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“Yeah. What’s up?” I bundle up all of the mail and fit as much of it into my purse as I can, being careful not to bend the package. “How’s his place looking?”
“That’s exactly what I was about to go talk to him about. It’s done. Insurance company is satisfied with the repairs, as is the building owner. I gotta run and pick my dog up from the groomer’s. Are you able to let him know when you see him? I’m gonna email him some forms later and an updated lease, but I thought it would be nice to hear the news from a person first.”
The news forms a pit in the bottom of my stomach, one that only grows as I head upstairs to my place. I should be excited for him—Weston returning to normalcy in a refurbished apartment with mostly brand-new belongings is exactly what he deserves. I can’t imagine that sleeping on my terrible pull-out sofa, all crammed in next to me, is doing his back any favors. And it would be nice for him to take a hot shower with decent water pressure in a stall where he fits without folding his body up like a contortionist. I can keep listing positives to the situation all day, but the fact of the matter is that I like having him with me. It’s selfish as hell, but Weston living in my apartment has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I feel safe and cared for. I’m excited to wake up in the morning and sleep like a kitten at night. If he moves out, will our connection eventually disappear? We could stop seeing each other every day, start ignoring each other at work, and avoiding each other in the hallways until we stop seeing each other altogether. And I couldn’t live with that.
My fears are interrupted by the sight that greets me when I walk through the front door. Drinking in every muscle of his body and plane of his face, I ogle my man. Yes, he’sbaking. And I can tell from the ingredients piled on the counter that he’s making brownies from scratch, which I have learned in the past few weeks he is unreasonably good at and are my new favorite things. But it’s not just that. He’s wearing one of my aprons. And from what I can see from the doorway? Nothing else.
“I see you’re trying to seduce me.” I set my things down on the counter, making sure that the envelope is far from any potential brownie batter splotches. “Thing is, you don’t have to try, Weston. All you have to do is crook your finger at me and I melt.”
“I learned seduction from the best.” Turning to face me, he makes a playful snarl with his lips and brandishes a spatula. I snort out a laugh. The whole look is equal parts funny and endearing, and more than a little hot. “I feel like you deserve an apology for the other night. So I’m playing to all your pleasure centers. I shouldn’t have let my mom come between us like that.”
“Thank you.” I’m touched that he would recognize how much his leaving hurt me without me having to say anything. “But you don’t need to apologize. She’s your mother. It’s complicated. I get that, more than anybody. Like you said, I was probably being too hard on you.”
He spills some of the batter on his hand and thoughtlessly licks it off. The mixed signals being sent to my brain right now are entirely too much.
My heart ricochets behind my ribs. “Can we please not talk about your mother anymore while you look like that?”
“Alright, yeah,” he concedes with a grin, pouring the batter into a pan. “You’ve got me on that one. They don’t recommend talking about mothers while naked. Total boner killer.”
As much as I want to linger in the moment, I can’t stop thinking about the news I just got. It isn’t fair to him to keep it to myself like this no matter how much I want to use the kitchen counter to mount him.
“I ran into Terrance in the mail room. He, uh. He’s going to send you some paperwork later, but it’s finished. Your apartment. You can move back in tomorrow morning.”
“That’s… great? I think.” Weston pauses for a moment to adjust a dial on the oven. He leans back against the counter with his arms crossed, chewing on his lip which only hides his perfectly sculpted ass from my hungry gaze. “I don’t know how I feel about it. I thought I would be excited but—”
“You’re afraid, yeah?” I finish the thought for him. It’s comforting to know that he feels the same way. I was starting to think I was going insane. “That things are going to change?”
His eyes soften into twin pools of emotion. But I’m not sure exactly what I see in their depths. “Yeah. I guess I got used to this being my home.”
“I know.” I cross the small kitchen and wrap my arms around him in a hug, pressing my face against the fabric of the apron. “We can talk about it later.”
“For now…” His words drift off as he brings a hand to my ass, squeezing it gently. “There’s something else I’d rather lick than the spoon.”
I can’t say I’m not interested, but memories of the last time one of us was wearing an apron flash through my mind. “Are you trying to start a fire? Burn down my place so I’ll have to stay at yours? That’s quite a strange way of turning the tables.”
He laughs, reaching around me to turn the oven off. The brownies can wait. “Is it working?”
“I don’t think my insurance is as good as yours,” I joke back, reaching for the apron string and loosening the knot. “Besides, I actually like my things.”
“Alright, alright. I won’t resort to arson to get laid.” He brings his mouth to mine, kissing me softly, and I can taste the brownie batter on his tongue. The moment is sweet, and I want it to last forever, but my fear of losing all of this comes creeping back up on me, so I end up rushing instead. Before I know it, my hands are everywhere, roaming every inch of his skin I can reach. I’m not hungry for any sweet treat because all I want is him.
Weston moans into my mouth as I rake my nails down his lower back, and his hands reach for the hem of my dress, pushing the loose cotton up over my hips. He turns with me in his arms, putting me between him and the counter. I can already tell what he’s thinking, and I reach behind me to clear away the mixing bowl and measuring cups blocking the space before his hands grab for my hips and lift me up.
“Please,” I breathe into his mouth, trying to talk between kisses as he assaults my lips with his.
“What do you want?” He groans.
“Take the stupid apron off,” I whine, futilely struggling to lift the strap over his head. “I can’t take you seriously like this.”
Weston smiles, before sliding the fabric over his head and making sure to toss it behind him, toward the living room and far far away from any source of heat or flame. “Better?”
“Much,” I confirm, dragging my eyes up and down his body, living for the way he blushes under my attention. As if in retaliation, he slides my jeans down my legs. Then he reaches for the waistband of my panties, tugging them off and dropping them to the floor, before spreading my legs apart with his hands. My heart skips a beat as he kneels on the floor before me, kissing his way along my thighs and scraping his teeth on my skin.
Throwing one of my legs over his shoulder, he brings his tongue along my folds so suddenly that I gasp, clutching at the edge of the countertop for purchase. “Delicious.”
“God, Weston, you’re too good at this,” I manage to grit out.
His motions are relentless and broad, a feeling like he’s everywhere at once. My head swims as he slides a finger inside of me, crooking it upward at just the right angle. I can’t last very long like this, and I know he knows that. Which is why I almost sob when he stops, pulling his hand away and standing in front of me.
