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My nostrils widen, and I find my body leaning closer to his.
“I like the idea of savoring every inch of you, Pumpkin,” he kisses me. Just a simple peck that has my toes edging forward, wanting to bow down to him.
When he turns, my eyes drift down his body, landing on his sculpted ass. I've never checked out a man’s backside before, but with Julian, I want to study every inch.
“I didn’t know what type of food you prefer, so I took the safe option and made spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread and Caprese salad to start. Please tell me you're a woman who actually eats carbs?”
“I do,” I reply. “When did you have time to make all this?” I walk deeper into his kitchen, allowing my nose to lead the way. If I were blindfolded, I’d swear I was in a five-star restaurant.
“I bailed on my last meeting,” he admits with a guilty smirk.
“Julian! That was with Edward Jacobson. Debbie said his office planned that meeting three months ago.” Edward Jacobson is a General and works in the Office of Homeland Security.
“I called him personally and told him I'd fit him in tomorrow,” he says, grabs two dishes, and begins to plate the spaghetti.
“I need to know this as your secretary,” I playfully scold him. I turn to grab my phone so I can open his calendar and make a note of it, but I remember I left my bag in my apartment.
“Pumpkin, we’re not working. I waited all week to see you and not talk about work,” he grabs a ladle and starts to spoon the sauce carefully over the pasta.
“You’re right,” I admit. I just want to be great at my job. I need to outshine everyone since I'm secretly dating my boss.
“At least let me help you then.”
“Don’t worry, I got it covered.”
"Your sling?" I asked when I noticed that he wasn't wearing his arm sling.
“My arm isn’t hurting me right now,” he glances up, “And I want to be able to touch you with both hands.”
My front teeth sink into my bottom lip, his eyes watching my every move. He shakes his head, “If we keep eye-fucking each other, we will never make it to the dinner table.”
Harper would say the human body can survive weeks without food but only hours without an orgasm.
Thankfully, I don't say that out loud.
“How’d the furniture shopping go?” He turns, opens a cabinet, and grabs a large tray. “It better be fucking worthy of an interior design magazine since it cock-blocked me.”
I giggle, “It went well. I ordered a couch, a coffee table, and a TV stand, but I still have a lot more to find. I'm thinking of trying some antique stores. I don't want everything to look too new. I want some character, but I don't want to border on grandma chic.” I admit.
I look over his apartment; it’s spotless and so well-designed. There's a clear theme, which is masculine, modern, and wealthy. Actually, it doesn't really seem to suit Julian. He's casual, manly with a ‘don't fuck with me’ attitude. He's more aged leather sofa and rustic wood. His apartment is designed for Julian, the CEO, with polished grey and black-streaked marble and refined abstract art.
“So I already know you can cook, but are you secretly an interior designer as well?”
“Heck no. A girl Kent dated was the interior designer. I already owned the apartment, but when I knew I was moving back, Kent had her finish the place for me. As for my cooking, you haven’t tried it yet, so don’t be handing out a Michelin star yet.”
“That’s a lot of trust in Kent. I would have worried he put a stripper pole front and center.”
Julian bursts out into laughter. “You know what, I never thought of that, but you're right.”
I run my finger over his marble kitchen island. “I’m scared to set a glass down without a coaster in here,” I blurt out.
“Make your mark, Pumpkin," he replies. "It’s nice, but I want to live in it, break things, get stains. There’s no point in owning nice things if you can’t use them. If something gets too ruined, I can always replace it.” He grabs steaming hot bread out of the oven and then begins to slice it. The sound of the crust cracking and flaking off makes my mouth water.
“Ready?” he asks once he’s finished.
I nod and lick my lips. My stomach is clawing for a taste of his food.
I look over at his empty dining room table. “Can I set the table at least?”
