by Kim Jones
Now, during the blackest moment of my distress, is Cook. Appearing like a beacon of light. Reminding me that I’m not alone. That something good has been standing in front of me for months. But I’ve been too consumed by the past to really acknowledge him as an essential part of my life.
Every time I think about us becoming more, I push away the idea. Claiming I’m not ready. That I’m still mending my broken heart. Piecing my soul back together. Telling myself that I couldn’t put my faith in someone again. Trust again. Love again. It’s too soon to feel this way about anyone. Then again, Cook’s not just anyone.
He’s the man who makes me feel like a woman. Wanted. Special. Beautiful. Sexy. He’s the guy who calls me gorgeous. Cooks for me. Washes my hair to make me feel better and holds it when I’m sick. He kisses away my tears. Tells me he’s got me. Carries me when I can’t walk. Rubs my feet when they hurt—even when they stink.
He’s responsible for that feeling of happiness that makes me light headed. Buzz with excitement. Smile with giddiness. He is the reason I get that tingle in my spine. Twinkle in my eye. Flutter in my belly. Everything that makes me feel alive comes from this man.
His touch becomes distracting. When his hands innocently caress my breasts, heat pools in my belly. I shiver as they move lower. Feathering across my thighs. Between my legs. Replacing my sadness with desire. But it’s not enough. I need more.
“I want you to make it stop,” I say, pulling my eyes up to meet his. He struggles to understand something I can’t explain. “Please…” My voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t want to think about him. I only want you.”
Realization starts to unravel in his mind. He knows like I know, he’s the only one who has the power to make me forget everything that isn’t him. He claims me. Owns me. Makes me feel wanted. Worshipped. Adored. Loved.
“Say it, gorgeous,” he whispers, his eyes roaming my face. Fingers ghosting up my arms to my neck.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to fuck me.” There is no flash of understanding in his expression. He’s known exactly what I’ve wanted since I asked.
“I know, baby.” His voice reflects the pain in his eyes. “But I need to hear you say it.”
I’m not sure why he looks so tortured. Sounds so pained. Is it because he’s afraid I’ll read deeper into it than what it really is? If so, I don’t care. The pain can’t be any worse than it is now. So I’ll ask him. Accept what he gives. And I’ll have no expectations for more when it’s over.
“I want you to make love to me.”
He studies my eyes. My lips. The hollow of my throat. Then he dips his mouth to mine—kissing me softly. His touch tender as he pulls me closer. Kisses me deeper. Unhurried. Lazy but passionate.
His mouth moves down my throat, licking the water there. Saying, “You’re beautiful,” between kisses. Whispering, “So precious,” as he kisses his way down my belly. His breath fanning across my wet sex as he breathes, “So sweet,” before parting my lips with his tongue and gently sucking my clit.
I lean against the shower wall, my toes curling into the hard tub. My fingers knotting in his hair as I lose myself to his touch. Feeling the pain fade into delicious pleasure. His fingers explore me. Widening me as his tongue and lips continue to softly tease my aching clit.
My legs shake as he places lingering kisses up my body until he’s standing. I arch my head back to meet his face, finding his lips parted. Eyes burning with an emotion I’ve never seen in them. Instantly, I’m lost.
Both of us dripping wet, he carries me from the shower to my bed—covering me with his big body. My legs part and he fits perfectly between them. Linking our hands, he holds them above my head as he slowly pushes inside me. Filling me with all of him. Searing me with his gaze.
He rocks his hips to a steady rhythm. Pumping in and out. Long, deep strides. Inch by inch. Breath by breath. Heartbeat by heartbeat, he claims my body. Owns my mind. Absorbs my thoughts. Repairs my heart.
Tears leak from my eyes and he kisses them away. My mind is at war. My body coiled tight with tension. Still he makes love to me. Catches my cries with his mouth. Let’s me come apart beneath him—wordlessly promising to catch me when I fall.
