His lips part from mine, only the wetness that remains as proof that he had been there. I look at him and lick my lips, wanting every part of him for myself. He smiles. I can no longer control myself. I think all of the emotions and events of the day are crashing down inside, making me feel needy. I need him to show me how he feels. He bares more emotion when he makes love to me than when he speaks. I think it has something to do with suppressing it for so long. Now when he releases any, it comes out in a massive wave. It has me wanting it on a constant basis like an addict. It doesn't matter how many times he gives me that high, because as soon as it's over I'm already looking for my next fix.
I release his hands and turn in his arms so that I can get a better look at him. There is something I want and he's going to give it to me. I compromised...and now I'm going to collect. "I'm going back to the room. If you want to be sleeping in the same bed I suggest you follow. You have something I want, husband. It's time to deliver."
Without another word I turn and walk off, weaving through the people that still remain standing idly. I don't look back to see if he's on my heels. He'll come. He always does.
Sex is one thing that we both do right. Denying me is something he's never done. It doesn't take a relationship expert to know that two people aren't always in the same mood, but it shows selflessness when no matter how tired or give out you are, you still give in to your partner's needs. Until Haddox I had never experienced sex as a means of expression. It was a means of escape. When comparing them, this is by far the better choice of the two.
Six weeks later...
I set my duffle bag down on the bar, ready to leave for a training session at my studio. I woke up a little earlier than I had to so that I could make Piper breakfast before I go. She's officially out of school for Christmas break, so I made the session for early morning. I wanted to go while she would most likely be sleeping and be back by the time she wakes up to spend time with her for the rest of the day.
I open the refrigerator and dig through the contents. I started using a shopper to stock groceries until we figured out a routine. I'm officially sick of takeout. The entire previous months we lived together that's all we ate. When we returned from Vegas I knew we had to do something different. I've always been on my own, not needing much to get by, and Piper doesn't even know how to boil water, so I didn't think that grocery shopping would be an easy task for either of us. I'm not exaggerating either. I asked her to do it a few weeks ago and she looked at me like she was completely lost. I had to tell her to remove a pot from the cabinet, then give her step by step instructions for something that I thought was obvious to a child. I guess that's the difference in someone that's raised himself and someone that's had everything done for them all their life.
I grab the milk, placing it on the countertop. Pancakes it is. Opening the cabinet, I reach under the counter and grab a glass bowl and non-stick skillet, placing it on the cooktop, and the bowl beside the ingredients. I rub my hands together as I think. It's been a while since I did this. There is an art to making attractive pancakes. My first few times it looked like a missile went off in the kitchen, exploding in the bowl of batter. The ending result on my plate was something that resembled Mickey Mouse with a missing ear, but hell, at least it was edible.
Flour. Shit, how do I forget the main ingredient? Where would flour be stored? When alone I lived off of easy meals that went from freezer to oven. Having money just buys you convenience. When I was a kid I had to be creative. I look around. The huge pantry could be a clue. I open the door and look inside. Holy shit, it's like a mini grocery store in there. How have I lived here for so long and not realized it could hold this much food? It will take forever to consume all of this shit. Everything is even organized by type.
I find the bag of flour and make my way back to my workspace, not hesitating before I start combining everything in the bowl. "Why are you up so early?"
I set the milk jug down and turn my head towards the groggy voice coming from behind me. Piper is walking in wearing one of my tee shirts, her hair stuck out all over her head, and rubbing her eyes with her hands. "Making you breakfast. Why am I up early? I'm a morning person. You know that. The real question is what are you doing up so early? I wasn't expecting you to be up for a few hours."
She walks around the bar, her bare legs coming into view. I'll never get tired of waking up to that every day. She shrugs and wraps her arms around my waist, placing her head between my shoulder blades. She inhales before answering me. "You smell of manly awesomeness."
I grab her hands resting on my stomach and turn around, now facing her. She will never understand how sexy she is like this, completely natural. I smirk. She has no smile present on her face. The woman is a grump in the mornings. "Is that even a word? I didn't know people of your social class even said things that weren't considered proper."
"Very funny. I'm pretty sure after Mom's last visit we won't be seeing them for a long time. She's pretty pissed I ran off and got married."
"I don't give a shit. Fuck her. No one is going to come in my house and disrespect my wife the way she did."
I get pissed off all over again just thinking about it. It makes my blood boil. She was a second away from putting herself in a man's shoes. I would never hit a woman, but even the most respectful men know that sometimes there should be an exception.
The weekend after we returned from Vegas she came over, barging in the door at 7AM. We were still in bed. I went to open the door and she pushed her way inside as if she owned the damn place. I don't know much about uppity people, because most of the people I coexist with on a daily basis are down to earth and cool as shit, but where I come from you don't just barge in someone else's home; however, because it was her mother I bit my tongue. I wanted to say something, because I don't like the bitch. I haven't since the first day I met her at Piper's apartment.
