Wallbanger(52)

“I knew you’d like it, but I had no idea you’d enjoy it this much,” he whispered, staring at me with rapt attention.

“Stop talking, you’re going to ruin it for me,” I moaned, stretching and feeling myself respond to everything he was giving me.

“Did you want another one?” he offered, raising up on his elbows.

“If I have another, I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Go ahead, be a bad girl—you deserve it. I know you want it, Caroline,” he teased, leaning closer.

“Okay,” I managed, opening up to him once again. I closed my eyes and heard him fumbling about before putting it in. Sighing as I felt it, I

closed my lips around what he offered.

“I’ve never seen a woman who could take so much in one sitting,” he marveled, watching me come undone once more.

“Yes, wel , you’ve never met a woman who likes meatbal s as much as me,” I moaned around another mouthful, feeling stuffed beyond belief but

not wanting the meal to end.

Simon had just cooked me quite possibly the most perfect meal ever, hitting every single taste bud that needed to be hit. He’d learned how to

make the most amazing meatbal s from a woman in Naples, and he’d sworn they’d be the best I’d ever had. After no less than seven jokes about

bal s and mouths, I had to agree they were the best bal s I had ever had in my mouth.

God, he gave great meatball.

I then proceeded to eat almost a pound of pasta myself, as wel as al of my meatbal s, plus half of his. I insisted he eat the last one, but he

refused and brought the perfection that was his meatbal to my wil ing mouth.

Simon was a great host, insisting that I sit, drink wine, and watch rather than help. He entertained me with stories about his travels as he got

everything ready, and while the food was simple, it was good. “Nonni made me promise if she showed me how to make her polpette I would only

serve them with her special sauce. If I dared serve these with a jar of Prego, she would cross the ocean to break her wooden spoon against my

backside.”

“She made you cal her Nonni?” I laughed, leaning back in my chair and unbuttoning the top button on my jeans. I had no shame. I’d eaten an

obscene amount.

“You know what Nonni means?” he asked, surprised.

“I had an Italian great-grandmother. She insisted everyone cal her Nonni.” I laughed again when his eyes went to my hands massaging my

stomach.

“You gonna be okay there?” He raised his eyebrows as he got up to clear.

“Yep, just need to breathe a little.” I groaned, pul ing myself up from the table.

“No, no, you don’t have to help,” he said, rushing to my side and grabbing my plate.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t. I was gonna drop this off and pass out on that couch right there,” I said, nodding toward the living room.

“You go relax. Anyone who just had that many bal s in their mouth deserves a rest,” he teased, and I flicked his ear.

“I said no more bal jokes! You’ve had your fun, now let me go die in peace.” I shuffled into the living room. I real y had made quite a little piggy

of myself, but it was seriously good. I reclined and popped open another button on my jeans, relaxing into the cushions and replaying some of the

finer points of the evening.

Watching Simon cook was, in a word, hot. He was real y at home in a kitchen, his earlier fussing about with the pie aside. Even his salad—

simple greens dressed lightly with lemon and olive oil, salt, pepper, and good Parmesan—was easy and perfect.

“Pink Himalayan salt, thank you very much,” he’d said proudly, producing a bag from his pantry. He’d brought it back from one of his many trips

and had me taste a little before sprinkling it on the salad. Could have been pretentious, but it fit Simon. The many facets of this guy were

astounding. My earliest assumptions about him were proving to be completely wrong. As assumptions tend to be…

I could hear him tending to the dishes, and as much as I probably should have gone to help him, I simply couldn’t remove myself from the couch.

I snuggled on my side and looked around his living room again, my eyes drawn back to the tiny bottles of sand from al over the world. I marveled at

how traveled he was, and how he seemed to enjoy it stil . I gazed at the pictures of the woman in Bora Bora—her dark, beautiful skin and the

smooth planes of her body—and thought about how different the three of the women in his harem were. Oops, make that two now that Katie/Spanx

was with her new man.

Suddenly I could smel the apple pie and heard the oven door clank shut. I’d put it in his oven as soon as we came over so it would be ready