But then comes the clothes, and I’m at a loss. It seems ridiculous to me to put on a dress to cook dinner, especially when it’s at home. He knows I’ve just come home from work, why would I put on something more uncomfortable? At the same time, I don’t want to wear what I normally wear- sweats and an oversize tee shirt I got from my last 5k race. After standing in front of my closet for far too long, I decide to go with a light maxi dress that I always got compliments on. Not that I routinely wear dresses, but hey, Logan doesn’t know that yet right?
With how much I had to do, I barely have pasta finished when he rings the doorbell.
“Hi, come in,” I say shyly, stepping back. “Sorry for the mess in here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says.
His eyes take in my body in my dress, and there’s an intensity to them that makes my heart stop beating. I want his strong hands all over me, but I can’t just lunge at the guy when he hasn’t even walked through my door.
“Pasta’s almost done,” I remember to say.
He lifts up a bottle of wine as he comes into my apartment and I close the door.
“I figure if you were going to cook dinner for me, I should bring something too,” he says.
“Thanks.”
A bit of wine is just what I need, and I grab the glasses so he could pour out some for each of us. I take the pasta and swirl it into two bowls for us and bring them over to the table. I thought that maybe we wouldn’t even get to dinner before we rip each other’s clothes apart, but to my surprise, Logan holds back.
“What do you think?” I ask nervously to fill up the space.
“I like it,” he says. “I can see why you’re so proud of it. Is this your own recipe?”
“My family’s,” I say. “I’m half Italian and half Scottish.”
“Is that why you want to go to Italy so much?” he asks.
I’m surprised that he remembers, but I nod.
“That’s right,” I say. “I’m second generation Italian, so only my grandma is really Italian, but there’s been lots of traditions and recipes passed down. I would love for a chance to go back there though, and see where I truly come from.”
“And your Scottish half?”
“Well, they’re not exactly known for their food. I mean, we don’t even eat haggis,” I say, pulling a face.
Logan laughs, a lovely rich laugh that I could listen to anytime.
“I’ve had haggis before,” he says. “It tastes much better if you don’t know what it is when you eat it.”
“So you’ve traveled there?”
“I have,” he says. “My father didn’t believe in spoiling me, but he did want to make sure that I got to experience things he never got to. We traveled every summer since I was six years old. It was one of the highlights of my childhood. He’d sort of relax on those trips, mostly because smartphones weren’t a thing back then. It was the only time I’d see him really smile a lot.”
I feel a warmth in my heart as he confides in me. Dinner flows along, and I feel myself connecting with Logan. He’s such an interesting person that before I know it, all the food is gone, and it’s just me and him.
“Dessert!” I say, jumping up and going to the fridge. I open the door, but it’s slim pickings. I could whip something up if I had time, but I don’t think Logan came over to watch me bake. “There’s some strawberries and-”
“There’s only one dessert I want,” he says, so close to me I can feel his breath on my neck. I turn around quickly and look up at him, my body responding on its own accord. Those muscular shoulders, those stormy blue eyes, it’s all so fucking sexy that I can’t resist. My heart is slamming against my chest when Logan finally puts me out of my misery and kisses me, tongue thrusting into my mouth, body slamming me back against the fridge. I can tell how hungry he is for me, and it makes me incredibly wet.
“Bedroom,” he growls at me, and I hurriedly bring him to my room. I really shouldn’t have bothered with trying to make the bed, because Logan’s eyes are only on me as he tells me to take off my clothes. His eyes rake over me as I carefully push the straps of my dress down my shoulders, the fabric puddling on the floor around me. I hear an appreciative hiss as he sees that I haven’t bothered with a bra. My nipples tighten with the sudden contact with air. Finally I take off my panties, until I’m completely naked in front of him. I blush, and my first instinct is to cover up, but he won’t let me.
His hands move over my back, my hips, my ass and squeezes possessively. He takes his time with his own clothes, eyes fastened onto mine.