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It takes a moment to clear my mind and remind myself what I was going to make for him. As soon as I get back on track, I fall into autopilot, heating up the broth I’d made, grabbing bread, cheeses, and the spinach artichoke dip I’d prepared.
As the whole meal comes together, I’m careful to keep my thoughts away from him. The last thing I need is to be preoccupied and potentially injure myself or mess up the food while cooking. When the broth and grilled cheese are ready to go, I load them up on the tray and bring them out to him on the couch.
He sits upright and gives me an almost guilty look. “I can go sit at the table.”
I lift both shoulders not caring one way or another. “Or you can stay right here and be comfortable. It doesn't matter to me. The only thing that matters is that you get to feeling better.” It doesn't make a difference to me if he's eating in here or eating at the table because I'm just here to make food, serve him delicious dishes, and take pride in his reactions to everything I make. Because he loves everything I put in front of him, that does good things for my soul beyond a paycheck.
Don't get me wrong, getting paid is nice, but knowing that he's appreciative of everything I make and that he loves my cooking offers me a satisfaction that money can’t.
He smiles as I place the tray on the seat beside him. “Do you have foldable trays?” I ask and he shakes his head.
“I could put it on the table next to you if I move a few things,” I say, nodding at the table with a lamp, his water, and the empty tea mug.
“Let me help,” he says, standing up. And for the first time, I realize he’s in gray sweatpants and my heart nearly stops beating in my chest as I see the outline of him.
He catches my look, glances down, then looks back at me, a twinkle in his eyes. I clear my throat and look away, embarrassed. My boss just caught me checking out his, erm, package. How embarrassing.
Chapter Fourteen
Charles
All I can think about is how she took care of me yesterday. She made me delicious teas and soups and mouthwatering foods I can't forget and shouldn't have been able to eat while sick. Somehow, though, everything she'd cooked for me was absolutely perfect and exactly what my stomach needed at the moment.
And this morning when I woke up, I felt absolutely fine, and I still do with no current sign of a fever or any kind of illness.
Of course, because I was so sick yesterday and had sweats for most of the day, I absolutely have to take a shower. I hadn't taken one last night because I was just too sick and tired. As I head to the bathroom, I suddenly recall her looking at the front of my pants with perfect clarity.
In my mind’s eye I can see her stunned expression, the electric excitement in her eyes, the way her tongue traced her upper lip as if she wanted to taste me...
And I know that I’m going to have to relieve this pressure before she comes over to make breakfast and prepare lunch for me to have while she’s home. I want to talk to her again about staying full time, but she'd been so against the idea when we first discussed that course of action that I can't imagine that things would have changed. Then again, with the chemistry between us, maybe she has changed her mind after all.
Maybe what I should be doing is asking myself why I really want her to stay full time.
As I make my way into the bathroom to the shower, I realize I don't want to answer that question. Quickly stripping away the clothing I have on, I step into the black shower box, gazing up at the sunny skies with white fluffy clouds through the skylight overhead.
But my enjoyment of the day doesn't last more than a moment or two. Instead, I remember Alisha’s kiss on my lips. The look in her eyes in that moment as if she wanted more. The regret on her face when she said she couldn’t stay.
Couldn't or didn't want to?
That question drives me crazy, especially when I think about how quickly Saturday is approaching and that she's going to go to Methew’s house and have a private meal - a date - with him. How is his wife okay with him having another woman over? Although maybe the poor thing just doesn't know.
Turning my face into the spray of water, I push all thoughts of Methew out of my mind and let her take over.
Wrapping my fist around myself, I imagine her stepping into the shower with me and slipping her arms around my body. The thought of her soft skin and body against mine has me pulsing with need and desire and I give myself a tug. The resulting flash of pleasure is nearly blinding and I grit my teeth.
I imagine her kissing up my back to my shoulder and reaching around to take me in her hand. I can almost imagine her smaller, soft fingers on my cock, and the thought has me pulsing and raging out of control. My hand pumps myself as I think about her taking soap and lathering me up, using that to glide along my shaft with velvety friction.
I imagine her whispering in my ear. “Like that?” Her words knock the wind out of me, and I plant a palm on the dark matte tiles of the shower, letting my breath out before dragging in another. The water streams down my body, tickling like sweat as I continue working myself.
“Just like that,” I whisper, loving the thought of her taking charge, touching me, bringing me to the edge of pleasure before sliding her body around mine. I imagine her rinsing me clean, then lowering to her knees before me, looking up at me with those beautiful blue eyes and refusing to look away as she takes the tip of me into her mouth.
I groan at the thought and continue tugging on myself, feeling the mounting pleasure as I imagine her before me, taking all of me in one quick motion before pulling back with nearly excruciating pressure. And from there, she begins to move quicker, taking all of me, then backing off, the soft dampness of her welcoming mouth driving me toward orgasm faster than I’m used to experiencing.
With my eyes closed, I continue to imagine her, thinking about her taking me deep, then pulling back with one clear and obvious goal – to get me off. I imagine wrapping her hair around my fist, holding the back of her head and just resting there while letting her choose her own pace.
I can imagine her whimpering, reaching down to touch herself, clearly as turned on by what she’s doing as I am. And I imagine her bringing herself to pleasure, moaning and whimpering around me as she continues taking me into her mouth while her body shudders with pleasure.
That thought – her imploding, drives me over the edge, and I gasp with shock as the orgasm bursts out of me in thick, ropy ribbons, spilling onto the floor of the shower to be washed away by the water.
