28. Alessandra
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
alessandra
“So…a blindfold?” Booth mumbles sleepily between my boobs.
After he fucked me into oblivion, we cleaned up and dragged ourselves back to bed.
I didn’t have the energy to get angry about my shredded lace body suit.
Because who could get mad about that?
“ Care to share with the class where that idea came from?”
I bite down on my lip.
His ego couldn’t handle the knowledge that I used the blindfold because of the sordid dream I had about him in the cabin.
I pretend to be asleep, which doesn’t last long when he dives under the covers and nibbles a path from my hip to my belly button.
“Booth! Cut it!” I squeal as I attempt to pry myself from his clutches.
“Don’t lie to me, Silv .” He sucks at the skin above my navel.
My only view is his mop of chocolate waves as he lies between my legs, teasing me.
“ But if you tell me you’ve done that with another man, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”
Snorting, I shove at his head.
“ And what if I have? ”
His head snaps up, eyes blazing.
I poke my index fingers into his cheeks, forcing his dimples out.
“ And you accuse me of being jealous.”
He growls before pressing his face to my stomach again.
“ You’re mean.”
“I know,” I quip.
“I like it,” he mumbles.
“I know that too.”
He looks back up, his envy gone as he studies me carefully, fingers absently tracing the dip of my waist. It’s at that moment my hunger decides to make itself known.
His eyes light up. Stark naked, he runs out of my bedroom, shouting, “ Don’t move!” over his shoulder.
My question about what the heck he’s doing is answered when I hear the refrigerator opening and the beep of the oven.
“Combine everything you say?” he hollers through my apartment.
There’s no containing my delighted smile.
“ Yes ! Sprinkle it with cinnamon and then add the orzo after forty-five minutes. Then bake for another ten.”
Despite the clatter coming from my kitchen, I doze off.
The smell of my mother’s home cooking rouses me, and I wake to find an overjoyed Booth beaming down at me, a hearty bowl of youvetsi in his hand with two spoons.
“Time to eat, beautiful.” His gentle voice, along with his gentler touch, keeps me locked in a sleepy haze.
Still naked, I tuck the comforter around my chest as he helps me into a sitting position.
I reach for the bowl, but he shakes his head.
“ Let me.” I’m about to argue when he reaches out and presses his fingers to my furrowed brow.
“ C’mon , let me look after you.”
Drip, drip, drip, with each sweet and thoughtful gesture, my resolve melts away.
His whole body glows with happiness when he sees I’m not going to fight him.
With assured movements, he scoops up some orzo and chicken and guides the steaming food into my mouth.
He watches me intensely.
As I wrap my lips around the spoon, as I slowly chew and swallow, and especially when my moan of indulgence echoes through the room.
The act of it all is oddly erotic, comforting, and intimate.
Silently , he feeds me, stealing himself a bite every so often until the bowl is empty.
“Well…” he says coyly, breaking the silence as he places the dish on my bedside table.
“ How was it?”
Reaching out, I swipe a smudge of red from the corner of his mouth.
Lipstick or tomato sauce, who knows.
“ It was delicious.” His cheeks darken at my compliment.
He doesn’t make a bold joke.
Instead , he shuffles under the covers with me and resumes his position, hard, warm body splayed out on top of mine with his chin resting on my stomach.
That’s where we stay, chatting and napping.
The past few hours has left me feeling full, not of food, but feelings.
Some confusing, but most satisfying.
The light stubble on his chin scratches my skin and the fullness remains.
But as I watch him, watching me, determination takes root.
Determination to do what I came here to do.
Determination to accept whatever outcome unfolds from my time in Sutton Bay .
Determination to open up to him.
“What are you thinking, beautiful?” My insides light up at his husky voice, weighted in sleep.
“That I’m sad we have to leave this bed,” I say honestly.
“Hmm. Wanna play hooky with me tomorrow?”
I’d do anything to burrow into these sheets, getting lost in them with him.
But for the first time since stepping foot in town, the nauseating nervousness isn’t that bad.
“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done?” I ask quietly .
“Oh, umm…” Something flickers in his eyes before he blinks it away.
“ I’m not sure I’ve done it yet. Or if I ever will. I guess that doesn’t count.” I give him a pointed look and he chuckles before his gaze turns somber.
“ Saying goodbye to my dad was pretty scary; knowing that was it. I wouldn’t catch him stealing food from the kitchen when Mom wasn’t looking or be blinded by the flash of his ancient Polaroid camera as he captured family moments.” Sadness laces his smile.
“ I’d like to be braver. What about you?”
My head flops against the pillow and I stare at the cracks in the ceiling.
“ I’m trying to be brave too.”
I haven’t ventured to this side of town before.
It’s different from the endless coastline stretching across the bay.
Rolling hills, vast pine forests, and snowy mountain peaks.
During the warmer months, I imagine tall grass and wildflowers adorn the horizon.
Now , it’s blanketed in white.
A chill sets in my bones, that has nothing to do with the weather and more to do with the building at the end of the drive.
Camouflaged into its surroundings with its off-white batten siding and shutters, sits a farmhouse.
Patches of red peek out under the snow-covered roof.
Not a lot of farming happens this time of year, but as I take in the fields surrounding the house, I picture blueberry fields and cornfields.
It’s huge; once a family home.
Much too big for one person.
Gravel kicks against the underside of my car until I come to a stop next to a dark blue pickup.
A part of me hoped he wouldn’t be home .
But as the front door opens, revealing the one person I’ve spent weeks avoiding, I cling onto the determination from last night like a lifeline.
I reach into the pockets of my coat, searching for my gloves, when my fingertips brush against something hard.
I remove my left hand to reveal a plastic red rose.
Booth has no idea why I’m here—in this town or sitting outside Martin Willis’s house.
This tiny gesture from him gives me the final shove I need.
My boots crunch on the ground as I step out.
The thick parka and hat I’m wearing suffocate me as Martin watches me curiously.
“Alessandra, everything okay? Did you call?” he asks worriedly.
I shake my head, hands fisted in my pockets as I stop a few feet away.
“ No . Sorry , maybe I should have. If now isn’t a good time, I can come back.”
Please say you’re busy.
“It’s fine. Please , please, come in and out of the cold.” He gestures inside, and with a heavy exhale, my fingers white-knuckling around the rose, I step through the doorway.
It’s fine.
This isn’t like last time.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.