“I’ll stop rolling my eyes when you realize who I am.” He sets the plates down and then comes from behind, his meaty fingers grazing my thighs as he slowly spreads a napkin across my lap. I swallow hard at his body heat and intensity looming over me. My cunt pulses and my belly aches.
“You’re someone besides Atticus?” I ask, affectionate teasing in my low tone.
He takes his seat across from me. From the food, steam rises off our plates, and he swats through it. “I’m the King. And the only thing better than being the King isbeing his Queen.”
Thenhe grins.
A real, genuine, broad grin that makes my heart nearly leap from my chest. My ears burn with how wide my smile is.
“I like the sound of that,” I say, and then he slides a fork my way, nodding to the plate. “I want you to eat.”
“King’s orders?” I wink.
He winks back, and my insides melt. “King’s orders.”
* * *
After dinner,I offer Atti a glass of wine. It sounds good, and I’m in the mood. He agrees, and now we’re finishing the bottle. I’m enjoying a light buzz and an ethereal high that can only be love when Atticus rises and goes to the fridge, eager for a glass of water.
He yanks the door open and groans a little.
“What?” I ask, wondering how my fridge contents could possibly annoy him. I know I have La Croix in there.
“You buy that fancy bubble water shit?” he complains, the roughness of his voice making my body tingle a little. Even when he’s being a grouch, I want to fuck him.
“Don’t be a hater,” I say flippantly, pushing my empty plate to the center of the table.
“All you have are canned girly waters and a cucumber.” He shuts the fridge and lowers himself under the faucet of the kitchen sink, knocking the handle up to drink. Normally I’d shriek at how gross that is—because sink water is not good water—but my mind (and lady bits) are hung up on something else.
I swallow hard. His Adam’s apple disappears repeatedly as heglugglugglugswater from the tap. When he turns it off, he stands up, wiping his mouth with his wrist as he stares at me.
My heart is flying. “Get the cucumber.”
My ears are pounding as quickly as my nerves are soaring. I’ve never been this bold with any partner. I’ve never wanted to try new things. But anything feels possible with Atticus because I trust him.
And I know he likes to try new things. I know he’s far wilder than me. And I don’t feel like I’mgivingthis to him; I feel like I’m evolving into who I’m meant to bebecauseof him.
His gaze is dark and impassive as he hooks a hand through the fridge door. Reaching in, he swipes the cucumber and stretches out his hand to me, offering me the vegetable.
I take it. He wets his lips. “What are you gonna do?”
I grin, knowing just where to start. “Let you watch.”
His groan puts bumps of excitement along my skin. “Goldie girl,” he groans, and I like that name. It makes me feel both special and young, and yes, that’s probably something Dr. Longo could help with. But I love it because he assigned it to me.
“Don’t worry; after I make myself cum, I’ll give you control of the cucumber.”
His eyes widen a little before his face cinches tight, lines of strain running up his neck. “Is that right?” he asks, barely opening his mouth as his eyes drop to the veggie I’m currently stroking with one hand and gripping with the other.
“Yeah,” I say, “that’s right.” I peel off my shirt, which is actually an old t-shirt I’ve had since high school that I love sleeping in that’s too ratty to be seen by anyone else, until now.
Letting him see me in my ratty clothes is a big deal for a reformed shallow person. Seriously.
He growls something fierce as I step out of my panties. It really is a growl, too, because he’s the animal keeping the monster on its leash. Only animals and monsters make noises like that.
“Get on the table,” he commands, stroking his palm along his length over his boxer briefs. His clothes were still damp from the snow, so we put them in the dryer while he cooked. He’s still in just underwear, and my underwear are wet,notfrom the snow.
I get onto the table he cleared and cleaned and spread my legs wide. I give him the view of a lifetime. I know he likes me, loves me even. But there’s still a part of me that wants to look down and make sure I don’t need to suck in or angle my legs a certain way. Point my toes, even. Do something to make sure I look better. That I look so good I impress him.