Page 58 of Where We Fall

He opens my door, and I climb inside. It's intoxicating being in his car with him. There's something about being in a man's car at night, smelling their cologne in the air, seeing them take control. I home in on his large hand wrapped around the steering wheel, seeing the veins run up into his shirt sleeve.

It's distracting. I can feel how sensitive my clit is by how good it feels when my jeans rub up against it.

Lucky for me, he doesn't know what his presence is doing to me. He pulls into a VIP parking spot outside of a small restaurant.

"You ready for this?" he asks.

"Ready."

We walk into a dimly lit restaurant with an old-world feeling. The walls are all brick, probably original to the building. Unique metal light fixtures hang above each table along the walls. It smellsamazing.

Holding my hand, he leads me to the back of the restaurant toward the kitchen.

A chef spots us and smiles. "Marcus. Come on in," he gestures.

I'm not sure what is happening, but Marcus walks us into the kitchen.

"Nicholas. Good to see you. Thanks for letting us do this."

"Don't mention it, man. We have you guys set up over here."

Nicholas walks us to a section of the kitchen along the wall with some counter space. It has two bowls with towels over them and a line of toppings. When he pulls the towels off the bowls, a ball of dough is sitting in each one.

It suddenly dawns on me Marcus set up for us to make our own pizzas. I want to kiss him with how sweet and thoughtful this all is. I've never done anything like it before.

"The trick with the dough," Nicholas starts as he grabs a third ball of dough to show us, "is not to overwork it. If you spend too long on it, it will lose its elasticity."

He throws it up in the air, showing off his skills.

"You don't expect me to be able to do that?" I ask.

He laughs. "Nah. I'm just being a showoff. You will be perfectly fine if you lay the dough on the counter and work it out with your hands. Just work fast. You will be surprised how quickly the dough can become overworked."

After a couple more minutes of instruction, he leaves us alone to make our pizzas.

"Alright, that sounded simple enough," Marcus says while he looks at his dough.

We take our dough from their bowls and work them on the counter. The texture is oddly satisfying. It feels like an ASMR activity.

I look over and see Marcus rest the dough on his hand as he makes a fist.

"Oh, God. Are you going to try to toss the dough?"

"It didn't look that hard."

He pushes the dough in the air with his fist. It isn't a huge toss, only spinning once in the air, then landing back on his fist. His next toss is a bit higher, then higher…until he gets several spins in the air, and it still lands on his fist.

"Oh, yeah, baby! Businessman by day, pizzaman by night," he says, then winks at me.

I laugh and then get back to my dough. "Don't distract me. I don't want to ruin my dough by taking too long. You heard your friend; we have to work fast."

"I'll share my pizza, baby. Don't you worry."

I choose to ignore him, or I'll never get my dough done. Once we both have semi-decent-looking dough circles, we look at all the topping options in front of us.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"I think I'm gonna go for a tomato and basil with olive oil and grated cheese."

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