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He takes my chin and gazes directly into my eyes. “I’ve had both casual and serious relationships, but I’ve never wanted to share my space with anyone until now. You’re special to me, Jazz.”
Special isn’t a declaration of love but it ain’t chopped liver, either. “You’re special to me too.”
He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll run you a bath, so you can relax before dinner.”
I smile at his thoughtfulness, and finish putting my clothes away. When I join him in the bathroom, the scent of lavender fills the steamy air. He’d gone to the trouble of adding essential oil and creating a peaceful ambiance by setting up two utility candles that I’m sure he bought for power outages, but the flickering flames still produce the desired effect.
“It’s not as fancy as rose petals,” he says, “but?—”
I stop him up with a kiss. “It’s better…perfect. I love it, Leo. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gently strokes his knuckles down my cheek. “Let me undress you.”
Leo turns the act into a slow strip tease, removing each piece of clothing with deliberate care. He grazes the curves of my breasts with his fingertips as he frees them from the confines of my sports bra, eliciting sounds of pleasure from both of us. My nipples instantly harden, craving his mouth. But Leo only gives them a ghost of warm breath before moving lower. He massages my thigh and calf muscles, tired from teaching so many classes, and I sink into his touch. He removes my panties, and on his way back up, places gossamer kisses on my legs, my mons, my belly, until finally reaching my mouth.
“Enjoy your soak, Sweet Pea.” He moves toward the door, leaving my body on fire. Before he exits, he turns back. “It feels good to have you here.”
I have a long, happy cry, and stay in the bath until my hands and feet begin to prune. Afterward, I slip into comfy sweats, just as I would at home, and join Leo in the living room where he’s laid out our dinner on a picnic-style blanket. He’s prepared bowls that he tells me consist of romaine, carrots, cabbage, green onions, and chicken over quinoa, topped with a soy sesame vinaigrette.
“It’s so good,” I say after digging in. “I’d like to share the cooking, so tell me what’s off limits for you?”
“I avoid sugar and anything processed as a general rule.”
“What about carbs? I am definitely a carbs girl. Give me bread or pasta any day.”
“Unprocessed carbs are fine for me. But don’t feel like you can’t eat the things you enjoy. Make a grocery list, and I’ll pick up whatever you want.”
“Okay, and just tell me the kinds of meals you prefer and I’ll make it work for both of us.”
“Same.” He brings a forkful to his mouth.
I try to distract my thoughts, because everything he does makes me want him. “Have you always eaten clean?”
“Healthy, yes, but not this restrictive. I’ll indulge in the occasional whiskey or greasy hamburger, but not often, since being diagnosed with type-2 diabetes at thirty-five.”
His confession totally throws me for a loop. “I had no idea. I just assumed it was a BMI-obsessive thing.”
“You know what they say when you assume?”
“Yes, I do. It makes an ass out of you and me.”
“I think we’ve both done a lot of that.”
“Yeah.” I nod, chewing a bite of chicken and quinoa. “From here on in, no assumptions about each other.”
“Sounds good.”
“Are you on medication for your diabetes?”
“No, I’ve been managing it through diet and exercise. So far, that’s working. My numbers were good at my last check-up. But I might need to add in some extra vitamins to keep up with my insatiable younger woman.”
Because he says it with a grin, I can tell that our age difference has become less of a concern for him. And that he called me his woman beats out just about everything else.
I offer to clean up after the meal while Leo showers. Cuddled on the couch, we watch an episode of a British detective series, discovering that we share that interest, and when we talk about music, I’m stunned to learn he’s also a die-hard 90’s rap fan. Who would have thought that my perfectly coiffed man would get down to Tupac and Wu-Tang Clan?
When he starts rapping the lyrics to “Wu-Revolution,” impressed as shit, I join him.
“Not bad for a white boy.”
