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He smirks as I press my body flush against his. “Taking a page from my book,” he observes, chuckling.
“Kiss me before you leave,” I demand.
Foster curls his fingers into my hair and angles my head up, covering my lips with his. Just a few seconds is enough to ignite my nerves. I don’t want him to go.
“Later,” he whispers against my lips.
I grumble as I reluctantly back away. When he is gone, I head to the bathroom to take a bath because I am achy and have no reason to be. Since we’ve gotten back from the trip, I’ve been skipping my gym routine, so I’m hoping I only need to get back to my schedule to feel better.
After I put on Foster’s robe before he arrives home, I set the dining room table with china, silverware, and long white candles, lighting them just as he walks in. His fingers are clamped around two white-handled bags.
“It was all I could do not to dive in on the ride,” he says as he puts the bags on the table. “Candles?”
“I wanted it to be romantic.”
“It is romantic; you’re romantic.” From his pocket, he removes a red carnation and grins guiltily. “I didn’t want to hold up dinner, so I grabbed this from one of the tables at Monster.”
When he presents it to me, I take it and sniff in its subtle fragrance.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Mind if I change? I’m afraid this suit will be toast after all the ribs I plan to consume.”
“Go. I’ll get the table ready.”
Foster hurries down the hall while I pull all the containers and tinfoil packages from the bags—tangy ribs, pork sausage, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, and baked beans. In addition to it all, peach cobbler is dessert… unless Foster has other ideas.
Foster sends me a heated look, adding, “Don’t do that.”
My lip curl in a lopsided grin. “Do what?”
“Suck on your fingers that way.”
The reason I am licking barbeque sauce from my fingers is to savor the slight bite on my tongue.
“Would you like to lick them instead?”
“I’d like to do more than lick them,” he responds lowly.
I narrow my eyes. “And what exactly might that entail?”
Foster rise from his place, pushes his plate out of the way and pats the table. “I’d like you bent over this table.”
“And?”
“Come find out.”
I slowly get up, leaving my sticky fingers as they are. His legs are spread, and even though we haven’t touched yet, the bulge in his pants is growing, tenting the fabric of his gray sweatpants. When I am close, Foster wraps me in his arms, bruising my lips with his own. He tastes of the barbequed ribs he’d been consuming. His scent is soon in my nose, and I dig my fingers into his t-shirt, clinging to him as my knees weaken.
“On your stomach, Paige,” he growls in my ear as he pulls away from my lips.
“I’d much prefer the bed.”
“Later. The bed will take too long to get to.”
Foster undoes the sash of the robe and yanks it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before he turns me. Pressing a hand into my back, he pushes me down into the table. I shiver as the cold surface touches my skin. When he bends over me, his hot body warms me. Planting kisses down my spine, he whispers how much he loves me.
“Foster,” I whine.
