House of Payne: Tag

by Stacy Gail

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect when it came to where you lived,” Ivy said after a private elevator lifted them twenty stories up to the penthouse level and deposited them directly into a silent, starkly white entry hall, “but I don’t think I would’ve ever imagined chandeliers and white marble walls. Are you a minimalist at heart?”

  “Nah. The place came this way, along with all the other furnishings, except my bed. That’s one thing I ordered personally. The reason I bought this place,” he went on as she mulled that over, “wasn’t because of the swanky entrance or the upscale address. I don’t give two shits about that.”

  “Then what did you buy this place for?” she asked as she followed him out of the echoing, marbled-over entry hall.

  “Take a guess.” He tilted his head in the direction they were headed, then stepped out of her way to give her an unimpeded view of…

  Everything.

  “Wow.” Ivy stepped into the massive, white-tiled great room with twenty-foot high sculpted ceilings and wide open spaces spartanly furnished with a pair of matching white leather club chairs and sofa, along with a couple chrome and glass side tables. The dining table, occupying an otherwise-empty space between the great room and kitchen, was a huge slab of white marble, and looked more like a conference table than a place to eat. Only one chair was pulled up to it, and that struck a melancholy chord deep within her chest. That table could have easily held ten places with room to spare, yet he sat there alone, no doubt eating his TV dinners all by himself. She didn’t have any family left, but she still had the Daos and all the happy chaos that came with them. She wasn’t completely alone.

  But the single chair at the table and the blank canvas feel to the rest of the apartment wasn’t what riveted her attention. Floor-to-ceiling windows ran the entire length of the living space, overlooking the Gold Coast, Grant Park, Monroe Harbor and the vast blue stretch of Lake Michigan all the way to the horizon.

  In a word, it was spectacular.

  “If I lived here, I would never leave.” Enthralled, Ivy dropped her handbag in one of the club chairs and headed for the windows. “If anyone tried to build in front of this view, I’d sue the crap out of them and then chain myself to the ground to stop it from happening.”

  “The only thing between this building and the view of the lake is Millennium Park, and that’s not going to change, at least in our lifetime.” As he spoke, she heard him move into the open-plan kitchen, where he deposited her cloth grocery bags on the counter between a six-burner stove and a commercial-sized stainless steel fridge. “The apartment’s basically the entire floor, so I get to see the sun set over the city from my office on the other side. I’ve gotta admit, Chicago looks pretty fucking amazing from way up here.”

  “Your lofty treehouse homes in your mural, Paradise,” she breathed, snapping her fingers. “That’s what this view reminds me of, and I’ll bet it’s what drew you to this place.”

  A faint frown crossed his face as he glanced at the windows. “I never really thought about it.”

  “That need to find beauty while getting away from all things ugly is perfectly understandable, honey. No one can touch you up here.” Then what he’d said sank in and she turned fully away from the windows to gape at him. “Wait. You bought the whole floor?”

  He shrugged. “The apartment came that way, so yeah. There are a bunch of empty rooms and bathrooms or whatever on the west side, along with my office and a media room. I don’t have an actual art studio—I just go wherever the sun is whenever inspiration strikes, so don’t be surprised to find drop cloths randomly scattered throughout the place.”

  “Why did you feel you needed so much space? Was it because your first bedroom was a closet?”

  “Like I said, I bought the place for the view. The rest of it was incidental. Should I put everything away, or do I just leave this stuff out?”

  She checked her watch. “It’s a little after four now. Are you good with eating around six?”

  He nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “Then go ahead and leave the groceries out, honey. I’ll get to work in the kitchen while you do whatever you usually do. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  Come to find out, Tag had only a couple of pots and pans hidden away in the kitchen’s almost empty cabinets, a problem she hadn’t counted on. But it made sense; microwavable crap was pretty much his only food source when he wasn’t eating out, so she’d probably have more luck finding the Hope diamond in his apartment than a Dutch oven.

