Page 42 of One Hotlanta Night
“What’s this?” Michael asks, taking it from my hands.
“Well, you know how we were talking about gangster flicks? I don’t really know a lot about wine, but I’m hoping the label might make up for it?”
Michael laughs, the sound golden to my ears. “This’ll be fun. Gracias.” He presses another kiss to my cheek. “Ven, mi amor.”
He takes my hand and leads me inside. The room is bright and airy as the sunset casts a pink glow against the walls. I note that the furniture rocks the same college vibe as my place: clean, comfortable, and does the job. Basic, and also what I would expect from a young single professional. A CD player in the corner is the source of the upbeat salsa music I’ve been hearing and my hips can’t help swaying to the beat.
Catching my movement, Michael dances with me into the kitchen where the most delicious smells are emanating from, twirling me around right as we approach the stove. Brushing his lips against mine softly, his hands trace my curves and he gives my ass a gentle squeeze. “Mmm, cariño… I could dance with you all night.” He pulls away, kissing my hand. “But let me feed you first.”
My eyes widen at the feast I see before me, the blend of aromas assaulting my senses in the best way. Dishes of steaming hot white rice and black beans, golden toasted bread, and vibrantlyred sliced tomatoes along with perfectly green avocado create a colorful spread fit for a large family.
“When you said dinner, I really thought you meant ordering a pizza or something. This is… so much food! Are you expecting anyone else?” I exclaim.
Michael smirks. “Well, I had to prove to you how good my cooking is.” He runs a hand through his hair. “And I honestly haven’t figured out how to cook just for one yet. When you make food for four people all the time, it’s kinda hard to pare it down. My roommate gets leftovers, plus I don’t have to do takeout.”
Michael returns to flipping something over in a frying pan and whatever it is smells amazing as it sizzles at his touch.Just like me, I think. No clue what he’s making, but it instantly makes my mouth water. I don’t register that I’m moaning out loud until Michael looks over his shoulder and his mouth quirks up.
“Should I leave you alone here for a minute? Because that sounds like you really want my meat.” He grins.
Rolling my eyes, I can’t stop my smile. “You wish.”
“Yup.” He winks, turning back to the subject at hand in the frying pan. Wow, it reallyishot in here. Trying to get a grip on myself and not rip Michael’s shirt off so I can see if he’s burning up just as much as I am, I wrench my gaze to look around the countertops.
“What’s this?” Something yellow on a white plate catches my eye. It looks like some sort of thick pancake that’s been… smashed? Michael turns from the stove and catches my quizzical look.
“Tostones. They’re plantains, kind of like a banana. You fry ’em and smash ’em and fry them again. Try one.” When I don’t move, he picks one up and brings it to my mouth. “Here, eat.” He teases my lips open as I continue to hesitate.
I’m not known for my adventurous eating, and these things just look plain weird. Even after all our conversations, we stillhaven’t known each other for long and who knows, I might end up with a strange allergy. But as much as I attempt to talk myself out of trying something new, I can’t ignore the fact that Ifinallycame to his house, and I’m here now, to—what, turn my nose up at the dinner he made for me? And it smells far too tempting.Just like the man who prepared it.
I open my mouth and allow him to place a small bite on my tongue. It’s like the texture of a potato, but slightly sweet and salty. The same taste as his fingers as they leave my mouth.
“See? I knew you’d like it.” He laughs as he feeds me another bite.
“This is so delicious,” I moan as the flavors hit my tongue once again.
“Delicious,” he murmurs back, his eyes darkening as he zeroes in on my mouth. Michael’s hand reaches out and his thumb slowly rubs the extra salt off my bottom lip. Bringing it to his mouth, his tongue darts out and licks the salt from his thumb, his eyes never leaving mine. My mouth parts at the sensual sight, as if his tongue is licking me instead, fire igniting a path down my chest and all throughout my core. Pulse racing, I quiver as he swipes over his thumb again, savoring the taste and my knees grow weak.
He’s barely touched me, but I swear I can feel his mouth everywhere.
“Mmm,” Michael rumbles as his hand reaches for my hip to close the short distance between us. The hiss of oil pulls him out of our near embrace, and I grunt my disappointment. Whatever is in that pan better be worth it. Grinning devilishly, he turns back to the stove and I try not to pout at the loss of his touch so quickly.
“So, mi amor, tonight we are going to have one of my favorite dishes that Paquita makes. This is bistec empanizado.”
“Which is what, exactly, for us non-Spanish speakers?” I ask as I fold my arms and lean against the counter.
“It's a breaded steak, but the secret is using Italian seasoning in the breadcrumbs.” He plates the last two pieces and wipes his hands on a towel.
“Really? Never would’ve thought of Italian seasonings in Cuban cooking,” I tease.
“Well,” he smiles, “we pretty much douse everything in garlic, so that goes into it too. But yeah, we like combining cultures and flavors,” he says as he turns and lands a quick peck on my lips. I can’t get enough of his teasing kisses as I wonder if I can talk him into skipping dinner to get more quality time with that mouth of his… until my stomach growls.
Michael laughs. “Is my lady hungry?” he asks with a wink. “C’mon, I told you I would take care of you.” He turns to grab something out of the fridge, and my body is suffused with warmth at his words. For the first time, the way he calls me “my lady” hits me, the significance of it. Maybe hedoesn’tdo this with every girl. Maybe I actuallyamspecial to him. After all, he can’t keep from touching me and kissing me but hasn’t tried to get into my pants yet. Although he’s definitely expressed his interest there too.
Maybe Iamdeserving of being someone’s lady. Of beinghis. Because it makes absolutely no sense, but the more I’m with him, the more I want him to be mine.
As I walk up behind him, a fleeting thought passes of what it would be like to be in his space like this all the time. Making breakfast with him. Laughing and dancing around the kitchen, doing dishes together, me swatting him with a towel before he presses me up against the counter to kiss me senseless… It’s not something I’ve ever entertained before. But I think I like it.
I peer over his shoulder and am surprised by the refrigerator’s contents. Fresh fruits and veggies line the shelves, along withyogurt, eggs, and a few bottles of Beck’s. Not quite what I’d expect for a typical bachelor pad. Most dudes keep nothing but a bunch of beer and cheese dip around; this array is positively healthy.