“I’m so confused,” I cry, wishing I had some explanation as to what’s happening to me. Why only moments ago, I was crying because a man I once loved hurt me. Now I’m crying over this man. Over a feeling I just can’t convince myself is real.
“I know, gorgeous.” The defeat in his words is profound. He seems resigned. Yet he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t run from the inevitable truth that is slowly revealing itself in my mind—a truth he’s already aware of.
It’s not just about the sex anymore with us. It hasn’t been for a long time. It’s not about Jud. Broken hearts. Betrayal. Wounds or scars.
It’s about one man. One woman. And this one defining moment that changes absolutely everything.
Change Isn’t Always A Good Thing
My alarm wakes me early—notifying me of a new day. While the arms holding me remind me of that moment that changed everything.
Last night Cook chose me. He’d left his club behind to take me home. Ignored them when they called. Made love to me like I was his. Treasured me as if I was the most precious thing on earth. Worshipped me. Cared for me. Treated me to a level of intimacy I’ve never experienced. Our connection was so deep, so beautiful, so captivating that I felt him in my soul.
I slept wrapped in his arms. Limbs flaccid. Body sated. Dreaming of nothing. Even in my sleep, my subconscious mind couldn’t create a fantasy more beguiling than my own reality. But as enthralling as it is, it’s even more terrifying. Because truth is, I don’t know anything about this man.
I don’t know his story. Though I have my suspicions, he’s yet to tell me the reason behind that sadness he tries so well to hide. So I have to ask myself, do I really want to have feelings for a man who keeps himself such a mystery? Who deflects every time I ask him something personal? Who’s more dedicated to a club than most people are to their marriage? Who makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world one moment, only to leave me in an instant without even an explanation? How many mornings would I wake up cold and alone before he found me worthy enough to stay?
As if he can sense my thoughts, Cook tightens his hold on me. He pulls me further back into the warmth of his chest. Soft lips ghost across my shoulder, heating me from the outside in. I melt deeper into his embrace. Breathing in his scent. Delighting in his presence. Wondering … what if?
What if last night was the start of something new between us? What if it was his way to prove I do mean more to him? What if from now own he stayed more? What if we ended every night together? Started every day together? What if he found me worthier than his club? Worthier of his time? What if he opened up to me? Revealed his secrets? Talked about his past? Would that stop me from ignoring my feelings and make me realize I am undeniably in love with him?
The sound of his phone ringing has me holding my breath. Hoping he doesn’t answer. He’d ignored it last night. Would he now? He answers with his signature, “Yeah,” and that single word slashes my thoughts with a blade so sharp, I feel its cut in the depths of my soul. Reality crashes around me. Shaking me from my fantasy. Reminding me why I’m so terrified of giving my heart to this man.
Last night he’d put me first, but obviously that was a one-time thing. Now, I feel stupid for over analyzing it. He simply hadn’t answered because he knew he couldn’t leave me in that state. It didn’t mean he shared the same deep feelings for me. It was just a reflection of the kind of man he is. I’m sure he’d have done the same for Kat or Delilah.
The insight is sobering. I lock my heart back in its iron cage. Drown the feelings I’d let surface only moments ago. What we have may be more than sex, but it’s not as powerful as I’d thought. At least not on his part. And I refuse to care that deeply about someone who cares so much more about something else.
> Rolling me to my back, Cook looks down at me. Studying me with blue eyes that are filled with sympathy. But there is no regret. “I have to go, gorgeous,” he says. Not a hint of apology in his tone for putting me second. And that’s just as it should be. Because he doesn’t owe me anything.
What happened last night changes nothing. It’s not his fault I let my thoughts run away from me. He’d given me no reason to believe we had something more. He’s been the same man since the moment I met him. It’s me who’s different. But I have no problem reverting back to that girl he met months ago. Only this time, I’m not living my life for anyone but me.
By The Light Of The Refrigerator
The day is long. The night even longer. I haven’t heard from Cook since this morning. Not that I expected to. Actually, I’m thankful for his silence. It validates my decision to suppress my feelings toward him.
