Page 61 of Protecting Mr. Fine

His eyes came up to stare at my lips. “How’s your voice today? Sounds… okay?”

I grinned at him, borrowing confidence from the knowledge he would have never offered to make one of my favorite breakfasts if he didn’t still think well of me. “Dunno. Have a look and tell me if you see anything off.” I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out, leaning back to expose my throat to him as provocatively as I could.

Just as I noticed his eyes widening in surprise, the horrifying thought occurred to me that, despite a thorough toothbrushing job last night, I might have post-horseradish death mouth.

I snapped my teeth closed without remembering to pull my tongue back in first and then yelped and clapped my hands in front of my face. Tears sprang to my eyes as the pain registered. Poor Bear’s face fell as he realized what had happened.

“Zane!”

“I’m okay,” I tried to say. “Not that bad.”

He shuffled me into the bathroom and sat me down on the back of the toilet seat while he filled a cup with cold water from the tap. I couldn’t help but stare at the bulge in his running tights since it was right there at eye level.

“Here. Let the cold water sit on your tongue and see if it helps.”

It did. But so did the eye candy. When I finally recovered, I tried to act like the incident was no big deal. “You ready for your cooking lesson?”

Bear tried to hide a smile but failed. “Nice try. Show me your tongue.”

I glared at him. “Unnecessary. I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed at the word. “Fine. You? Seems unusual. Tongue. Now.”

I ran my tongue along my teeth to check for tender spots. Thankfully, the damage was minimal, but I wasn’t about to open my mouth at him, just in case I’d also be unleashing morning-after Secret Sauce dragon breath. “Back away,” I said with one hand covering my mouth and the other making a “shoo” motion.

He put his hands up and backed away a few paces. I moved to the sink and brushed my teeth for a solid five minutes before wiping my mouth and presenting him with my tongue. “Fee? Fime,” I said around my tongue.

His eyes twinkled as he peered into my mouth. “Yes. It looks quite fime. Fime indeed.”

Bear shifted his weight, accidentally drawing my attention to the front of his running tights again. I tried not to stare as I cleared my throat. “I should, ah, get dressed. So… so we can eat. Sausage. So we cancook. Sausage. And then, um. Eat it. With the other stuff. Mixed in.”

He tilted his head at me, his lips now smirking to match the twinkle in his eyes. At least one of us was enjoying ourselves.

“What’s happening right now?” he asked.

I want to suck your cock again.

“Nothing,” I said in a high-pitched voice, shaking my head to dispel the intrusive thought. “Nothing at all. I’m fine.”

“Yes.Fine. Excellent,” he said drily. “Then I’ll wait for you in the kitchen while you get dressed. Sorry about the noise earlier.”

“No problem,” I said with excessive cheer as I escorted him out of the room and closed the door behind him.

I turned my back to the door and sank to the floor. “Jesus fuck.”

Maybe the reason I’d never had a boyfriend in all these years wasn’t really because of Noelle’s strictures. Maybe Noelle’s scary advice had actually saved me from making a colossal fool out of myself in front of men.

Because if this was the way I was around men I liked, I was in a heap ton of trouble.

I took my time getting dressed, mostly because halfway through, I gave up the fight and jerked off in the bathroom to images of Bear’s junk crammed in running tights. When I finally emerged from my room, I was much more relaxed and ready to face the day, even though I knew I was sporting a beet-red face.

“So, I chopped everything up,” Bear said as I came into the kitchen. “But I didn’t trust myself to brown the meat without your help.”

The scent of coffee filled the air, and warm sunlight slanted in through the large number of windows in the open space. As I approached the coffee maker, he pointed to a mug already poured and ready for me. “Get a few sips down, but then I need you to help me get this going. It says it has to go in the oven for twenty minutes, and I’m starving.”

I did as he said, secretly giddy that he’d made my coffee exactly the way I liked it. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but the thrill of being cared for never went away. My life hadn’t been the kind that had included pampering or spoiling of any kind. Yes, my gran loved me, always had. But she’d also worked hard raising or half raising grandkids, supporting her own kids when they went through stages of high need, and holding down various jobs to keep food on the table.There hadn’t been time, money, or energy left at the end of the day to pamper anyone.

Which was why this simple gesture meant the world to me.

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