"Your eyes," she says. "Your eyes go darker when you look at me." I swallow down that she knew this, that she took the time to get to know all the little parts about me. "But they are the darkest when you come close and right before you kiss me." She leans in now and kisses me ever so softly.
I stand with her in the kitchen the whole time, and when she walks away from me, I follow her. I want to pretend I’m following her to learn, but I’m following her just to be next to her. Her hands graze mine sometimes, and then she moves around me by holding my hips, and my cock is just going to explode at this point. "It smells so good," I say, watching her wash all the pots while I dry next to her.
"Why don’t you take a shower?" she says, handing me the last pot before turning off the water. "Then we can eat when you come out."
"Yeah," I say and put the pot down. "That sounds good." I lean down and kiss her on the lips, and I want to kick myself for just blatantly doing that. But the smile on her face makes me forget everything.
I walk over to the bedroom and take a shower as hot as I can stand it and then as cold as I can tolerate it. I ignore all the warnings shooting off in my head, telling me to just stop whatever this is. I can’t think about her in that way. She doesn’t need the shit I have in my closet.
I slip on a pair of boxers and sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Walking out, I stop when I hear the soft music playing. The shades are all closed, and the lights are dim, and the table looks like she just set it. I watch her move around the kitchen and see she has changed. Her hair is loose, and she is wearing green pants that are loose but tight at the ankles. She wears a long-sleeved white shirt, and when she looks over at me, I see that one of her shoulders is bare. "It’s done." She smiles as she bends and takes the potpie out of the oven. I walk over to her, and I can smell her citrus smell. If I could, I would lean down and kiss her shoulder, but instead, I just think about it. "You look handsome," she says, smiling, and all the words are stuck in my throat. All. Of. Them.
She walks over to the dining room and places the pie in the middle of the table. "Do you want a beer?"
"No." I shake my head. "I’m going to stick to water."
She walks back to the fridge and takes out the jug of water and another one of sweet tea. "I didn’t make a side."
"The potpie is enough, Chelsea," I say, and she smiles at me. When I get really, really close to her, she looks up at me. Don’t kiss her, don’t touch her, my head is screaming at me. "You look beautiful," I say, putting one hand on her hip and then bending to kiss her lips.
"Thank you." She smiles shyly and sits down in the chair. I only sit when she does. She grabs my plate and scoops out some chicken potpie. She then serves herself half the portion.
"Do you say grace?" she asks, and I just shake my head.
"Do you?" I ask, and she avoids my eyes. "We can if you want."
"I usually just…" She avoids my eyes, and it kills me that she is afraid to tell me something. I put my hand on hers, and she looks at me from the side. "Thank you for keeping Mayson safe," she says and then mumbles, "Amen."
I take my hand off hers and grab the fork. The minute the food touches my tongue, I moan. "This is so good."
"Doesn’t it taste a bit better knowing that you cooked it?" she asks me and I laugh.
"Let’s be real, you tolerated me," I say, and I just look at her. "It was one of the best days in a long, long time. Being with you," I say before I can stop myself. But now that it’s out there, how do I take it back? Better yet, I don’t want to take it back. "I shouldn’t have said that."
"Why?" she asks, avoiding my eyes, and it kills me that I made her sad. It kills me that anyone can make her sad, but most of all, that it was me. But my girl doesn’t avoid anything. Instead, she folds her arms on the table in front of her, and she stares at me. "Why shouldn’t you have said that? Is it because you don’t mean it?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "Not at all. I do mean it. I mean every single word," I say, and my hand cups her cheek. My thumb rubs her cheekbone. "I just meant that."
"Eat before it gets cold." I nod and finish my plate. She gets up and grabs the empty plate. I look up at her, and she kisses me so naturally, it’s as if I’ve been doing it my whole life.
"Do you want ice cream with your apple pie?" she asks, and I get up and walk to her as she cuts the apple pie. She places a piece on the only plate on the counter.
"Are you not having any?" I ask, my mouth watering even though I’m stuffed. She shakes her head. "We can share,” I say, and she gets the ice cream, digging one scoop out and placing it on top of the hot pie.
We stand in the middle of her kitchen at the counter, and she walks over and gets two spoons. "You go first," she says, and I cut into it, the ice cream melting into the piece. I take the piece and put it on my tongue, and the heat from the pie with the cool of the ice cream makes me close my eyes.
"If you ever think about another career,” I say, taking another spoonful and now holding it up for her to taste. "You should think about becoming a chef."
She laughs, taking the apple pie from my spoon, and I pull it out too fast and a drop of ice cream remains on the corner of her mouth. I bend down to catch the drop with my tongue. She wraps her arms around my neck as my tongue slips into her mouth.
Dropping the spoon on the counter, I thread my fingers into her hair, pulling her even closer to me. We get lost in the kiss. Her hands going from my neck to my face, making sure the kiss doesn’t stop. Her chest molds to mine, and I want to pick her up and carry her over to the couch. I want to lie with her and get lost in all the kisses she’ll give me.
"Chelsea," I whisper and look at her as her eyes flutter open. The blue is now just a touch darker. Our chests rise and fall in unison. "I have never wanted anything in this world the way I want you," I admit. "Nothing and no one."
"Good." She smiles. "The feeling is mutual." I look down now, knowing that’s all we can have. But I also know that I’ve never let myself have what I want in my whole life. "You should get to bed," she says to me as if she senses my turmoil.
"I think that is a good idea,” I say, and neither of us moves.
"What do you want, Mayson?" she asks. "What do you really really want?"
All the words come to me and all the reasons also. But what comes out next shocks us both. "You." Her breath hitches as my heart hammers in my chest so hard and so loud. I think it’s going to come out of my chest. "I want you."
Chapter 20
Chelsea
I hold my breath as he fights with his inner demons. I can tell in his eyes how conflicted he is. I can also tell he’s never ever put himself first. "What do you want, Mayson?" I ask, knowing that I shouldn’t push him, and I’ve already pushed him out of his comfort zone. "What do you really really want?"
I’m expecting him to push me away, but what he says makes me gasp. "You." His eyes are so unsure. "I want you."