  She did, however, find a large cast iron skillet, no doubt something that came with the rest of the apartment’s furnishings. After giving the dusty pan a thorough scrub and mentally reworking the recipe she’d perfected over the years, she first browned off the chicken thighs in olive oil, set that aside, then went to town on sautéing the garlic, onions and bell peppers.

  Mm.

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  Around that time, Tag clearly followed his nose back out into the kitchen and hung out at the breakfast counter. She nearly jumped for joy when she found a blender in a small appliance garage on the counter—something he’d assumed was some sort of odd bread box and had never even bothered to look inside of it—and brought the tomato, oregano and red wine sauce to a smooth consistency. After setting it to simmer and reduce with fresh basil, porcini and shiitake mushrooms added in, she set about toasting some thick slices of garlic bread in the broiler—another thing he hadn’t known was there—and got a small salad going with fresh bits of carrots, cucumber and tomatoes.

  “This is like witnessing magic happen, watching you turn all that stuff into one amazing meal,” he said as she carefully drained the pasta in the sink. Not surprisingly, he didn’t have a colander, so a few noodles made their escape as she used the pot’s lid to hold the pasta back. “You’re going to have to teach me how to cook, tiger. This smells amazing.”

  “No guarantees, but I’m hoping it tastes as good as it smells.” Plucking up a piece of piping hot garlic bread fresh from the broiler, she held it up to his mouth. “Appetizer time.”

  Eyes never leaving hers, Tag took a bite of the crusty bread and chewed. When a look of pleasure crossed his face, she couldn’t help but smile. “Damn.”

  “You like?”

  “Hell, yeah.” His hand closed over hers and he guided the last bit of bread to her mouth. “Best garlic bread ever. Taste.”

  Her heart did a weird somersault as she took the bite between her teeth. As she swallowed, she couldn’t help but smile up at him. “Thanks for saying that, honey, but it’s nothing special. Just garlic bread.”

  “Garlic bread that goes along with a home-cooked meal that you went out of your way to make for me.”

  For a street-tough control-freak, he could be shockingly sweet. “For us, pal. I have to eat too, you know.”

  “I’m serious, Ivy.” Something warm blossomed in those dark eyes as he stared at her from across the counter, and all at once she wished she could magically make the obstacle between them vanish. “I’m used to this place, but I’ve never really felt like it was home, you know? Hell, I don’t even know what the fuck home is supposed to feel like. But…”

  She tilted her head when he trailed off. “What?”

  He shook his head, looking perplexed. “It’s hard to explain. Listening to you move around in here and humming to yourself while I’m down the hall working, smelling the delicious food you’re making for dinner and having you close by so I can see you and talk to you whenever I’m tired of my own damn company…I don’t know. I guess I’m just thinking that this is what home is supposed to feel like.”

  “Tag.” She leaned over the counter and smiled against his lips when he did the same. “Keep talking like that, beautiful man, and I’m going to wind up burning dinner.”

  “Worth it, baby.” He smiled and kissed her once more before he straightened with a sigh. “But I’ll be good. You’ve been working hard at this, so I don’t want to fuck it up for
you. But the moment everything’s on the table, all bets are off.”

  Her breath caught. “Sounds promising.”

  “Hell yeah, it’s a promise.” With a quick wink that did crazy things to her pulse he turned, grabbed up a remote and made himself comfortable on the sofa while turning on a huge flatscreen TV hanging over a fireplace that looked like it had never been used.

  Ten minutes later she had everything on the table, though the artist in her wasn’t thrilled with the mismatched plates and glasses, and the main course had to come to the table in the skillet, because apparently Tag didn’t believe serving dishes were a thing. Mentally she compiled a list of all the household items he needed, and she had to smile at her domestic side rearing its ugly head. Apparently Tag wasn’t the only one who was feeling homey.

  “Okay,” she announced, backing away from the table after setting the skillet down on a folded hand towel acting as a trivet, “Dinner’s ready. All we need is another chair and we’ll be ready to eat.”

