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“I was?” I cock my head curiously to one side. “I didn’t realize.”
“Well, I… I missed you or whatever.”
She shrugs and grabs a couple of the bags off the floor, taking them to the kitchen.
I guess we’re not kissing anymore then…
I pick up what’s left and follow her, too entranced to be confused. The curve of her ass is just too much, and watching her rise to her tiptoes to put things away makes my mouth water.
NowI’mthe one devoured with need.
“I’m going to put the radio on,” Emma declares, barely meeting my eyes. She’s still really flushed. What is going on with her? What did I walk in on her doing?
Holy shit, what if she was touching herself?
Why the fuck did she stop?
I wish I’d walked in on her finger fucking herself and she’d let me watch.
Or better, join in.
My cock hardens. I can’t take my eyes off her, especially as she starts dancing to the music.
Does Emma know how smoking hot she is?
“You bought plenty of stuff, Owen. I guess you won’t be leaving me again for a while.” She sashays over to me playfully, winking as she does. “I like that.”
I take her in my arms once more, and kiss her again. I don’t even care what’s going on with Emma—it doesn’t matter—she’s being fun and I’m obsessed with this.
“Actually, do you know what? I’m going to cook dinner for you,” Emma decides, pulling away from meagain. Urgh, I wish she’d just stay in my arms. “I’m going to make your favorite meal. What do you like? Best of all, I mean.”
“Ribollita,” I reply, testing her, but it’s a needless test.
She nods. “Sure thing. Here, let me pour you a drink so you can just enjoy yourself while I cook. Whiskey, all right? This one is your favorite, right?”
Well, I’m sure as shit not going to complain aboutthat.
I could use a break.
She hands me a glass of whiskey with a smile on her face, but there’s something a little off in her eyes.
We’ve spent enough intense time together now for me to know when there is something off with her.
I should ask, but I figure she’ll tell me if I need to know.
Maybe she’s just sick of being here and trying to make the best of it.
Emma cooks in silence which gives me a chance to just watch her.
Man, do I enjoy watching her!
I can’t seem to stop my mind from wandering as she works, for my imagination to start getting the better of me.
What if this were real?
That’s where my head keeps going, even if I don’t want it to.
I envision myself in a home with Emma, a real home, with her cooking for me like this. Like she’s my girlfriend, or maybe even my wife.
