking up with her in my bed felt like winning the fucking lottery. Having a cute-ass dog around is another plus as the pup spends the night as well.
Whatever this is between us is fucking hot as hell, but I’m a selfish bastard and want more. Which is why I’m asking her tonight if she wants to attend a conference with me in Chicago next weekend. It will only be an overnight, but a solid twenty-four hours or more with her gets my dick hard just thinking about what we could get up to in the hotel suite that was booked for me months ago.
“Oh my gosh, Cole, it smells amazing,” Layla says as she wanders in from down the hall. “I hadn’t had a chance to really notice before.”
Probably because I mauled her before the front door was even closed, taking her right there against the solid oak. Both of us grinning like fucking loons after coming down from our releases.
Only after having my wicked way with her, I kissed her hard, telling her I missed her, and giving her an overdue and proper hello, she excused herself to the bathroom to clean herself up.
I retreated to the kitchen to get the dinner I made us from an old family recipe, ready for consumption.
“I’ll warn you. Lots of garlic was used in making this feast,” I tell her as I pull the garlic bread out and place it on the stove next to the pasta.
“Good thing we got the sex out of the way before we ate.” She grins.
My eyebrow rises. “Lays, I’m fucking you in my bed after dinner. What are you talking about?”
She giggles. “I guess if we both smell and taste like garlic it’s not so bad.”
“Exactly,” I tell her and stick tongs into the pasta. “Can you grab the salad out of the fridge?”
“You made a salad too?” Her tone is impressed.
“Eh, no, I cheated. It’s one of those premade kits. Everything else is homemade,” I say, moving the pasta and bread to the table.
“Ah, well, we can’t all be amazing at everything,” she jokes and as I walk back to the table, I lean in and steal a kiss because I can.
I set the table before she arrived. She sits the small salad bowl down as I return to the fridge, grabbing the dressing packet and the pitcher of iced tea. The tea I bought from Sweet Wave this morning after sweet-talking Hazel into selling it to me in a gallon jug. I know it’s Layla’s favorite, but I realized I had an image to uphold and poured most of it into a pitcher I had sitting in the back of my pantry.
We make fast work of filling our plates and she moans in delight after her first bite.
“Damn, you keep making that noise and I won’t be able to wait till after dinner. I’ll take you right here on the table,” I say, trying to get my dick to calm down at the idea.
She twirls her fork on the plate, gathering another bite. “Honestly, if I can keep eating this amazingness while you do your thing, I really don’t have a problem with it.” Then she shoves another forkful into her mouth.
I groan. “Don’t temp me, woman.”
She laughs and I decide that eating is important as I plan on taking my time with her tonight. After she gets several more bites where I think she clearly has a foodgasm, she decides she can chat and eat at the same time.
“I was wondering if I was going to get any attention,” I tease, pulling another chunk of bread out of the basket.
“So needy. You made one of the best meals I’ve had in a while and you’re not satisfied that I’m obsessed with your cooking.”
“Fine. I’ll take it as a win. Only because of the fact that my list of ways I can make you moan has grown tonight.” I wink at her as she shakes her head.
“Only Cole Reed has a list like that.” She takes a drink of her tea.
“I’m a list guy.” I shrug.
“No, you’re not.”
I laugh, giving in. “I have a question for you.” I decide to just rip the Band-Aid off.
