Page 49 of Taste

“I’m sorry I freaked out. There’s been a lot going on lately, and I don’t think I’ve handled it well.”

“No shit.” He laughed. I loved his laughter. “Your ex-spouse and the guy who apparently wrecked your marriage waltz into your place of work and start flaunting their asses all over the shop? Yeah, that is a lot to handle, and I think you handled it well, considering.”

“I wasn’t very…accommodating.” The words were coming out all wrong, but he was still laughing, and as long as his lips were against my cheek, I didn’t really care.

“You were very…accommodating,” he said. “But seriously.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you need? Right now. Right here. Do you want me to take you home?”

“No. No, fuck, no.” I was starting to reassemble my stupid brain, my arms finally working as I made myself more comfortable, tangling my legs with his. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, dumbass. I want you to stay.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want me to put on some music? Or do you still want to, you know? Get off? Or just sleep?”

“Is there a menu?” I didn’t mean to crack stupid jokes, but he cleared his throat and rose off the headboard to stuff another pillow behind his neck, a satisfied little smirk on his face.

“We do have several offers on the table, Mr Christensen. The Mark Quinton Special Fellatio is always a popular option. I believe you’ve sampled this particular dish before with excellent results. It’s a very satisfying meal with a clean finish and a guaranteed happy ending.”

“Is that posh-speak for a blowie under the covers or something?” I managed an awkward smile. He kissed the tip of my nose again. It was now a comforting gesture that I hadn’t known I’d needed. How he knew how to deal with me, I didn’t understand. But then I didn’t understand myself anymore, because I had never ever reacted like that. Ever. Not that I remembered. Or maybe I’d chosen to forget.

“You give good head.” He kissed me again, on the mouth this time. Just softly, with no demands, and I vented a small breath as my body started to tense up again. I hoped he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did, and he looked at me with so much kindness I wanted to burst into tears. “But I have no expectations, trust me,” he said. “I love that you’re here with me. I strangely love that this went…you know. Wrong. Because if we can have things go wrong and still lie here and laugh about it, then we’re doing well.You’redoing well. I hope I am too.”

I was breathing too fast again, but it was manageable. Deep breaths. He counted for me. Made me breathe with him. In. Out.

“I don’t think there are any right or wrong answers here.” I tried to sound strong, but my voice wouldn’t hold. “What else is on this menu?” I asked instead, trying to sound more in control. We needed to do something to turn this awkwardness into comfort again.

“Our Happily Ever After is also available,” he sang out in that same staged posh accent—the one he used at work—and I snorted. “You move in here tomorrow, pay half my rent, and we spend the evenings watching Sky Sports and drinking cheap beer. Take two holidays per year, have sex every Sunday and all that. A one-way ticket to happiness and lifelong comfort. A satisfying option for the discerning gentlemen.”

“I don’t feel much like a gentleman right now.” I sniffed.

“The deluxe package includes me giving up work and becoming a kept man, with the advantage of leaving me free to cater to all your needs, night and day, but the disadvantage of you paying all the bills. I have no experience of this particular option, and you should know that I’m extremely high maintenance and require to be kept in the standard of luxury I have been accustomed to. Like branded toiletries and fine wine. None of that supermarket-own-brand crap, and I can’t stand skimmed milk.”

He was daft. So bloody daft. He still made me laugh with his ridiculous fantasies.

“You’re not giving up work,” I said. He loved that restaurant. “So is there anything on your specials board? After all, I’m an incredibly special customer, and I’m particular in my tastes.”

“Oh, of course. We’reveryfamiliar with your needs.”

“Are you now?”

“Can I suggest The Spoon and Cuddle option? Guaranteed sleep and I will even make you a cup of tea in the morning. We can provide a leaking toilet sound as backdrop if requested. You know. For sentimental reasons.”

“Tempting.”

“The spooning could come with snogging, if required.” He kissed me again, and I snuggled in closer. Let him tuck the blanket tighter around me. “And an optional extra of a lubricated hand job. I’m more than happy to assist with any special requests.”

“Hmm.” I burrowed into his warmth, the ache in my chest reminding me I wasn’t okay. There were still parts of me that were screaming, nerves in my brain urging me to run. Except there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide from the demons that were somehow still in my head. I hated that they were. I hated that I couldn’t just be like everyone else. I wanted to be as carefree as he was, lying here placing lazy kisses on the top of my head.

I buried my face in his neck, hoping he would stay quiet, let me settle and regain some kind of composure so I could figure out where I went from here.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asked softly somewhere close to my ear. “Let’s just go make ourselves a brew and bring it back to bed. How does that sound?”

I swallowed and tried to answer, but no sound came out. I counted for myself, slowing my breaths the way he’d shown me, while he watched me with concern.

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