by Misha Bell
If Bella were here, she’d probably give the eager puppy a voiceover that would say something like, “You’re yum. So yum. Want to play? Want to chase flies? I’m Beelzebub—that’s the Lord of the Flies, you know. Do flies like bacon? Do you want some bacon? I live for bacon. Is your name Kevin?”
“Bad boy,” Alex says sternly, pulling Beelzebub away. “We don’t lick guests.”
We? Alex can lick me, no problem. Hell, I’ll take a dog licking again if that’s a prerequisite.
“Sorry about that. You can wash your face in there.” Alex gestures at a door down the hall.
I start to take off my shoes as per the Russian etiquette, but Alex says that I don’t have to. When I insist, he hands me a pair of slippers. “These are Bella’s, but she won’t mind if you use them.”
I’m glad I insisted. Taking shoes off is clearly important enough that Bella keeps slippers here.
Properly slippered, I hurry over to the loo, wash up, and reapply my makeup.
When I come back out, Alex is alone.
“I put a treat inside a special toy,” he explains. “He’ll be trying to dig it out for a while, so we can enjoy the peace for now.”
I look around.
The hallway is littered with dog toys of every kind.
The urge to tidy is strong, but I fight it and look at the walls for help.
Surprise surprise. Everything is covered with posters featuring Tetris Payout, Super Tetris, Tetris Plus, Tetris 4D, Tetris League—the list goes on and on.
“I didn’t realize there were so many versions of the game,” I say as I look from one to the next.
Alex beams with pride. “Come, let me show you something.”
He leads me into a large room that can only be called a man cave—though there’s a serious presence of said man’s best friend as well, in the form of half-chewed bones and toys.
Must not tidy. It would be as crazy as kissing his neck.
“See that?” Alex points at the wall next to a giant TV.
Wow. Every single video game console I’ve ever heard of is attached to that TV, and inside most of them is a Tetris game, some from the posters I just saw and some not.
I guess this collection makes sense—video games are his passion.
His phone beeps.
“It’s 7:01,” he says. “Let’s head to the kitchen so we can start dinner on time.”
As I follow him from room to room, I realize just how huge this penthouse really is—especially for New York City.
Game developers clearly make bank.
The kitchen turns out to be the only tidy room in the house. There are flowers and candles on the table—all very date-y if you ask me.
He pulls out a chair for me, and as I take a seat, I look at the two plates in front of me.
One contains twenty-three pieces of avocado roll, while the other holds the same number of pelmeni.
Tearing my eyes away from the feast, I look up at him in wonder. “You made this?”
“Well, yeah.” He sits across from me next to a similar spread. “I wasn’t sure which food you prefer on weekends, so I went with both.”
“Good call,” I say, salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs. “I think I’ll go wild and have both.”
He grins. “I think I’ll do the same. Crazy town.”
I attack the pelmeni first.
Yum. Usually, I don’t like variation in recipes, but this batch is different in a good way.
I tell that to Alex.
“I added a secret ingredient to the recipe from my parents’ restaurant,” he says.
“A secret ingredient?” I taste the avocado roll—and it also tastes better than usual, but more subtly so. “Is there one in the roll as well?”
“Yep. And I guess now I have to tell you what it is,” he says with mock reluctance.
I match his tone. “It’s only the polite thing to do.”
“Fine. I figured since we’re having Japanese and Russian, why not fuse the two—so I put a touch of ginger into the pelmeni and a little bit of sour cream into the rice in the rolls.”
“Ah.” I taste another piece of each. “That is what you did. You clearly have a backup career as a chef. I’m not usually a fan of dishes tasting different. I hate it actually. But I love these.”
He covers my hand with his and smiles. “I guess I have the magic touch.”
Oh, yeah. The magic of his touch shoots zings of awareness throughout my whole body and makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Sorry.” He pulls his hand away.
“It’s okay,” I choke out, and it takes all my willpower not to add something like, “I really, really, really enjoyed that.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says.
The touch? No, he means dinner. Bollocks, that neat hair is making it difficult to think.
“I do like the food,” I say when I’ve unscrambled my brain. “But now there’s a problem: I won’t be able to eat the regular versions of these dishes going forward.”
Just like if any other man touched me the way Alex just did, it would also feel inadequate.
Bugger.
I’m ruined for other chefs and men.
He pulls out his phone and types out a message. “I just sent you the exact recipe for the pelmeni, and I can talk to the folks at Miso Hungry about the rolls.”
“Thank you,” I say and stuff my mouth before I can say something improper, like, “Can I repay your kindness with my body?”
“You’re welcome.” His gaze is warm on my face. “I have to admit, I enjoyed making this for you.”
My heartbeat quickens. “Have you cooked for other women before?”
Good going. As subtle as a bull in a china shop.
His eyes gleam a rich, dark blue. “Only the ones I’ve dated.”
“Oh.” So I’m the first one he’s doing this for without dating? To be honest, I don’t like the idea that he’s dated anyone, but obviously he must have. Figuring I might as well keep going with the inappropriately personal questions, I ask as casually as I can, “And how many was that?”
