Page 65 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
He grabs me by the waist and tugs our bodies flush. His hard dick grinds into my stomach. “That’s how long it’s been since I’ve fucked anyone. That’s how long it’s been since I’vewantedto fuck anyone. And believe me, plenty of my past hookups have called or texted me, offering to ‘console’ me over the past five years.”
“Well, that’s definitely not something I want to hear right now.”
He tilts his head down to nuzzle my neck, blowing his hot breath on my skin and nibbling my jaw. “But they weren’t you. No one has ever made me feel this way.”
“And... and how do I make you feel?”
“Like I belong.” He moves his mouth to place a kiss on my lips. “I belong with you.” More kisses along my jaw. “I belong to you.”
A trail of kisses down my neck.
“And tonight,” he adds, “I belong between your legs.”
“Tonight? Not right now?”
He steps back and wags his finger at me. “Dinner first. I need you fueled. It’s going to be a long night.”
I groan when he pulls away and takes my hand to lead me to a stool, whimpering when I sit down because the plug adjusts in my ass.
Reynold’s only response to the sexual sound is kissing me, then he spins around to find two wine glasses. He opens the bottle of red he’d set out for tonight.
He’s planned everything, including torturing me by slowly drawing out and building up my pleasure.
He fills both glasses with wine, then clinks his with mine. It’s bitter but not too bad with hints of cherries. I’m not really a wine drinker, but Reynold is, and sharing this with him makes me eager to try all of them.
“Now,” he says, setting his glass on the marble countertop, “I’m going to cook dinner for us, and you’re going to sit there and watch.”
He holds up that stupid, yet talented, finger when I open my mouth to protest.
“You’ll do nothing but watch because tonight is about you. I want to take care of you. I want you to know how worthy you are because I bet that wanker Brett—”
“Brad.”
“—didn’t do shit for you.”
He’s right. Brad did the bare minimum in our relationship.
I cross my arms and raise my brow. “Okay, fine. I’ll watch. But only if you take your shirt off.”
He stares at me, deadpan, no emotion across his face as he slides his shirt off in one slick move using just one hand. His pants and boxer briefs follow.
Reynold stands in the middle of the kitchen naked.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I say, my cheeks aching with how much this man makes me smile.
He walks to the pantry, takes out an apron, and puts it on.
“To protect the goods from splattering oil and what not,” he says and winks.
“Of course.”
Reynold gets to work, slicing veggies, searing steaks, and mashing potatoes. I can’t help staring at his tight, muscular ass while he’s turned away from me at the stove. He caught me a few times too.
While everything simmers and cooks, he commands his smart device to put on a music station that plays old school ballads.(I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonightby Cutting Crew plays and Reynold offers his hand.
We slow dance in the middle of the kitchen—something I’ve never done before. Life is crazy like that. I’m thirty-five years old and yet I’m still experiencing firsts.
With one hand on Reynold’s bare waist, the other folded into his, I rest my head on his shoulder. We sway to the smooth notes and powerhouse voice of the song. He buries his nose into my hair and rubs his palm along my back, from the middle, then up and back down again.
