Page 24 of The Enforcer

He helps me off the bed, kissing the tip of my nose. “Get groceries ordered, then join me in the shower.”

I do just that, getting the items he told me we’d need and placing the order. When that’s done, I eagerly make my way into the shower, pasting myself to Zeke’s back as he stands under the spray. I wrap my arms around his waist and lean my head against his back, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat. I will never get enough of this.

We stand in this manner for a little while longer until he tells me we need to get clean. Begrudgingly, I let him go and take the cloth from his hand, using washing him as an excuse to map the planes and dips of his body. He’s a work of fucking art—all hard muscles and soft skin. I could touch him all day.

Returning the favor, he washes my body, paying extra attention to my sore hole. When he swipes over it the first time, I jump, hissing as he comes in contact with my swollen pucker with the rough cloth. Zeke can’t keep the smile off his face, but he’s gentle with me as he cleans me up back there. Once he has my whole body clean and I’m pink from the heat of the shower and his ministrations, we hop out to get dressed so we can cook. I’m starving.

Zeke is a really good cook. I was surprised when we first started hanging out and he brought me dinner for the first time. When I opened the Tupperware, the smell of rice and beans, oxtails and macaroni and cheese assailed me, making my stomach grumble hard. That was when I learned that he was Jamaican American, his mother hailing from the island. I’d never had Jamaican food before, but that was definitely not the last time I’d eaten it. Any time Zeke cooked it, I was first in line for a plate.

I hadn’t learned what happened to Zeke’s mother, he only told me she was gone. I wasn’t sure in what sense and he seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push. The topic hasn’t come up again and I’d feel like a dick just bringing it up if it’s painful.

He moves around my kitchen fluidly, pulling out spices and seasonings from the grocery bags, as well as the ingredients for dinner. I’m glad he told me everything he needs since I barely have anything edible in my kitchen. I mostly eat takeout and a few quick items for breakfast. It’s a surprise I’m able to maintain my body with how crappy I eat most days. Thank God I squeeze in time for pushups and sit ups every morning.

He laughs as he opens my fridge. “I know we’ve talked about you stocking your fridge.”

I roll my eyes at him for calling me out. “Yeah, well, you never reminded me,” I reply, pushing the blame on him.

He doesn’t care, laughing at my antics as he reaches into the fridge for a bottle of water. He slides me one and I sit on one of the barstools near the island in my kitchen. Zeke raises an eyebrow as I get comfortable, hissing when I shift and my sore ass protests. “You okay?”

I give him a deadpan look. “I just took your fat cock in my ass. Of course I’m not.”

A laugh explodes from his chest as he walks over to me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “I’m sorry, baby. Want me to kiss it better for you?”

“Fuck, you can’t tease me like that,” I whine as his lips trail down my neck.

His warm breath ghosts over me as he chuckles against my skin. “Who’s teasing?”

My stomach growls, interrupting what I’m sure would have been an epic round two if I wasn’t so sore. Zeke steps back, kissing the sensitive skin of my neck where he left one of his marks. “Let me feed you and we can see if you still need me to kiss it until you’re not sore.”

I groan. “If you do that, I’m going to want you to fuck me again and I’m sure to be sore after taking you again. Then you’ll want to kiss it better, then I’ll want you to fuck me again. The cycle will continue. I have a job, baby. I can’t be face down, ass up in bed while you eat me out and fuck me over and over again.”

“I mean, you could,” he says as he rounds the counter to get started on dinner. “You can take a few days off and I’ll spend all day eating you out.”

Dropping my head in my hands, I grumble, “I hate you.”

His hearty laugh drifts over to me, making me feel all warm. “I don’t believe you.”

Lifting my head, I watch him wash vegetables, take our pots and pans and chop what I think is some kind of beef. “Ready for me to help?”

Zeke meets my eyes, a wide grin on his face. “Of course, Counselor. Wash your hands and dice the onions. I’ll tell you what to do from there.”

I thought I’d get in his way, but we move well together after we get into a groove. He’s amazing. I love watching him do anything, but he seems to be in his element in the kitchen.

After about twenty minutes, we have everything ready for the Jamaican stew beef to do its thing on the stove. My kitchen has never smelled this amazing.

Sighing, I lean back against Zeke as he leans against the counter. “I could get used to this.”

In a content, quiet voice, he replies, “Me too.”

Chapter Eleven

Zeke

“We got problems,” Prez says when I answer the phone the next morning.

“What’s up?” I ask, voice groggy. Shane is splayed across my chest, mouth open as he breathes in and out deeply. I smile, dragging my hand through his hair gently.

After we cooked dinner and devoured it, we laid in his bed, talking about nothing and everything. We may have been friends for the past eight years, but there are still some things I don’t know about him. The conversation didn’t stop until he fell asleep mid-sentence, just as he did when he was drunk. I’m sure that’ll become a habit with him, one that I find … endearing.

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