He bites his lip in concentration.
Crikes. Is the number astronomical? It could be. A guy like this must have women falling at his feet.
Those twats.
He’s still thinking?
Why, oh why did I even ask this? Why ask something you might hate the answer to?
“Six,” he finally says.
Oh.
Well, six is not bad. I mean, it’s a terrible number in and of itself, but as far as former exes go, it’s nice and low, which is good. Also, this means that if I somehow became his girlfriend—a pleasant fantasy—I’d be his seventh.
As in, a prime girlfriend.
I like the sound of that.
Or is a prime girlfriend another term for wife? If it’s not, it should be.
“There were some dates and such outside those six,” he continues. “But only those relationships got to the cooking stage—and all but one didn’t go much further than that. That last one lasted a couple of years but then petered out.”
“Why?” I ask. What I mean is: Why would any sane, warm-blooded woman let you escape her clutches?
He shrugs. “She didn’t like me being into video games.”
I gape at him.
No. Not a joke.
“But that’s your passion,” I say, a bit too vehemently for propriety. In a calmer tone, I add, “You’re brilliant at it.”
“Thank you.” He leans forward, his gaze intent on my face. “I guess she just wasn’t the one.”
My pulse is pounding in my ears. “I guess not.”
It might not be a kind thought, but I’m super glad she wasn’t the one—whoever she was. I don’t care if it’s selfish, but if I can’t have my boss, nobody should.
“What about you?” he asks.
Bugger. I guess I started this. “I haven’t cooked for anyone.”
I stuff my face again in the hopes he’ll
leave it alone.
Nope.
He tsk-tsks. “You know what I meant.”
The food tastes bland now. Taking a deep breath, I tell him about the clusterfuck that was my relationship with Beau.
As I speak, something about the sympathy and understanding in his eyes makes me share more than I ever have with anyone.
“I was a late bloomer, so I didn’t date much in high school or college. I just didn’t click with a lot of guys, you know? So when I met Beau a couple of years after graduation, I was so relieved I ignored a lot of the red flags. All of them, really. We dated for months before we so much as French-kissed, but all I cared about was that he was a mathematician who also liked routine.” I grimace, still mad at myself. “I didn’t know he was gay, obviously, so I just didn’t feel wanted. First, he treated my hymen as if it were actually holy. Then, once we’d finally done the deed, he didn’t want to do it again for ages—nor do things like go down on me or even kiss me much. We eventually broke up, and when he came out the following year, it was a relief, because it explained so much. Still, I haven’t been in a dating mood since.”
Alex’s jaw flexes. “That fucker. I can’t believe I’m mad at a guy for not wanting to do things to you, yet here we are. Not to steal lines from Rhett Butler, but ‘you should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.’”
I grab my glass with water and chug it. This is beginning to feel even more like a date than the time he kissed me.
Well, since I was the one who bollixed professionalism with my tale of woe, I should be the one to fix it.
But how? Ask for more food? I’m kind of stuffed, and he looks to be done. Maybe I should talk about something gross—like snot, or squares of even numbers?
Since nothing comes to mind, I ask for something that’s interesting but not in a sexual way. “Can you show me your Tetris skills?”
He grins. “I’d love to, but how about I show you all the dog stuff first?”
Duh. That’s way less sexy than Tetris. Why didn’t I think of that?
We finish up what’s on our plates, and I take a raincheck on his offer of tea—a testament to how truly stuffed I am. He seems to be just as full, as he accepts my gift of candy without eating any.
I then help him tidy up the kitchen—an activity that turns out to be way too erotic for my comfort. Seeing him dry the plates I washed is a definite turn-on.
When we’re done, he shows me where the dog food and bowls are, then leads me out of the kitchen while explaining more doggy stuff, including when to walk the furry beast.
“Speaking of Beelzebub,” he whispers as we enter what looks to be his home office.
The sleeping pup is curled on the carpet around some ball—must be the toy with the treat inside.
Aww. Beelzebub is clearly dreaming about chasing something—his paws are moving in the air and he makes little barking sounds.
Okay, so puppies may be unpredictable and messy, but they sure are adorable… especially when they’re asleep.
“Come,” Alex whispers. “I owe you a Tetris demonstration.”
We tiptoe into the man cave and close the door so as not to wake up the puppy.
Alex fires up his Xbox.
His version of the game is called Tetris Effect: Connected, and it’s a work of audiovisual art that’s more of a full-fledged psychedelic experience than a block puzzle game.
Aesthetics of the game aside, watching Alex play is a trip in itself.
This is what Mozart must’ve looked like at the piano in his prime.
I was so, so wrong when I thought this would be a safe, nonsexual experience. It’s the opposite. This is even hotter than watching Alex code.
Every time he clears four lines at once—which is called a tetris—the game shows a celebratory animation of fireworks. It makes me picture him entering me the same way the I-block enters the hole that is its destination, and the fireworks that will result from that.
Bugger.
