Cora nods. It might just be me, but I swear she looks relieved. “I see. That makes sense.”
“What about you? Any Mr. Personal Chefs in your life?”
She flashes me a brief smile that doesn’t have a lot of humor in it. “Not for a very long time. I . . . had a bad experience. I guess you could say I got my heart broken. It left me sort of afraid of getting close to anyone again, so I’ve just been focusing on my work the past few years.”
But she’s here with you. Maybe that means she’s ready to get close to someone again. If that’s the case, I want that someone to be me.
I need it to be me.
5
Wyatt
After we eat, I realize how dim the kitchen is, because the sun is almost completely below the horizon now.
“This is my favorite moment of the day,” Cora says softly, following my gaze. She points out the window. “The way the glowing edge of the sun is just barely visible, but it still casts some light over the city. I remember when I saw this view for the first time, about six months before I moved to LA. I was here visiting a friend, looking for jobs, and I saw this view. And it sparked this sense of excitement and fulfillment inside me, like this is where I needed to be.”
I smile at her. “Even with as problematic as this city can be?”
“Even with that,” she replies.
“Do you regret your decision to move here?”
“It’s been hard,” Cora says, sipping her wine. “It’s expensive here, and there’s so much greed and fame-mongering and materialism here. But I have a great job—thanks, by the way.”
I chuckle.
“And the ocean is my favorite thing ever. Like, ever. I love walking on the beach, I love walking through the ocean. I love being there when the sun comes up and no one’s around. It’s the most peaceful experience in the world. Have you ever done that?”
I don’t know why but listening to her talk and watching the way her face gets soft and dreamy is doing a serious number on my heart. She’s so beautiful. So pure. So wonderful and perfectly imperfect. I wish I could give her a thousand sunrises on the beach, if it only meant I could see this inner beauty shining out of her.
“I would love to experience that,” I say quietly. “Maybe we could go together some time.”
Cora meets my gaze in the thickening shadows. We hold each other’s eyes for a moment, neither of us daring to break the spell with words.
After a moment, I reach for my phone and access the app that controls all of my speakers and entertainment. I select a streaming station that plays contemporary R&B. Something new and sexy from Jhené Aiko pours from the speakers. Without a word, I hold my hand out to Cora.
She doesn’t hesitate, taking my hand, and I lead her out through the sliding glass doors to my large patio. With the setting sun and the view that changed her life beside us, I pull her into my arms, and we sway to the music.
I’ve never danced with a woman so intimately like this—in my home, in private, just the two of us. Cora’s arms wind around my shoulders as she gazes up at me, that beautiful expression still in place.
It’s a struggle to keep my hands on her waist and not grasping lower the way they desperately want to, so I focus on how this all feels—the cool, autumn night breeze drifting around us, the music floating from inside, her warm body against mine.
And I focus on how I feel. Horny, for sure, but it’s more than that.
I think I’m in love with her.
We dance through a few more songs, holding each other close and swaying, until she shivers a little.
“Cold?” I ask.
“A little.”
I take her hand and lead her back inside, then flick the switch to turn on the fireplace. “How about some dessert?”
Cora opens the fridge and peers inside. She smiles. It’s almost like a Mona Lisa smile, as though she’s enjoying a private joke with herself. “I know just the thing.”
I lean on my elbows and watch as she removes strawberries, a can of Reddi-Whip, milk, and some other ingredients. She uses just enough flour and sugar and other stuff I don’t recognize to make two good-sized lumps of dough, then puts them in the oven to bake. Soon, something faintly sweet like cake fills the air. Then she removes the two lumps of baked dough that now resemble biscuits on steroids and are slightly browned on top. She gets down two bowls, cuts the biscuits in half, and tops them with mounds of whipped cream and strawberries.
When Cora sets the beautifully arranged dishes down, I swipe a strawberry and dip it into some whipped cream. Then I hold it in front of her lips.
Her eyes widen a little.
“Taste it,” I murmur.
Her full, pink lips part and close around the tip of the strawberry.
“Now it’s your turn,” she says, and offers me a strawberry.
I bite into it. It’s perfectly ripe. Sweet. Just like she has to be. Everywhere. My cock pops up to say hello again.
Cora follows up the strawberry with a little whipped cream on her fingers. Keeping her eyes cast seductively down, she licks the whipped cream off her fingertip.
It makes me wonder what those lips would look like wrapped around my dick, as I thrust gently in and out of her mouth.
A little whipped cream smears around her bottom lip.
I can’t help myself. And I can’t hold back any longer.
“Here, let me,” I say, and lean forward and kiss her.
6
Cora
I freeze as his lips land on mine.
My boss is kissing me. Wyatt Williams, starting tight end of the LA Wolves, Super Bowl champ, and children’s cancer advocate, is kissing me.
I should push him away. I should tell him I can’t, that this is a line we can’t cross. That I can’t cross. That this isn’t right.
But it feels right. It feels good.
No, fuck that.
It feels amazing.
So, I tell that annoying little voice in my head to shut the fuck up, and I slide my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
His full lips feel like pillows against mine, soft and sure and demanding and giving. I suck his bottom lip as he nips me playfully. Then he coaxes my mouth open and slides his tongue inside, stroking, tasting, setting me on fire.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly, pulling back a little.
“More than okay,” I murmur back, feeling a little drunk, but I’ve only had two glasses of wine. I’m drunk on him. “I’ve wanted this for so long . . . Wyatt.”
“Aw,” he teases. “I kinda liked when you called me Mr. Williams.” He nuzzles my neck. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, too, Cora, but I don’t want to rush you or make you feel uncomfortable.”
“You aren’t.” I close my eyes, losing myself in the tingle as he runs his lips along my throat. “What do you want to do to me?”
“Lay you down in my bed, naked, and cover you with whipped cream. And then lick it all off.”
A surge of desire replaces the tingle. “Then you have my permission.”
Wyatt grins. He grabs the can of whipped cream and scoops me off my feet, then carries me upstairs to his bedroom. There, he deposits me on my feet and kisses me again.