“Okay….”
“You’ve been stalking me, trying to get all up in this business,” he gestures to his entire body, and it’s really hard not to drool. Or laugh, because Dean is a total dork, and it’s really freaking cute. “I know you want a piece of me, you’ve told me so about a hundred times. I’m just wondering why the sudden change of heart?”
“Oh, now you want the no-strings-attached-sex? Yeah, so not going to happen.” I fold my arms over my chest and watch his eyes dip to my cleavage. Goal by five-hole!
“I’m just being curious, and the door is that way,” he motions with his head to the door behind me. He’s absolutely right, I can leave anytime I want. But do I want to?
“I never said I wanted to have sex right now. I have cookies baking!” he gasps, like it’s a sin to cause the delicious bite-sized almond goodness to cook for a minute too long.
“I like the cooled-down version of you, kitten, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you hot and bothered, either, see if memory serves correctly.”
Fire blasts through every single nerve ending and my vagina lets out a girly sigh in my head.
What the hell?! “You want to sleep with me?”
Dean nods. “Hell, yes. But on even footing, with the strings. I like getting tangled up in them.”
“I’m not into the whole BDSM thing.” I just can’t get over the fact that I’m going to be beaten for something that isn’t to another’s standards. Sounds like living in an Italian family, and I got enough of that.
Dean leans his head onto the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Yeah, I like my women being able to be active participants. It doesn’t work so well if I can’t understand her around the ball-gag. How is there supposed to be a safe-word if she can’t speak?” He frowns at the ceiling like this a serious problem and is threatening the very foundation of modern civilization as we know it.
So cute.
“That’s good to know. But I don’t want to have sex. I just want to sit here and watch movies and eat cookies.”
Dean nods. “You only like me for my cooking skills, I get it. You don’t have to rub it in.”
I snort. “The truth hurts but it will set you free.”
More nodding from him and then he focuses back on the TV and his precious Netflix.
“Alright, I’m going to go with…” but the beeper on the oven lets out an alarming bell and Dean nearly breaks Pongo’s neck trying to get up off the couch fast enough.
Pongo looks over at me, all confused and sleepy and I pet his head, and rub his ears like I’ve seen Dean do. The dog plops his head down on the couch and sighs, long and deep. I smile without having a reason for it.
“You should come look at these, come and admire their utter perfection coming from my kitchen.”
“I’m sure they’re good, Dean. Put a few on a plate and bring them over here.”
“I see you’re going to be the bossy one in this relationship.” I raise an eyebrow at him as he gets a spatula from one of the drawers and eases it under the cookies only to place them on a nearby plate. He’s completely concentrated on the task, and my heart gives a little painful squeeze.
I pull in a deep breath, trying to soothe the ache, but I know I’ve tumbled down into crush-land, and I’m stuck in the rabbit-hole without a chance of getting free anytime soon.
When he comes back to the couch with a plate full of cookies, he takes a seat, closer to me this time, and grabs the remote with his free hand, starting to scroll through his selection. I grab the plate from him, when he asks me, “Are you sleeping over tonight? I can drive you to your place so you can pick up some clothes, and this bad boy does open up into a bed.”
I’ve got an amaretti cookie halfway to my mouth and now I don’t want anything to do with it. The scent of warmed almond paste tickles my nostrils, and makes my stomach wail but I don’t think I can get it down.
“No, I’ll walk home. It’s only fifteen minutes. But thanks, though.”
“Right. I’m going to make you walk home, when I have a car and it’ll take two minutes. I can even blow the stop signs ‘cause I’m a badass rebel like that.”
I picture Dean and Hunter in my head, standing side by side. Dean’s obviously taller, and probably weighs more, but there’s something primal and dangerous about Hunter MacLaine that I haven’t seen in a lot of guys my age.
We’re spoiled brats compared to him, squandering our health on booze and shitty food, ignoring going to the gym because we’re working too many hours to enjoy whatever free time we have left, and he’s a Dad to a four-year-old who has the same disease.