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Something smells good.
I make my way toward the kitchen to see what Violet is cooking up tonight. The second I enter the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks. It’s not Violet cooking, but Tate, instead. He stands at the stove, stirring something in a big pot, swaying to a beat that must run in his head only. In his other hand is a wine glass filled to the brim with red wine.
He doesn’t see me as I slowly creep into the kitchen, my gaze dropping to his ass. Those jeans are criminal. They show off his adorable ass, which does nothing to abate my horniness. Fuck, he drives me insane.
I watch with amusement as he chugs the entire wine glass before setting it down on the countertop with a loud clang. He curses under his breath and then checks the glass to make sure he hasn’t broken it. Once he’s sure he hasn’t, he sets to pouring the rest of the bottle into the glass.
Holy shit.
Did he drink the entire bottle all by himself?
His shirt is tucked in and I’m itching to clutch onto it, jerking it out from his pants so I can slide my fingers along his bare skin like I did last night. God, he’d felt so soft and smooth. I’d wanted to do more than touch. I wanted to run my tongue along his ribs, dip it into his belly button, and then tease his nipples.
Staying away from him is impossible.
Tate swirls around and squeaks out in surprise upon seeing me. Then he grins happily, eyes shining with appreciation.
For me?
If only he could see what lies beyond the mask.
A monster who couldn’t save his own mother.
A haunted ghost of a man who’s afraid to leave the safety of his home.
“Smells really good,” I grunt out, voice low and gravelly. “Violet’s not cooking?”
He sips his wine and then shakes his head. “Nope. I gave her the night off. She brought Wyatt some leftovers. It’s just the two of us tonight.”
Just the two of us.
“What are you making?” I inch toward him, thankful for the excuse to get near. “Soup?”
“Zuppa Toscana copycat recipe. A lady at one of my jobs made it and passed on the recipe to everyone. It’s the only thing I can cook that I’ve memorized.”
He polishes off the other glass of wine and then goes back to stirring. The magnetism of him has me drifting closer and closer until my body brushes against his from behind. He doesn’t stiffen but instead leans back against my chest. Warmth spreads from where our bodies touch. I can feel my dick thickening and I’m helpless to stop it.
“Someone’s excited for soup,” he teases and then lets out a slightly drunken giggle.
I want to wrap my arms around him and bury my nose in his hair. I’d love nothing more than to let my hands roam all over his tight body, exploring new places that’ll make him whimper and moan.
Fuck.
“Very excited,” Tate says, pushing his ass against my erection. “Who knew you were such a fan of soup?”
I chuff out a laugh. “It’s definitely the soup that does it for me.”
He turns off the eye on the stove before turning around to face me. The wine glass in his hand is empty and he blindly attempts to place it on the counter. My fingers wrap around his so he doesn’t crash it on the countertop and ruin this moment with broken glass.
I need this moment.
I need him.
I gently guide his hand down to the countertop and urge his fingers loose. Now that we’re standing so close and looking at each other, I don’t know what to do. What’s allowed? I can’t kiss him. He’ll see my hideous fucking face.
His palms tentatively touch my pectoral muscles over my hoodie. He squeezes them and laughs. I feel my lips curling into a satisfied smirk.
“You’re so ripped,” he says dreamily. “I bet your ass looks like it was carved from marble.”
