Page 31 of With This Lie

I hear her laugh on the other side and I push the door open. I nearly drop the glass I’m holding at the sight of her. Her wavy tendrils are pulled up loosely on top of her head and she’s leaning back against the tub, eyes closed, a relaxed smile on her face. She is beautiful, and she doesn’t know it. Granted, the woman knows she’s sexy. But she isn’t aware of her raw and natural beauty. I walk over to the side of the tub and soap bubbles are wispy across the top of the water, concealing most of her body. This mystery excites me. She opens her eyes.

“This is for you, my dear,” I say, leaning down to hand her the glass.

She takes it from me, our hands touching for a moment. “Thank you. I really need this,” she says.

I wonder what today’s been like for her, why she needs this soak. “Want to talk about it?” I ask.

She twists uncomfortably for a split second. “Not really. Why dwell on it when you can move on from it, you know?”

“I guess. I mean sometimes talking it out helps. Or just venting,” I say. My smile widens.

“It’s okay, really. I would rather just enjoy the evening with you,” she says, sighing, swirling her fingers in the water, moving some of the bubbles around.

“Careful there, you’re uncovering yourself,” I say, not attempting to hide the fact that I am definitely checking her out now. I trace the lines of her body with my eyes. I trace the ink on her skin, suddenly filled with the urge to ask about them, why she has them, their significance.

“I meant to,” she says, eyes narrowing on me.

I watch her hand make larger swirls. I watch more of her body appear. Suddenly, I find it very warm in here. I gulp, realizing my mouth is watering. I watch her trail her fingers down her thigh and my entire body reacts.

“If you want to eat, you should stop. I’ll never be able to leave if you keep this up,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.

“You should go cook then. We’re both going to need our strength,” she says.

I audibly choke and she giggles. The grin that spreads across her lips is what makes strong men weak in the knees. I turn away before it’s too late and reluctantly walk back to the kitchen to chop and cut and cook and think. She’s unraveled me and she knows it. I turn my focus to the food. Yes, the food.

After a little while, I hear movement in her direction and the timing is just about perfect. I’ve put the finishing touches on our meal and now I just need to get it to the table. I’m sitting plates down in their spots and pouring more wine and positioning napkins when I hear her behind me. I can feel her watching me, but I don’t turn around.

“Like what you see?” I ask.

“You do have a nice ass,” she says. She’s feisty tonight. She’s open.

“Well, thank you. I don’t believe that’s a compliment I get often,” I say. I turn around after I finish with the table and audibly choke again. My eyes start at her bare feet and travel up her legs. She’s wearing the most delicate black panties I’ve ever seen. Her naked breasts are barely covered by a nearly sheer robe. She’s taken her hair down; wild and messy locks brush back and forth on her shoulders. I am in awe of her again.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I manage.

“So, what did you make?” she asks.

“Are you going to sit across the table from me like that while I try to eat? Because that’s cruel,” I say.

“I thought you wanted me to be comfortable?” she asks, a hint of forced innocence in her voice.

I shake my head. “You’re right, that’s more important. Never mind my comfort,” I reply, laughing nervously.

She walks the distance between us in just a few long strides and presses her body against mine. Her hands travel down my sides and I quiver. I lean down to breathe in the scent clinging to her neck. Heaven.

“Kiss me,” she says, and I do exactly that.

I take her face into my hands and kiss her hard on her mouth. She rolls onto her toes and I lean in deeper. I pull back and kiss both her cheeks, then her eyelids, then her forehead.

“Still hungry?” I whisper.

“Definitely,” she says.

I don’t know if she’s talking about the food or me but I lean back to pull her chair out so she can sit down. I walk around to the other side of the table and sit down in front of my plate. I stare across the table at her with an excitement, both about the food and what will happen after the food.

I watch her look down at her plate and see the surprise in her eyes. I made my favorite thing. It’s not difficult or time consuming or even that fancy. But it’s delicious.

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