Page 63 of Cougar Chronicles

He pulled out and disposed of the condom quickly in the wastebasket next to the bed. How selfish could he be? He’d wanted to make her come again. She’d just lain there while he fucked her like a goddamned animal.

He lay back down next to her and swept a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Stace.”

“For what? It felt wonderful.”

He smiled. “I’m glad. But I wanted you to come again.”

She let out a short giggle. “There’s plenty of time for that, handsome.”

“I’m afraid I need a few minutes.” He raked his hand through his moist hair.

“Not a problem. We’ve got time.” She sat up. “Are you hungry?”

On cue, his stomach growled. “Yeah. I could eat.”

She reached for the phone on the nightstand. “I’m famished. Let’s order some food.”

Food? Okay, that would work. He needed to get to know this woman whose sexuality and beauty had ensnared him. One romp in the hay did not a relationship make, and a relationship was what he needed. A relationship that she couldn’t do without. Somehow, he had to become irreplaceable to her. Fucking her without giving her another orgasm hadn’t been a great start…

“What do you want?” he asked, grabbing the room service menu from the nightstand. “It’s on me.” Room service food was expensive, but this was an investment in his future.

“That’s kind of you. But you don’t have to—”

He took the phone from her and placed the receiver back on the cradle. “I insist. Let’s see…” He perused the menu. “What sounds good? How about strawberries and champagne?” He grinned.

She answered with a smile. Then, “That sounds wonderful, but I’m craving something a little more…substantial.”

“Strawberries dipped in chocolate?” he teased.

“The strawberries and champagne sound great. Just add a corned beef sandwich.”

A woman who liked to eat. He could get behind that. His Italian Catholic mother loved to feed people, and he, an accomplished cook himself, had inherited her passion for the art. “I don’t see a corned beef sandwich on the menu.” He continued to glance over the options. “There’s lasagna, though. You like Italian?”

“Love Italian.”

He grinned. “Good girl. Of course, I really should only feed you the lasagna I make myself. I’m sure it’s far superior to whatever slop they make here.”

“This is a five star restaurant in a five star hotel,” Stacy said, throwing a pillow at him.

“Let’s just say I’m picky when it comes to Italian.”

“Okay, no Italian then.”

“I’ll make you lasagna.”

She let out a laugh. “How exactly do you plan to do that? Hijack the kitchen?”

“Well…not tonight, I guess. Sometime soon.”

“Right.” She grabbed the menu from him. “Let me look. I’ll have…the club sandwich. That’ll do fine. What do you want?” She picked up the phone.

“I’ll have the same. But don’t forget the strawberries and champagne. And charge it to room 311.”

“Michael…”

“I said I insist.”

“Okay,” she relented. She ordered the food, replaced the phone on the cradle, and excused herself to go to the bathroom.

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