Chapter 28
Another year, another fucking February celebrating this godforsaken “holiday” with sparkly hearts and flowers and jewelry sales.
This year, however, Valentine’s Day was going to be a little different for me.
It was Sunday, and because of the “special” day, my mom gave me and Haley a pass on family dinner. I’d tried to counter that I had no plans, but she insisted, so I didn’t argue.
Then, an idea struck.
I’d gone to the store earlier that afternoon, which was a mistake in and of itself because everyone and their damn brother seemed to be there, but I managed to survive.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon hanging out until I shot off a message to Morgan, who I already knew didn’t have plans that evening based on a conversation I overheard between her and Callie last night at the bar.
Come over.
Princess
Now?
No, tomorrow Yes, now.
Give me 45 min.
The timing happened to line up perfectly.
Forty-five minutes later, I walked from my kitchen when I heard a knock. She’d always been a punctual little shit, I’d give her that. When I opened the door, I stepped aside to let Morgan in, and as soon as she crossed over the threshold, she paused, and her brow knitted suspiciously.
I shut the door, fighting back a chuckle when I heard her sniff the air.
She turned to look at me with an inscrutable expression. “Are you…are you cooking?”
“Yes,” I answered matter-of-factly.
She poked her tongue against her cheek, still staring at me. “Why?”
“Because we’re celebrating.”
Her brows slightly rose in surprise, and she cleared her throat. I knew exactly what she was thinking. “Celebrating what exactly?”
I rolled my eyes. “Not Valentine’s Day. You can breathe.”
She let out a breath of relief mixed with a laugh, waving her finger at me. “You had me for a second.” She glanced around. “So…what are we celebrating then?”
I smirked. “It’s been one year since we made our deal.”
Her brow furrowed again. “Did you just happen to have that marked down on your calendar?”
“What, you’re telling me you don’t remember when we made it?”
“No…I don’t.”
“Well, the only reason I remember is because it was Valentine’s Day, and I hate this fucking holiday. Actually…” I rested my hands on my hips and tilted my head in thought. “Now that I think about it…it’s rather fitting.”
She momentarily hesitated, almost as if she were afraid to ask. “What’s fitting?”
“That you showed up at my door that night, on the one day of the year that I hate more than any other, and we made a deal to hate-fuck when we needed and wanted. I never actually thought about the irony of it until just now…”
“Is there a point to all of this?” she scoffed.
I waved her off. “Needless to say…it’s been a year. So, I figured that our single asses could hate this stupid holiday together but celebrate the deal.”
“Celebrate…”
She seemed hesitant, which was fair. We’d never done this before—we didn’t spend a lot of time dawdling before or after sex. We got what we needed, and we were on our way. And perhaps it came off as more out of the ordinary than it already was because of what day it happened to be.
“Yeah. I mean…I think we’ve come a long way in that time. You have to agree that we don’t hate each other now. Not really. It’s more like…mostly tolerate with some great sex thrown in.”
“Oh, wow,” she said in a breathy voice. “Is this what it’s like to be swept off your feet?”
I snorted. “Shut up.”
“And to think I didn’t even bring you a gift,” she quipped as she shrugged off her jacket.
“Your presence is a present, Princess…or some bullshit like that.”
Morgan rolled her eyes, but I swore I saw a hint of a smile before it vanished. She turned toward the kitchen and sniffed again. “So, what takeout did you buy to pretend you cooked?”
“None, smartass.” I walked into the kitchen. “I cooked it myself.”
She cast a disbelieving look in my direction. “You cook…?”
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“I am surprised. I’ve never seen you cook.”
“You come for sex and leave.”
“Fair point, but…” She looked at me with what I could have sworn was a tentative expression. “You cooked…for me…?”
Both the question and the slight hint of surprise in her tone caught me off guard. I cooked…with her in mind. So, technically speaking, I guess I did cook for her.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I cooked for myself, and you just happened to be here to eat what I was going to save for leftovers?”
I could see her gears turning until she deemed my deflective question satisfactory enough and nodded. She peered at the stove again. “So…what did you make?”
“It’s a surprise,” I said as I turned to the stove, putting my back to her.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Well, that’s just too damn bad, now isn’t it?” I smirked when I heard her grumble.