She gave me a go to hell look as she asked for her daughter. Piper walked in and without thinking she slapped her across the face, asking if she had lost her damn mind, screaming and threatening that she was being cut off financially. She also played the guilt card that her father was distraught that she would go off to Vegas and marry trash. There is one thing you don't do: piss off an MMA fighter, especially with his family.
I may have come from trash, but I still protect what's mine.... and I did when I grabbed the bitch by the throat and slammed her against the wall, breathing my rage into her face to make sure she understood. Where she fucked up: she assaulted my wife in our home. I could fucking slit her throat and it would be self-defense. Murder is not beneath me when it's in defense to the innocent. I know...I've been there not once but twice. They also say, third time’s a charm.
She tightens her arms around my waist, pulling me out of that memory. "And I love you for that."
"Now tell me, why are you up?"
"I had to pee and it woke me up, then I noticed you weren't in bed when I went to the bathroom."
My brows dip. "Something as small as a full bladder can wake up the dead? Since when? You can sleep through storms."
"I don't know. I must have drunk too much before I went to bed." She peeks around me at the bowl filled with flour and milk, still separated. "Pancakes huh? Those are my favorite. How did I get so lucky? A man that can cook, sing, protect me, and is sexy as sin...I struck gold. I'm starving actually. Can I watch?"
I kiss her on the lips. "I'll give you better than that. You can help."
Her face scrunches. "They probably won't taste good. Are you sure?" She starts thinking. "I'm a really bad wife, aren't I? Most wifeys should know how to cook..."
I laugh aloud inadvertently. "Wifeys?"
"Don't judge me. I like it. It's a younger sounding word. We don't have to be the old married couple for at least like fifty years."
I shake my head at her, trying to brush the monstrous hair rat's nest back over her ear with no success, so I change to patting instead without even realizing it. She swats my hand. "Hey
, not all of us are blessed to look like you do when we wake up. With some of us it takes effort to be sexy."
"I never said you looked anything other than sexy, but if you would let me hold you all night instead of venturing across the entire king sized bed in the matter of eight hours your hair wouldn't be matted."
"Bite me, Hayes."
I do. Right on the bottom lip. I'm a literal kind of guy. She wants to be bitten, and so she will be. Her eyes become lazy as they stare into mine. Those eyes could persuade me to do anything. "You do that again and pancakes will not be on the menu...you will be."
Within a second her persona changes. "Okay, show me what to do. I'm ready to learn, Chef."
I turn us around, pulling her in front of me and behind the bowl. "Grab the whisk."
I reach over and turn on the cooktop to low, giving it time to heat the skillet. When I look back at her, she is standing exactly how I left her with her hands flat on the counter, to each side of the bowl looking in. "What are you doing?"
She looks at me. "What's a whisk?"
I slap my hands over my face and slowly drag them down, pulling my skin along with them. I should have known. When did the world become backwards and a man have to show a woman how to cook? I feel like I'm in an alternate universe. This is really much worse than I thought. "God, I love you, but you're a terrible homemaker. I say that with love. We have forever to practice."
I grab the whisk hanging directly in front of her on the utensil hooks attached to the wall. If it had been a snake, it would have bitten her. I point at the whisk with my free hand and go through the introduction. "Piper, meet whisk. Whisk, your new owner."
I hand it to her. She has a huge grin on her face. At least she has a good personality. I give her an A+ for sportsmanship. "Well, hello whisk. It's nice to meet you. You sure aren't very fashionable. A little color could really liven you up. Maybe then people would want to cook. Amen? Silver is not the new pink."
I bite my bottom lip. I'm trying really damn hard to take this seriously. Really I am. Of course she's going to suggest we make the kitchen utensils colorful instead of asking what its purpose is. Did I really expect anything else? She's a fashion major. She color coordinates her underwear with her outfit. Who the fuck does that? No one even sees them. A fashion junkie that's who.
I lay one hand flat on the counter and place the other on my hip as I look at her. "What?"
"Really?"
She points it at me and raises her eyebrow. "Don't make me use this as a weapon. I am creative."
"Your instructions begin now. I want you to whisk the batter."
"Fine." She stabs it in the bowl and starts mashing it like mashed potatoes, shoving the gooey substance inside the whisk. There are some moments when you really need a video camera.
I pull the sleeves to my Henley up to my elbows and take my stance behind her. I wrap my hands around hers on the handle, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. "You scored for getting it in the bowl, but it's not a potato masher. You stir the ingredients together until it's like a thick soup. Like this..."
I start to stir with her, circling the whisk around inside of the bowl. Her breathing peaks as I press my body into hers. She smells like me. I like it. "I think I may love cooking," she whispers.
"Oh yeah? Pour some more milk. It's not thin enough yet." She shivers each time my breath hits her ear.
She grabs the handle of the milk and picks it up, pouring a little at a time into the bowl as we continue to mix. "That's enough."
I open the cabinet above us to look for cinnamon. I don't have to look very long before I find it. I let go of her hand long enough to open it and pour it in.
