It means I’ve already decided. I want what Foxx wants. Us, kids, his house, and his life.
All of it, the two of us. Together.
I want this, and I want it forever.
Foxx hums low with contentment, keeping me perfectly balanced and cradled in his left arm while his right fixes us fresh plates of delicious food for breakfast, which is really lunch by now.
By his own admission, it’s simple food, but there’s lots of it.
“I haven’t had time to cook lately, so I’ve been ordering in a lot,” he says as I stare, wide-eyed at wholesome, healthy plates.
Sure, someone else made it, but it looks even better than the home-cooked things Mrs. Peters bakes herself. No greasy fried food or soda cans in his refrigerator either. And I can’t help but wonder if there’s any part of him that’s less than perfect.
“What’s your downside?” I ask him as he sits me in my chair that he’s put upright again. He busies himself cleaning up my mess from before as if it’s a pleasure, not a chore.
“Downside?” he asks me with a quizzing look, glancing to my eye level as he squats on his hams, brushing broken crockery and food into a dustpan before binning it.
“Yeah,” I affirm. “Like what’s your Achilles heel? What are your faults?” I ask, knowing I could spend a whole day listing mine. I figure there must be something about himself that’s less than perfect.
Shifting with determined movements, he wipes the floor clean, thinking my question over.
“I guess it’s not saying what I should when I should all the time,” he admits, stopping as he passes me to kiss the top of my head, ordering me to eat while he settles himself to do the same.
I feel a shiver run through me, coupled with his intense look, and I wonder if he means what I think he means. About not saying ‘I love you too’ back to me. But that only begs the question if he even could, would, or should say that. After all, we’ve only known each other for a matter of hours.
And my romantic brain was swift to tell him how I felt. And I don’t mind he didn’t say it.
In some ways, I’m glad he didn’t.
Everything he’s doing and everything he’s showing me tells me more than three words. And I know if he’s that kind of man, he’ll tell me when it’s the right moment.
“Eat,” he reminds me again. “And put your chest where I can see it,” he commands firmly, making my breath catch as he leans over. Opening the top of his shirt wider, showing me what he means by having me rest my boobs on the table.
“That’s better,” he rumbles, keeping his eyes front and on me while he feeds himself. He follows my hands as I eat, too, making sure I’m eating enough.
“Good?” he asks, and I make a sound that tells him I’ve never had it so good. Making his eyes shine with satisfaction.
“Good,” he repeats again, and we both eat. Each mouthful is as tender and rich as the feeling of our mouths on each other.
I’ve always enjoyed food, a good view, and feeling happy. And with Foxx, it’s all that and more. Even with something as simple as sharing a meal together.
Once it’s clear that I couldn’t fit another thing in, Foxx begins to clean up.
Well. Maybe just one more thing could fit, that thing he has for me. That thing between us.
We smile at each other like maniacs, and he stacks our plates, ignoring my offers to help clean up, and tells me it’s time. Time for my bath. And being carried by Foxx makes me feel like a queen being led to it.
His body feels tenser than before until I realize it’s my own arousal reaching a new boiling point level. I already need his mouth on me again, his hands to grip my chest, and his perfection of manhood filling me.
The huge bathroom has an ornate gilded chair with velvet upholstery that he sets me on like a prized possession.
He takes a small step back to admire me, curling his lip again and shifting the shirt I’m wearing to open some more. Finally, unbuttoning it and making me gasp as my breasts fall free, instantly proud, and my nipples like iron.
For him. Because of him.
“You said you’ve never even touched yourself down there,” he muses. His voice is low and deep.
My breath shivers, and I feel my legs moving apart as if his eyes have hands of their own. Moving me like some sort of doll he has complete power over.
“Not even once?” he asks, cocking a brow.
The thick bulge of his erection is throbbing to life again under his scrubs. And using the flat of his palm against it, he presses down on it, murmuring how good it feels.