  “A chair.” Rolling to his feet, Tag looked at the table with an almost comical expression before he turned off the TV and headed toward her. “Yeah. About that.”

  She glanced up from the task of spooning the cacciatore over the herbed and oiled pasta. “Yes?”

  “I don’t have a spare dining chair around here, but that’s not a problem.” He sat down and patted his knee. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  A disbelieving laugh burst out of her before she could stop it. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “There’s no way you’ll be able to eat with me on your lap,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s no big deal, we can take our plates and sit in front of the TV instead of—”

  “A home-cooked dinner is eaten at the dining table. That’s now a rule of this household. I’ll have some chairs delivered tomorrow,” he added thoughtfully, before he grabbed up her hand and pulled her toward him. “But for tonight, we’ll make due.”

  “I’m going to be wearing cacciatore and pasta all over me by the time this meal is done,” she muttered, all the while absurdly touched that he’d come up with such a unique—if not downright cuddly—solution to the dilemma. Before this moment, she would have sworn Tag wasn’t the cuddly type. “I probably should have worn red instead of pink. Tomato stains would have been so much easier to hide.”

  “We’ll be careful. Napkin.” He plucked up one of the paper napkins she’d found stuffed into a cupboard in the pantry, and tucked it into the halter neck of her dress. His hand lingered on the swell of her breast, and when she actually heard the sudden rush of her pulse, she knew her disturbed heartbeat beneath his palm was what made him smile. “You hungry, tiger?”

  All at once, the only hunger she had in her universe was for him. “Always.”

  A lazy smile lit his eyes as he picked up his fork. “Then I’d better do something about that. Open.”

  Well, wasn’t he just full of surprises. “Wait. Are…are you actually going to feed me?”

  “We are going to feed each other, and it’s going to be the most memorable fucking meal of our lives. Now, I’m not asking again, my tiger. Open.”

  “You didn’t ask the first time, but whatever.” Smiling, she held a precautionary hand under her mouth as he forked in a bite of pasta and garlicky chicken in its red wine and tomato sauce. Not bad at all, if she did say so herself. “Mm. Needs parmesan.” Reaching for the bowl of freshly grated parmesan cheese, she sprinkled some on their plates. “There we go. Okay, my turn.”

  “Yes, it is.” Looking thoroughly pleased with the world in general and her in particular, Tag sat back in his chair and waited for her to bring a forkful of food to his lips. Eyes lazily hooded and never leaving hers, he took the offering, and she couldn’t help but zero in on how his lips closed around the fork. Damn, it sure was getting hot in there, sitting on his lap and exchanging all that body heat. Any minute now she was going to set off the smoke alarms.

  “What do you think, honey? Do you like it?”

  “Mm.” The sound he made was one of genuine, visceral pleasure, and it only made the heat enveloping her inch up another degree. Her skin tingled with it, and she had to stifle a shiver when his free hand slid over her back in a slow but thorough caress. “That’s incredible, baby.”

  “Have another bite.” Getting another forkful, she watched that amazing mouth of his close over the offered morsel, then when she saw a smear of sauce on the edge of his lip she leaned forward on pure instinct. “Let me get that.”

  Bracing a hand against his solid shoulder, she dipped her head, breathing in his scent even as she licked away the smear of sauce, then nibbled that part of his lip, just to be sure.

  Mm.

  Yum.

  Amazing, how it tasted even better on him.

  “Ivy. Baby.” The hand at her back stilled along with his breath, and his stillness reminded her of that eerie calm before a storm. Then the storm hit in the form of Tag pulling her in for a hard kiss, the hand at her back sliding up to fist in her hair while his free hand tugged her napkin free. Dropping the fork she held to the floor, she turned fully in his arms, her breasts flattening against his chest as she threw herself into the deep, seeking kiss.

  If she’d thought the food had tasted good, it was nothing compared to Tag. He fulfilled every craving she’d ever had, and she couldn’t get enough of him.