She replaces the milk on the counter, but continues to stir, mixing the cinnamon into the batter. The consistency is finally ready. I grab the bowl from behind her and lead her a few steps to the left, closer to the cooktop. "All we have to do is pour until it spreads into a decent size. The heat will start to cook it, not letting it go far. I'll do the first one to show you."
She removes her hands, placing them behind her, resting them on my hips. When the batter is poured I place the bowl on the counter and grab a spatula, holding it up in front of her. "This is a spatula. It's what we're going to flip it with when the first side is done."
"Okay."
The smell of the cooking cinnamon starts to fill the kitchen, making it smell like home. Her body tenses. I can feel her abs contracting, then sounds of her gagging start. Without thinking I turn her around. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm fi-" She cuts her sentence off mid word by throwing her hand over her mouth and takes off running toward the bedroom.
I turn the heat off and jog to the bedroom to check on her. The bathroom door is shut. I try to turn the handle but it's locked, so I knock. "Piper, let me in."
"Go-" Sounds of liquid to water occur as her voice becomes replaced my stomach muscles contracting to expel its contents. No one could mistake that sound. It doesn't matter who it is making them, it's always the same. "Away." The sound starts over.
I bang on the door. "Baby, what happened? Why are you throwing up?"
The toilet flushes and she groans. I'm getting worried. She hasn't even drunk anything. "Are you getting sick? Unlock the door."
"Give me a min-" She starts gagging again and everything that just happened starts repeating itself. I feel above the frame of the door for the emergency key and slide it in the lock, turning it until it clicks. I open the door to her on her knees, hovered over the toilet with her hair gathered in one hand. She starts to dry heave, nothing else coming out.
I grab a washcloth and wet it under the faucet before walking over to her, squatting to match her level. She flushes again and closes the lid as she looks up at me, altering her position to rest on the side of her butt so that she can lean against the shower door. "I didn't want you to see that."
I place the rag to her forehead, trying to cool her down in case she's running fever. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
She takes a few deep breaths. "Probably that Chinese food from last night if I had to guess. Either that or I'm coming down with a virus. Decorating the Christmas tree is going to be real fun if I'm running back and forth to the bathroom. You really don't have to stay in here. It kind of smells gross."
"I've smelt worse. You're more important. Let me help you in bed and I'll cancel my session."
"No, don't be silly. It's only a couple hours. I'll be fine. I will not let a stupid stomach bug ruin our first Christmas tree. It's the first time I've been excited about having one. I already have it ready for when you get home."
"It's really not a big deal, Piper. I can just cancel."
"They are expecting you, Haddox. I'm fine. Just go and then come home. I'll be fine. I'm just a little nauseous."
I look at my watch for the time. I don't like the idea of leaving her sick, but she's right. I'm probably already going to be late. I got sidetracked and wasn't paying attention to the time. I lay the cloth on the toilet seat and lift her off the floor, cradling her in my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck as I stand to walk her to the bed.
I lay her down and pull the covers over her body. "I'm only going to be gone for one session and then I'll be right back. Promise me you'll rest? If you get worse, call me and I'll take you to the doctor." She nods and I kiss her forehead. "I love you, Piper."
"I love you too, baby. Now get out of here." I stand and walk out of the room, dreading being gone and I haven't even left yet. It feels wrong to leave her that way. I grab my bag and jacket off the bar and walk out the door, closing it behind me. I won't be able to concentrate on anything else, but her.
I hear the door close and reach over for my phone off the nightstand. It doesn't take me long to pull the correct contact up and initiate the call. I place it to my ear, waiting for her to pick up. A sleep induced moan sounds into my ear. "Hello."
"How much do you love me?"
"That depends on what you want. I know you'r
e not calling me to shoot the shit. I've been replaced by a fighter sex god that gives you amazing orgasms. I don't measure up. It saddens me."
"You're so dramatic. I see you at least three days a week."
"Fine. Obviously, I love you more. What do you want? Not all of us get woken up with a poke in the ass for a morning love exercise, putting us in an amazing mood at the crack of dawn."
"Do you feel like bringing me Saltine crackers and Sprite? I need you."
"This is what our relationship has turned into? I have to bring you home remedies for puking your guts up to see my best friend? Shameful...wait, why do you need those things? It's not even 9AM."
"It's your fault. You're the one that nursed me to good health with those very things more than once. You can't change the tradition now. I'm sick. It's not even alcohol induced, so I never got the amazing party the night before. Is there a stomach virus going around?"
"No...."
Her tone is different. She says nothing. "Okay..."
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
"Nothing at the moment that should concern you. I'll be there in a bit. Bye."
I look at the screen. She disconnected the call. What's eating at her? Sometimes, she has her quirks. I'm starting to feel hungry again, but now I'm scared to eat anything. My stomach growls. I roll over and shove my head under the pillow. I give up. I'm not in the mood to throw up again.
The heat kicks on and I can feel the warm air blowing over the bed. It feels good. I snuggle under the covers and my eyes start to close. I start to feel tired and I haven't even been up long. I'm definitely getting sick...and the best thing for it is to sleep.
Fight for You Page 37