I’m dead tired and hungry as hell by the time I make it home. It takes every ounce of energy I have to drag my ass up the two flights to my apartment. Inside, I head straight to my refrigerator, holding my breath as I open it up. Butter, ketchup and wine. It’s what’s for dinner. With all the drama from last night, I hadn’t thought to go to the store and buy groceries today. Now, I’ll be going to bed hungry.
Closing the door, I press my head against it and stand in the darkness. When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When life hands you wine, you drink until you’re too drunk to care that you’re hungry.
Too lazy to walk to the bedroom, I kick off my shoes and fall back on the chaise. Emily had been blowing up my phone all day, insisting that I call her ASAP and tell her about last night. You’d think I wouldn’t want to relive it. Instead, I’m anxious to fill my best friend in on what happened. And share with her my relief at finally having the weight of the past off my shoulders.
An hour and a bottle of wine later, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. With a quick goodbye and a promise to talk more soon, I end the call. Immediately after, I set my alarm before I forget. Making sure to give myself an extra fifteen minutes so I could swing through a drive-thru for breakfast on my way to work.
I still need to shower. Brush my teeth. Change out of my uniform. Sleep on something that won’t leave me stiff and sore all day tomorrow. But after working all day yesterday, being so emotionally drained last night and work day, I’m too tired to move.
So I curl up on the couch and close my eyes, allowing myself just a minute of rest--knowing good and damn well I won’t have the energy or the will to get up.
It’s before five when I slap the button on my alarm and stumble from bed. Fumbling my way through the dark half asleep, I find the bathroom and cut the light on. The sight of my reflection snaps me out of my current state and fully wakes me.
Instead of my uniform, I’m wearing a faded LSU T-shirt. My hair is mussed from sleep and wild around my face—no longer in a bun on top of my head. Then I realize I woke up in my bed. Not on the chaise. Cook…
He’d broken into my house. Again. Carried me to bed. Undressed me. Even put my phone on the charger. Those feelings I’d stifled yesterday begin to stir. Leaving me with a warm feeling in my chest and a smile on my face. Second place is looking better and better.
Thirty minutes later, I’m dressed and on my way out when I notice a note hanging on the refrigerator. Cautiously, I move toward it. As I do, I find notes on my cabinets, too. Even the one where I stash all my wine. When the writing comes into focus, that smile I’ve been wearing all morning widens.
If you’re looking for food, you won’t find any here.
On the cabinet next to the refrigerator:
Or here.
Another cabinet:
None here.
When I make it to the wine cabinet, I laugh.
But if you’re looking for wine … We have white wine. Red wine. Sweet wine. Old wine. New wine. Nasty wine. Pretty good wine. Cheap wine. More cheap wine. What the fuck is “goat” wine?
Glancing at the clock, I see I’ve already wasted five of my extra fifteen minutes. Leaving the notes, because I’ll probably need something to smile about when I get home tonight, I sprint toward the door. My blast of energy is fueled by the thought of a biscuit loaded with bacon and cheese. It’s there I find another note. This one doesn’t make me laugh, though. It makes me swoon.
Have a great day, gorgeous. Dinner is on me tonight.
-The Prospect
I find myself glancing at the clock all day. Every time I look, it seems time slows down. It’s not the anticipation of the end of my shift that has me so anxious, it’s seeing Cook. Even though he was at my house last night, I didn’t see him. Smell him. Feel him. I guess the truth is, I miss him.
By the time I pull up at my apartment, my heart is pounding in my chest. I’m excited. A little nervous. Butterflies swarm in my belly. The eagerness to feel his touch is profound. But when I scan the parking lot for Cook’s bike, I come up empty.
My good mood crashes. I’m left feeling bereft and alone. His absence wouldn’t affect me so much had I not anticipated his presence since I read his note this morning.
Tonight I will definitely be indulging in my guilty pleasure—wine. Not only will it help take the edge off, but I’ll be having it for dinner, too. If I can ever make it up these friggin’ stairs.
