AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He faces forward, sighing, before turning completely in the doorway, facing me in the tub.
“I want you to be ready, Scarlett. I don’t want to move too fast.” The way he grips the doorframe, knuckles white, strain in his neck, I know he wants me, too.
“I know you do.” My voice is gentle, smoothing his sharp, defensive edges. “You take care of me. Now let me take care of you,” I practically whimper. Beneath the surface, I’m touching myself.
I keep replaying how he erupted violently over himself, a release so big, I’ll always remember; it was so fucking hot. I want to please Cohen, but more so, I want to show him all the things he deserves.
“Cohen,” I say again, sure that I want him, unsure that he’ll let me have him. He’s protective of me and his cognizance of my needs, balanced with his awareness of my trauma only makes me yearn for him more. And while I know his hesitance comes from reason and a place of safety, I feel ready.
I come to a decision on a way we can each get what we want and need.
“What did you make for dinner?”
He looks confused for a moment, then scrubs a hand down his face. “I made ziti, and roasted vegetables, and I stopped by Rise and Grind and grabbed some pastries, too.”
My stomach rumbles and the aroma from the kitchen seems to intensify now that I know what I’m smelling. I sit up in the tub, the air chilly against my soapy, bare breasts. His eyes drop to them, and his grip on the doorframe intensifies.
“That sounds amazing. Can you keep it warm for another twenty minutes?” I lift a leg, watching as clusters of white foam drip off me. Cohen’s watching with bated breath.
“Yeah...” he says, voice raspy, stirring up loose embers in my belly. “Enjoy your soak.”
I reach between my feet and pull the drain. “I’m done.”
He looks a little puzzled. “That was only five minutes.”
I push off the edge of the tub and reach for the towel, wrapping myself deliberately slowly, letting him feast on me.
Before I have to ask, Cohen extends a hand to me, helping me step out of the tub. He adjusts where the towel is tucked into itself below my collarbone, and his hands brushing my damp flesh have me certain of my plan.
Leading him around the corner by the hand, we stand in his bedroom, one that mirrors mine. Our apartment floor plans are identical, however, laid out opposite. It's comfortable being in a room that looks and feels like mine. His scent is everywhere, and paired with the heady aroma of homemade food, my chest expands.
The status of his room isn’t unlike mine either, with a boxspring and mattress centering the floor, no bed frame in sight. Since I’ve last been here, everything looks the same, and I wonder when we’re not together, how things are for Cohen. His bed doesn’t look slept in, or else he makes it every day before work.
I turn to face him, and it takes him a moment to take his eyes off my ass. I’m warm and wet from his gaze. “Do you make your bed every morning?”
His head volleys, a cross between a nod and a timid shake. “I do, but I haven’t been sleeping in bed.”
“No?” I ask, leading him to the edge of the mattress by our linked fingers. “Take off your boots and socks. Now.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers sweeping down the intricate brown laces of his boots until they’re unlaced. Toe to heel, he kicks them off, and peels his socks off next by the toe. Sitting up, his gaze idles on me, waiting for instruction.
“Where have you been sleeping?” I ask, knowing that two of those nights he was with me, but the other nights, we made the choice to sleep apart. I don’t know that either of us wanted that, but we came to the agreement that it was likely a smart choice. Because I’m falling for Cohen hard and fast, but I also know I fell for Pete that way, too.
I need to pace myself this time, be so sure before I tie myself to someone else.
“On the couch.”
When I came in, I noticed he’d moved his couch from one wall to the opposite, now facing the rectangular window facing the breezeway between our places. I assumed he moved it to better capture the morning light and evening sunset.
“You moved it,” I state, then add, “Stand up and take off your pants.”
He rises without question, hands working his belt with a clank as he says, “I slept on it facing the window, in case Pete came back.”
A warm shiver wraps my spine, the type of burning tingle that comes with new affection. My voice is quiet when I say, “Take your shirt off, too.”
A moment later, Cohen is standing before me with nothing but boxer briefs on. With the tips of my fingers, I trace the hard ridge of his cock before grabbing it, lifting it off his thigh to position his cock to standing. Tugging the waist of his briefs down just slightly, I adjust him as he groans, releasing him when the crown of his hefty cock is exposed. I tease the tip, tapping the slit on his head, loving his gasps and grunts and the way his spine lengthens as he battles his body for control.
“Get on the bed.”
