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He slurps the supposedly aphrodisiac shellfish, then cocks his brow to give his approval. “I didn’t pick the menu. Guillaume has been our guy for almost twelve years, and he never disappoints.”
While I keep going with my entrée, Clayton pauses. Something on the table seems to be bothering him.
“Excuse me. I’ll be back.” He dashes into a room adjacent to the kitchen.
A moment later, he emerges, hauling a long bench that looks as old as anything in this cottage. He positions it along the length of the table. He disappears again into the same room and returns with a pile of thick, fluffy throws, covering the bench with them, then rearranging our plates and cutlery.
“I’m sorry for the interruption.” He reaches out to me, helping me up, drawing the heavy chair out so I can step away. “Please.” He guides me to the bench, helping me sit and arranging my skirt. He then perches himself by my side. “You were too far from me.”
We enjoy the view of the lake reflecting the twilight sky, framed by the window in front of us like a painting. His arm hooks around my waist, pulling me as if there was still a gap between our hips. That possessiveness—it’s official.
There should be some kind of caginess building in me. Something like how I felt when Nando’s arm was tight around me as if I was his birthright. But the firmer Clayton’s hold on me, the more I want to dive into that possessiveness. Truly, what would it feel like? Belonging to a man whom I once fantasized as a safe house?
I start my exploration by putting an arm loosely around his hips. What if I want to own him too?
My arm drops lower until it settles at the top of his mounds. Damn, that is one tight ass!
Guillaume smiles when he sees the change in our table arrangements. He announces, “Our main entrée tonight is a creamy chicken stew with rice.” He then puts the serving bowls in the middle.
Clayton scoops some onto his plate. Then, instead of serving mine, he removes the empty plate in front of me, cutting a ‘trust me’ glance.
He dips his fork in and gets a healthy serving of stew and rice. “Open your mouth.”
The buttery gravy brushes my upper lip, thanks to Clayton’s deliberate move to smear it. Never mind the chicken melting on my tongue, his stare voluntarily prompts me to lick my gravy-streaked lip.
He hums out his satisfaction. That was his intention. Not to find an excuse to wipe my mouth but simply to watch my tongue doing the job.
“This is the best chicken I’ve had,” I murmur.
“Chicken, orchicken?”
“Chicken.”
He smirks and keeps feeding me, and occasionally himself. We nudge ourselves closer to each other. I don’t know how, but we keep finding space we need to fill, and we never seem satisfied that we’re close enough.
I don’t think we’ll last till dessert, but we do.
“Fancy going out into the water?” he asks when I lay my head on his shoulder, soaking in the lake view from the window.
“Why not!”
Before we head down, I take off my shoes.
“Had enough of holding me?” he teases.
“I just want to feel the earth,” I claim. There’s something about this place that tugs me in. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s beyond the beauty of its surroundings—and it’s not just because it’s my first time here with Clayton.
“Actually, I should ditch this, too.” He loosens his tie.
We make our way to a jetty, where a rowboat is waiting. Clayton jumps in first, then helps me aboard, lifting me by the waist and setting me down like I’m his—well…princess.
“It’s magical,” I mutter, feeling the connection to this patch of heaven even more now that we’re in the water. “I thought I knew California, but I never thought I’d find a place like this.”
“I’ve done well, then?” he gushes.
A breeze sweeps across the lake, pushing the clouds over the setting sun. I unpin my hair, then remove the tie around my ponytail, letting the wavy ends bounce against my shoulders.
His ass fidgets while his gaze cuts to the tree line along the shore.