She sniffed the air again. “It’s something tomato-based, that much I can tell. So, I’m guessing some kind of pasta dish…”
“Impressive.”
Ten minutes later, I set a plate in front of her at my small dining table and poured her a glass of Pinot. She looked at the dish with both a critical and skeptical eye—tomato-braised chicken over a bed of pasta. “Chicken cacciatore?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “One of my personal favs.”
“It looks…decent. And smells…alright.”
I rolled my eyes as I took my seat. “We really need to work on your compliment skills.”
She chuckled as she picked up her fork, gathering a piece of chicken and a small bit of pasta on it before lifting it to her lips. Her eyes met mine, and I watched with a curious grin as she took the first bite. She chewed slowly, and I found myself slightly anxious as I awaited her reaction.
“Shit,” she whispered after swallowing. “That’s…it’s really good.”
I smirked. “Not only does this day mark the commemoration of our deal, but I’ll always remember it as the day I genuinely impressed Morgan Hayes.”
I’d always been a sucker for Italian food, and I learned over dinner that so was Morgan.
It turned out that, much like myself, one of her weaknesses was anything pasta.
And not to toot my own horn, but chicken cacciatore—which I always made with spaghetti—was kind of my specialty, and if the way she cleared her plate was any indication, I’d knocked it out of the damn park.
I took the plates to the sink once we finished, then leaned against the counter, waiting while Morgan finished up her second glass of wine.
She set the almost empty glass on the table, her cheeks slightly flushed from what I assumed to be the alcohol while she rolled the stem between her thumb and forefinger and glanced up to meet my gaze.
It was utterly silent, almost like we suddenly didn’t know what to do with ourselves. But as we looked at one another, I could feel my body stirring, the air between us crackling with a familiar potent mixture of desire and tension.
After only a few minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore and cleared my throat. “Dessert?”
Morgan nodded, shot up from her chair, and I yanked her to me, crashing my lips against hers as I guided her down the hall. Both of our shirts were gone before we made it to the bedroom, and my hands were already yanking open the button of her jeans.
I shoved her denim over her hips, and when I drew back while she stripped them off, that’s when I noticed the red lace of her matching bra and underwear.
I thought her rose scent would be the death of me, but her in anything red had jumped to the very top of that list and was sure to be my undoing.
I was trying to maintain a modicum of self-control, but I wanted to fucking devour her already.
My hand curled around the back of her neck as I backed her against the wall, and my lips found hers again.
I reached down, hooking a hand under her knee and lifting it to my waist. My other hand slipped between her legs, pulling the thin scrap of lace to the side and drawing a moan from her when my finger stroked against her clit.
“Poor thing. How long have you been this wet for me?” I teased with both my words and fingers.
She let out a frustrated breath from my teasing. “Wes, I swear to—”
The threat died on her lips when I pushed two fingers inside of her, watching her mouth fall open with a moan as she arched her hips into my hand. “That’s it. Fuck my fingers.”
And she did.
She rolled her hips against my hand, my fingers pumping in and out of her as my thumb rubbed her clit. I brought her right to the edge, and when I could feel her starting to tip over it, evident by her ragged breaths and whimpers, I abruptly pulled my hand away with a smirk.
Morgan’s eyes snapped open. “Wes!”
“You didn’t think I was going to let you get off that easy, did ya, Princess?
” I whispered wolfishly. A whimper escaped her as she reached down, her hands fumbling hastily against my jeans to work them open.
“Ya know, I think that nickname has grown on you. I think you like it when I call you that, especially when I’m getting ready to fuck you. ”
The smirk I wore fell with a groan when her hand wrapped around my dick. I surged forward, capturing her lips in mine again as she stroked me. I was impossibly hard under her touch, throbbing with need.
I spun her from the wall, and she drew back from my lips, looking up at me with a lascivious gaze as her hand rubbed the head of my cock. “How do you want me?”
A wolfish chuckle escaped me as I stripped from my pants and boxers.
That was one thing I’d noticed about Morgan—she was stubborn as hell and could run that pretty little mouth of hers with the best of them, but she liked relinquishing control in the bedroom.
She liked being told what to do, being held down and fucked hard and fast.
I fucking loved it.