I shrugged. Honestly? The idea of getting dressed up and going somewhere fancy after the afternoon I’d had sounded maybe a tiny bit better than having my tonsils removed with a dull spoon. But for David, I would go.
“I’d been planning to cook here….care to help me and eat in?” I said.
“Oh, thank Christ. The idea of putting on a public face right now felt overwhelming.”
See? We were back to being on the same page again, now that all the awkward weirdness was behind us. Hopefully.
“How do you feel about pasta with shrimp and butter-wine sauce?” I said.
His jaw dropped. “Sounds divine.”
I laughed at his expression. “What, you were expecting fried Twinkies?”
He groaned. “You never let me live anything down, do you?”
“Hey, someone’s gotta keep your arrogant butt in line.” I gathered the ingredients from the fridge and the cabinet and pulled pots and pans from cabinets. I set David to chopping vegetables for a salad while I put water on to boil and then pulled shrimp from the freezer. Not fresh, but this was an unplanned dinner, so they’d have to do.
As I squeezed between David and the tiny, tall table that served as a makeshift island, my hips brushed his ass, sending a shiver racing across my skin. “Sorry, cramped quarters,” I said.
“Did you hear me complain?”
I paused with my hand on the faucet. There was an odd note in David’s voice. A sultry playful tone that was half fun, half hot as fuck. When I shoved the shrimp under the cool water, I splashed a little on my face.
Cool your engines, Seb. The only thing you’re cooking up right now is food.
True. But the fact that finally, the possibility of more was on the table had suddenly turned me into a walking hormone machine. Which would only prove David right in his worries about our age gap.
I straightened my shoulders and started mincing garlic cloves next to David.
“You’re making the pasta sauce from scratch?” David watched me chop with an arrested expression.
I shrugged. “I mean, I’m not hand-making the pasta, if that’s what you’re asking. Next time, though, give me some notice and I will.”
David whistled and admiration flashed in his eyes. “Color me impressed.”
I laughed. “You don’t have to sound so shocked that I know my way around a kitchen.”
David flashed me a cheeky, completely unrepentant grin. “Come on, you know all the stereotypes about grad students and their eating habits…I really wanted to spend time with you so I would have said yes regardless, but I was praying that we wouldn’t be feasting on Top Ramen and Goldfish crackers.”
I sputtered before picking up the nearby dish towel and flicking it at him. “Okay, Top Ramen, maybe, but Goldfish crackers? Come on! Were you expecting me to serve you wine out of a sippy cup, too?”
David pursed his lips and tapped his chin, like he was actually considering it. “I mean, you never know…” he started with an impish smile.
I shrieked and then dipped my fingers in my water glass and flung droplets at him. They splattered across his glasses. “Oops, I’m sorry, did I do that?” My voice sounded entirely too cheerful for him to take my apology seriously. “Not that you could expect much more from a sippy-cup-drinking, Goldfish-eating guy.”
David’s mouth fell open, before he removed his glasses and carefully dried them on the towel. He set them aside and his eyes narrowed on me while a slow smile spread across his face. “No, I couldn’t expect much more. But I do believe in consequences.” He took a step toward me, that evil smile still on his face.
I yelped and scrambled back, wielding the garlic mincer in front of me like a cross. “Watch out!”
He ignored me and took another step. “Or what, you’ll mince me to death? I’ll take my chances.”
I started to laugh while stumbling away, retreating one step to every step he advanced. I grabbed at a loose oven mitt and tossed it at him. He caught the glove and tossed it aside.
“Now, David. We have a dinner to cook, remember?” I flung a plastic spoon at him next, followed by a dried cranberry that I scooped off the counter. He batted the spoon away and miraculously managed to catch the cranberry in his mouth, which made me pause in admiration.
“Okay, now that’s impres—”
He lunged while I was still mid-sentence, distracted, and caught me around the waist. We both plunged backwards against the counter. He dipped his head close, leaning in until the heat of his breath tickled my ear. His hands on my hips were firm. His own hips, a mere inch or so away. His chest skimmed mine. Barely a hint of a touch, but enough to send goosebumps ricocheting across my skin.
“The sooner you turn around and take your punishment, the quicker we can get back to cooking,” he said. His voice was pure smoke and honey. Almost hypnotizing, to the point that I wasn’t sure I could have denied even the most off-putting request.
Not that he was requesting. No, this was pure command. An alpha side of David that I knew existed, but often remained hidden under his buttoned-up shirts and tweed jackets.
Also, off-putting? Ha. The situation happening in the front of my jeans made a joke of that.
My muscles twitched with both excitement and nerves as I obeyed his command and slowly turned around.
“Excellent. Now place your elbows on the counter, and lean over.”
I did as he commanded. Slowly. I’d never taken part in any of this kind of play before. Never really thought about it, to be honest.
So I’d had no idea how big of a turn-on the idea of being spanked was until right now.
Or more precisely—the idea of being spanked by David.
The cheap counter tile was cool and slick against my suddenly damp arms. I leaned forward and braced myself for the impact.
When the touch finally came, I almost jumped out my skin. Not because he’d smacked me hard. The exact opposite. His hand slapped the underside of my cheek with such gentleness that I thought I might melt into a puddle. Right here, on my cheap linoleum floor. Then his hand curved around my ass, giving me a loving stroke before squeezing.
I sighed into the counter. Before I could tease him about his hardcore punishment, his hand left and then I simultaneously felt a stinging smack on the underside of my cheek and heard the sound of flesh striking denim.
Once again caught off guard, I jerked. His hand immediately returned to the soothing motions.
My head spun, and I wasn’t sure if it was the combination of the surprise pain followed by his touch or the batshit day I’d had or all of those things put together, but suddenly, I was just as hard as the tile that I was leaning on.
A second later, he leaned into my ear once again. This time, though, no mere skim of his body. He mashed up behind me, big spoon to little. Until I knew with one-hundred percent certainty that he was just as turned on as I was.
“We’ll let you slide by just this once,” he whispered into my ear. His hands slid down my hips and pulled me up against him, until I bit back a moan. “You’re going to behave better this time, right?”
“Yes.” My voice was hoarse and almost unrecognizable.
“Excellent. Let’s get back to cooking then, shall we?” He nipped my earlobe before stepping away. I gave myself a few seconds to regroup before straightening myself.