  He seemed to feel the same way, as his arms crushed her fiercely against him, his mouth delving into hers again and again, so devouring and deep it was like sex itself. Heat raced along her skin, tightening her nipples until they ached and she couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

  She moaned, because the cleft between her legs was also aching in the sweetest way.

  That one sound from her seemed to trigger something deep within him. He rose to his feet, bringing her with him and hiking her ass up on the edge of the table, and all the while his mouth never left hers. Blindly she shoved their plates farther down the massive expanse of marble, barely hearing the clatter of more cutlery at it fell to the floor. If anything, it only added to the wildfire of excitement blazing through her as she concentrated on ripping open the fastening of his jeans.

  Lord above, she was hungry. Starving.

  But not for food.

  More and more, her appetite focused on Tag.

  If she could live on a steady diet of Tag, she’d be a happy, happy girl.

  “That’s it.” Pushing her all the way onto the table, he tugged the brilliant pink fabric of her dress up past her hips to her waist and hooked his fingers around the flesh-colored thong she wore. “I watched you put this on this morning, tiger, do you remember?”

  “Yes.” Another rush of heat flowed over her, and the pulse beating between her legs got worse. He’d spent the night at her place and woke her with his hands. Usually they had sex followed by a maddening, beautiful edging session, but he’d surprised her by spending most of their morning together making slow, lazy love to her. Not sex. Barry White, deep in the groove, soul-to-soul lovemaking.

  The edging that had followed had been wonderful as well, but lovemaking with Tag…

  That had been incredible.

  “I watched you slide into this, and all I could think of was when I could take it off you again.” With his mouth finding hers once more, he pulled the thong down her legs, tossing them aside even as he moved in between her knees.

  Yes.

  “I like it when you watch me dress.” She curled one hand around his nape to bring his mouth down to hers for a driving, desperate kiss, before she curled her free hand around the hot, iron-hard thrust of his cock and stroked him. When his breath hissed between his bared teeth, a thrill of dizzy delight spun through her. “I like it even more when you undress me.”

  “That makes two of us.” He took a few precious seconds to retrieve a condom from the wallet he fished out of his pants. “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never tire of watching you dress, because it hol
ds the promise of me getting to undress you. Better than unwrapping a present at Christmas any day. You’re everything I ever put on a wish list, and then some.”

  It was amazing, how he could move her with words, and arouse her with everything else. “What is it you’re wishing for right now?”

  A low growl rumbled out of him. “Bring me home, tiger. That’s what I’m wishing for.”

  “We’re in your home.”

  “My home is between your legs and nowhere else. Slide my cock inside you where it belongs.”

  Excitement bubbled through her bloodstream as she did as she was told, all the while understanding exactly what he was talking about. Every time he filled her, it was like a homecoming. As he stretched her interior walls to the fullest, it was a feeling of rightness. Of completion.

  Of home.

  And it was beautiful.

  “Ivy. My Ivy.” He bent over her and thrust powerfully, so powerfully that she had to lie back and wrap her legs around his ass just to anchor herself. She never fully registered the chilled bite of the table’s marble surface on her back exposed by the halter dress, because he drove into her like a man possessed.

  What possessed him was her.

  Her world rocked with each thrust, and she undulated her hips in time to take him deeper. One big hand braced her leg around him while the other slid between them to grind unerringly against her clit. His pace alone had pushed her with breathless speed toward euphoric release, but with that added touch she had no hope of holding back. Ecstasy slammed into her hard, wrenching a broken moan from her. It elevated to a cry as he drove harder, burying himself all the way to his hilt as he groaned, his muscles going rock-hard and the tendons standing out in his neck.

  In that moment, he was the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen.

  With one final thrust he collapsed down on her, and though her arms felt like limp noodles she did her best to wrap them around his broad back. As she did so, she caught a whiff of the dinner and realized her head was only inches from their dinner plates.