Page 112 of Deceit

Did he? Why did I just say that?

“Honestly, I don’t fucking know,” I confess wholeheartedly.

Another kiss is delivered to my mouth, and before he returns to his side of the table, he mutters, “When all is right in your world, one day, I’m going to make you my wife. You’ll never again know what alone feels like.”

My lips curl from the sweet comment, but it doesn’t hit anywhere near my heart. It warms my chest, but my vital organ doesn’t flutter or sing.

It just notices and wonders.

This is what a universe would be like without Bishop—peaceful.

Alexander burned dinner after a valiant try, sending my smoke alarm screeching and the God awful smell of burning white sauce on my stovetop. I opted him out for a deep-dish pizza with pineapple on his side and regular toppings on mine.

And when I mean regular, I mean pepperoni, bacon, ham, and green peppers—normal shit.

Limbs mixed together on my couch, we’re watching a food contest show. At the same time, Alexander randomly attempts to shove a piece of his revolting, fruit-filled slice into my mouth.

“Stop,” I scold off a whine, pulling my face away. “I’m not eating that crap.”

“It’s good, I’m telling you.”

I wave my arm in the air like I’m building an imaginary wall. “Keep your weird things to yourself. I’m already a nut job.”

“C’mon, Ems, I’ll give you anything you want. One bite.”

I perk a brow, suddenly interested. “Anything?” He hits me with a full-on stare that meanswhateverI want. “Well, I like the sound of that.”

“Open up, sweetheart.” My mouth slowly widens as I keep eye contact, and his hazels crinkle along the golden edges. “Geezus Christ, stop making this sexual.”

“I’m just opening up my mouth.” I innocently bat my eyes. “You’re the one who suggested shoveling your dirty piece of—“ He lets out a frustrated and feral groan which gets me to chuckle again. “Do you not want me to take a bite?”

“I prefer you to do something else entirely now.” He lowers his already bitten slice away from my mouth and into his, keeping himself busy from my teasing.

“Show me.” Alexander shifts on the couch, but he doesn’t make a move.

We’ve been in this weird state where we’ve had sex, but we don’t jump each other’s bones yet. He doesn’t push me with the looming circumstances of my life to create an armed conflict in my head.

However, I’m not sure if it’s because he prefers for me to come to terms on my own with everything and approach him when I’m ready or if he wants to take this slow.

Regardless, these past weeks have been amazing. He has become a quick routine with sprinkled thoughts that keeps me on my toes.

For example, Alexander texted me good morning today before he went into the office, then Doordashed me lunch because he’s already aware of how awful my eating habits are. In the afternoon, he called me to tell me he missed me, was going to cook dinner, and wear sweatpants.

Every day or night with Alexander is seamless and casual. I’m not on edge, and he accepts me and my muddled mind as we are.

And while I’ve told him several times on different occasions that he deserves something and someone better than me, he retorts with, not telling him what to do.

“Because the only way I’m tasting that pineapple is off your tongue,” I continue before Alexander tosses it to the pizza box on the coffee table and balls my shirt in his hand.

As gently as he can, he gets me to the floor and onto my knees, encasing me around his thighs.

“You’re going to be tasting my come inside that sweet little mouth of yours, Emmy,” he dictates, then nods his head. “If you wanna tease me, get to work, love.”

Well…

With his help, I get his dress pants down his legs and into a pool at his feet while I purposely keep his boxers on. My fingers slide up and taunt his hardness, reveling in what my small hands can do to a powerful and wealthy man with the patience of a saint.

“Are you negotiating with it because itwantsto be free.”

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