Breathless, I fall into my apartment and head straight to the refrigerator. When I pull open the door, I gape at what I see. Then blink a few times to make sure it’s real. Wonder if I’m dreaming as I stare into the light. I’m surprised angels aren’t here singing about this miracle.
I have food.
Tons.
The shelves are filled with everything from meat to mayo. Opening the freezer, I find it full too. A breathy sigh escapes me when I see the one thing I love more than wine.
“Ice cream,” I breathe, pulling out the frozen container. I grab a spoon and rip the lid off, take a bite and let out a moan. “Delicious.”
Delicious.
Mr. Delicious.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I swear I can feel his presence.
“Did you do this?” I ask, somehow knowing he’s here. I think…
“Someone had to.” I think right. He’s here. Behind me. But seeing his handsome face doesn’t bring me as much excitement as ice cream. So I don’t bother turning around.
“Tell me something.” I take another bite. “How do you keep getting in my house?”
“I have a key.” Well that’s enough to make me turn.
My eyes search the darkness for him. I make out his form on my chaise—his feet propped up as he reclines. Damn, I’ve missed him.
“I moved the key.”
“I made a copy before you did.”
It’s weird. Stalkerish. A little creepy. I should care. I don’t.
“Why do you need a key to my house?”
He stands. The ice cream in my mouth seems to melt a little faster. “Because we have a deal. And it’s usually late before I get here.”
Striding over to the island, he leans his elbows on it. The light from the still open freezer illuminates me, but he’s in the shadows. “So you did it for convenience?”
“Maybe.” Even in the dark, his smile is unmistakable. “You gonna offer me some of that?” He nods his head toward the carton in my hand. I shake mine. His grin widens.
Stabbing at my ice cream, I keep my eyes down and whisper, “Why did you do this for me?”
The silence stretches until I meet his gaze. “Because I can.” After a moment, he smirks. “Is this the part where you tell me it’s too much?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Hell no.” When my smile finally dies, I give him a sincere look. “It’s tough sometimes, you know? Being on my own. No family close by. No friends. Hate kept me here. Pride won’t let me go home.”
“Time has a way of healing, gorgeous.”
Unable to refrain, I smile. “How original.”
His lips don’t even twitch. “How true.�
�� His voice is small. Almost sad.
“Thank you for this, Cook. I’ll pay you back.”
“No, Carmen. You won’t. It’s my gift to you.”
Then his grin returns. Eyes smiling. Mood playful. “You’re too skinny. I like the women I fuck to be a little thicker.”
“Well … since I’m the only woman you’re…” I give him a pointed stare. “Fucking…” He laughs. “I can see why you did this.”
I put the ice cream back in the freezer, shutting the door and leaving us in darkness. My breathing picks up when I turn back to face him. My body already responding to what I know is coming. “But how ever will I repay you?”
He calmly straightens before sauntering around the island toward me. Backing me against the counter, he presses his hips into me. He smells masculine. Heady. Mouthwatering.
“You don’t have to repay me, gorgeous.” His lips feather across my cheek. “But I can think of several ways for you to thank me.”
Over the past few months, he’s tasted me many times. But I’ve never had the opportunity to taste him. Really taste him. The idea has me licking my lips as I place my palms against his chest—pushing him a step back from me.
Wanting to see his face, I open the refrigerator door again. I notice his brow quirk the moment we’re flooded in the fluorescent glow. “Looking for something?”
I shake my head. “I want you to see me … And I want to watch you.”
“By the light of the refrigerator. How romantic,” he teases, smirking down at me. But when I drop to my knees, the smirk wipes right off his face.
Taking my time, I loosen his belt. Unbuckle his jeans. Then he’s in my hand. Thick. Hard. Long. Hot to touch. I’m dying to taste. And when I softly kiss the tip, he groans. I gaze up at him from beneath my lashes—separating my lips and swirling my tongue over the head of his cock.
