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“You never listen to music even when we're in the car.”
“Because those are working hours,” he replied, and I nodded.
“Sure.”
“What kind of music do you like?” he asked, but I shook my head.
“No preference, anything you choose should be fine.”
“Well, you know I like slow jazz,” he said as he pulled out his phone and began to press some buttons. A few seconds later, a soft melodious jazz tone filled the room. I loved it and almost shut my eyes to savor it, but I kept my attention on my cutting, lest I unintentionally include one of my fingers.
We continued to work in silence, but it wasn’t awkward at all, at least to me, since I couldn’t quite speak for him. How my mind processed this was that we couldn't technically have known each other for long, it almost felt like we had with the way we were in each other's presence.
“I'll get the pasta started,” he said and turned around to head toward the stove, and I nodded. I watched him and grew even more excited when he headed over to the wine rack in the corner.
“Red or white?” he asked, and because I simply wanted something fruity and somewhat sweet, I asked for a white.
“Dry?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“If it’s okay with you, I'd prefer something sweet,” I said, and he nodded.
“Of course. I think I'd like that as well.”
He brought a bottle and poured me a glass, and from the moment I tasted it, it felt as though I had gone to heaven. This was turning out to be such a special night. However, as I sipped from my glass and watched him head over to the stove to check on the saucepan, I realized that I was somewhat holding back.
Perhaps it was best that tonight be my last with him. Perhaps it was best this didn’t go on for longer than what we had right now, and so I imagined that this was the case. This was the only solution to my dilemma so far that ensured that no one got hurt, especially Sophie. So, I made my decision then that I wasn’t going to be selfish. I wasn’t going to hurt my sister’s job by hanging on to Lucien for longer than I had promised, and I wasn’t going to hurt Lucien by making him find out that he’d literally been with a complete stranger and not the secretary he had grown attached to for years.
I really didn't want to hurt myself because all of this could blow up dangerously, and if it did, I was in the center. Everyone else, for sure, would be in one pain or the other, but mine would, be incomparable.
And so I went over to him after he retrieved the pan he wanted to make the sauce with, and lightly brushed my hand down his arm. It was quite daring, but I reminded myself once again that this was our last night for real this time. He glanced at me, and my breathing caught at the sparkle I caught in his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, but I shook my head. After roving his gaze across my face, he turned away, and a smile appeared at the corners of his lips. He knew exactly what I was doing, and whatI wanted this to become, and my only hope was that he would accept and not reject me.
“I told you that my invitation was platonic.”
I lowered my tone as I responded. “Well, what if I want to change it?” I asked, and he looked at me. He leaned forward then and my eyes fluttered shut.
I had missed his taste and his kisses; however, when his lips connected with mine again, I was completely taken aback. It was warm and sweet, and perhaps it was the wine, but when his tongue began to stroke and glide against mine, all my brain could process was that this had to be the best kiss I had ever had. It was the perfect pace, slow and then fast, gentle and then heated. Through it all, his passion for me burned into my consciousness, yet he wasn’t even touching me. He was already rock hard, and I needed the balance, so I swung my arms around his shoulders. I couldn’t help but bring my crotch against his.
I wanted more; however, I didn't want to interrupt this moment between us, so I tried my best to control myself. It didn’t work, but thankfully, he was generally a better person than I am, so he straightened and pulled away. My hands were already under his shirt, feeling the warmth and rock-hard strength of his skin, and my lips were already red and bruised in the best possible way.
It was difficult to catch my breath, but eventually, I was able to compose myself enough to be able to meet his gaze.
“Food first,” he said. “We’ll need the energy.”
Something landed a kick in my gut at the words and it almost sent me to the floor. I would have indeed melted into a puddle, but I needed to show him that I was very well capable of controlling myself, and so I nodded, and with great reluctance, managed to pull away. I needed something to keep me busy, though, and so although I headed over to the counter to putthings in order, I found myself just picking up my glass of wine and leaning against it to watch him.
His hair was gorgeous, I couldn’t help but note. In the office, it was always short, slicked back, and away from his face, but right now, it was almost as though he had run a hand through it, and now it just looked messy.
I loved it, though. He looked so carefree and so breathtakingly handsome that I truly didn't know how to contain myself.
I did, however, want to know quite a bit more about him, however, I didn't know where to start. I didn't want to step into any traps either, but given that this would be my only chance, I went ahead but admonished myself to tread as carefully as possible.
“This is the only dish you cook, right?” I asked with the assumption that this was something of a shared knowledge between us, and thus he was free to correct me for ‘forgetting.’
However, he didn’t even seem to have noted the way I phrased the question. He just simply answered it.
“I can also make tiramisu,” he said.