Between the tidy look, the dinner, and this, I should get a medal for not attacking him. A pink star for suppressing libido under extreme temptation.
Maybe I can sneak to the bathroom and rub out a quick one?
“Check that out,” Alex says, bursting my wank-bubble. “Jacob says he’s playing that guy who deserves a comeuppance. Should I switch to Halo?”
“Sure,” I say.
A moment later, there are armed people in colorful spacesuits on the screen.
“There,” Jacob’s voice says from the speaker, and his character shoots at a guy in the distance holding a big rifle.
Alex’s character rushes for his prey, somehow dodging all the bullets, then pistol-whips him in the face.
“Wow,” Jacob says excitedly. “That was awesome.”
And it was. I’m even hornier now. This must be tapping into whatever cavewomen used to feel when their men would protect the tribe—or fight other cavemen for them.
All I know is I want to jump his bones, but I can’t. Not while Jacob can hear—not to mention all the usual reasons.
To stay sane, I grab a box with dog toys and pick up a chewed-up duck from the floor to drop in it.
Alex looks up from the game. “Are you cleaning up?”
“Is it okay if I do?”
He grins. “Be my guest.”
Jolly good. I channel my sexual frustration into the cleanup.
When all the dog toys are in the box, I sort Alex’s haphazard video game collection by console, genre, and year of publication.
Oh yeah, this is nice. Too nice, in fact.
Cleaning up always puts me in a good mood, which in this context is having an aphrodisiac effect.
Bugger.
I should head home or else.
“Wow, thanks,” Alex says, and I realize he’s turned off the game and is staring at my handiwork in awe. “I’ve been meaning to do that forever—but I doubt I would’ve used such a clever system.”
I’m a volcano of lust that’s about to explode.
He means what he said, I can see it—which makes him the rarest of unicorns: a person who welcomes my tidying efforts instead of finding them annoying.
Well, that does it.
While I coded with him all these weeks, I stood strong.
When he dressed up and slicked back his hair, I managed to keep my knickers on.
As I watched him play Tetris, I was already on the verge of giving in—and he didn’t help matters by vanquishing that bully in Halo—but I withstood the temptation.
His liking my tidying is what pushes me over the edge.
If I don’t kiss him now, I’ll forever regret it.
Closing the distance between us, I grab his tie and pull his mouth to mine.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Our lips clash.
Holy primes.
Who knew snogging could be this blinding? I wondered if maybe the last kiss seemed so amazeballs because of the alcohol I had coursing through my system, but no. If anything, this time is better—and the bar was already sky high.
Our tongues dance.
The room seems to spin, this time without the help of vodka.
He lightly bites my lower lip.
My nipples are so hard they hurt, and the heat in my core is reaching 1373 degrees.
He pulls me closer, and I feel his erection against my belly—which makes me want to rip off his pants so I can see it, taste it, and shove it deep inside me.
After what feels like an hour of make-out bliss, he pulls away and cradles my face in his big hands. “You sure about this?”
“Your bedroom,” I gasp. “Now.”
He replies with an affirmative growl, then sweeps me up in a bridal carry and strides out of the room.
“I’m on the pill and clean,” I whisper. There, if the word bedroom didn’t clue him in as to my intentions, that bit should make things crystal clear, shouldn’t it?
“Me too,” he says raggedly. “I mean clean, not on the pill.”
Approaching a closed door, he kicks it open and strides inside, then gently deposits me onto the bed.
As I frantically peel my clothes off, I take in my surroundings with relief. The bedroom is even tidier than the kitchen—and that pushes my already-insane arousal into frightening territory.
Do I need to worry? I’ve heard of people laughing to death, so can you get so randy as to hurt yourself?
That question is put to the test in the next few moments. Alex rakes his cerulean gaze over my body and growls, “You’re gorgeous.”
I can’t speak as I watch him strip off his suit and shirt.
Bliiiiimey. This is like staring at the sun. The delicious muscles I chose for VR Alex pale in comparison to the real thing. I guess my imagination—and digital technology—were not ready for this level of male perfection.
He steps out of his pants.
Here, too, the powerful muscles exposed to my gaze leave the VR version in the dust.
And then he takes off his boxers.
There’s an ache in my jaw that makes me realize my mouth is open to the width of a python about to swallow her prey.
Speaking of pythons, Alex’s cock is bigger than any available as choices in that VR selection. I think it would feel more at home in the other app—the one with all those swords.
Why am I not scared?
His erection dwarfs Optimus Prime—which means that honorable title should be transferred over.
Yep. Henceforth, that is Optimus Prime.
Or just Prime for short—the only short thing about it.
Alex approaches the bed. “I’m going to taste you.” The hunger in his gaze underscores the roughly spoken words.
I swallow hard. “Taste me?”
Muscles flexing, he climbs over me and slides his callused palm down my thigh. “I want to make you burn as you never have before.”
No words. Speechless.
He drags his tongue up my calf.
I barely hold back a moan.
His tongue continues the trip over my knee and up my thigh until he finds the apex between my legs.
