Chapter 2 #2
He must have trained harder this season, because the way his thick hockey physique fills out his black cotton chef’s coat now should be illegal.
He knows it, too. The fucking tease. Taunting me.
Relentless. All the while, his demeanor dark with the kind of defiance I wanna fuck out of him, but not so thoroughly that it goes away forever.
No, just enough that it comes back, so I can fuck it away again.
Fuck me. Why am I so drawn to him? It wasn’t always like this—thank god.
I was always protective of him, and didn’t love him going on dates, because he seemed to pick the guys who looked like they belonged in the motorcycle club I distanced myself from.
It wasn’t until he hit his twenties that things changed for me.
Was like someone hit me in the head, rearranging my brain chemistry, and from then on, it’s been hell on earth.
Him in that slutty-ass kitchen jacket doesn’t help.
Dirk’s tall, at least six feet, but a couple of inches shorter than me.
He’s actually sporting a bit of hockey hair for once, but only because the season just ended.
As soon as he meets up with his brother for their post-season dinner, it’ll be short again.
Sometimes he gets it cut before that dinner, which is a shame.
I fucking love his longer hair. Would make it easier to—
Yeah, no. Not going there.
Dash’s head whips around, and he frowns. “Oh, thought you were gonna be Stace. Where is he?”
“The flower delivery arrived, and he’s helping the cute new delivery boy.” There’s way too much emphasis put on the word “cute”. I suppress a growl.
Dash’s frown turns to a scowl. “The fuck he is. Sorry, Dad. You’ll have to excuse me.” Dash is up so fast, abandoning his paper coffee cup. “Oh, and you were wrong, Dirk. Dad is planning on finding love on his trip.”
He tosses that behind him. Awesome. Just enough to get me in shit.
But Dirk’s busy staring after him like the cat who got the cream.
Did he get rid of Dash on purpose? Something happened there, but I know how cute that delivery boy is, and I don’t love that Dirk’s noticed.
I clear my throat, and he spins around. His eyes land on my now-empty ceramic mug and flick to the paper cup I’m holding.
“How’s the coffee, Trav?”
“I miss the layer of skin the roof of my mouth used to have,” I admit, letting him fill in the blanks.
“You didn’t have to do that; he wouldn’t have crumbled if you’d had to warm up the cup he gave you later.”
I grunt acknowledgment, but fuck that. I’d do it again. “Need something?” I won’t be standing up, my erection’s too painful.
“Is what Dash said true?” he asks, arms crossed, his biceps straining the sleeves of his jacket. He’s a whore in that jacket.
“And what if it is?” I test. Something’s gotta give. I’m the adult here; I’m the one who should put a stop to our nonsense.
“Then I’m fucking coming with you.”
God, his eyes are pretty when they’re filled with that kind of fire.
Sends a shiver of arousal right to my cock.
That’s the other thing about Dirk, he’s not my type.
I like smaller men. Pretty men. Like the delivery guy.
The only thing pretty about Dirk is his eyes.
Maybe those pouty lips, too. But the rest of him is masculine as fuck.
I don’t answer him fast enough. He takes long, purpose-filled strides over to my desk and plants his hands on it, leaning over.
There isn’t much that scares me, but Dirk’s definitely on the short list. Right at the top with “shit that could happen to my son”.
I don’t know who I’ll be if I let my urges take over, and every time we’re together, my resolve is tested.
Fuck, I can smell him. I want him so damn badly.
My fingers curl around the arms of my chair.
“I don’t know where you go every summer, and I’ve never asked out of respect for your privacy,” he says, voice low, “and I’ve always suspected it’s more than a guy’s weekend away. I doubt you want me to follow you.”
Jesus, he’s serious.
Several beats of silence pass between us as I attempt to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to say to that.
“Or, maybe I’m gonna catch the cute delivery boy before he leaves.” He smirks. “I am single and ready to mingle after all.”
It’s decided. I’m requesting a new delivery person immediately. “Would you just shut the fucking door and sit the fuck down.”
He struts further into the room, but only just inside the door, shutting it behind him. He’s clearly pleased with himself, but he shouldn’t be. He’s always claiming he’s not a brat, but that’s brat-like behavior if I’ve ever seen it.
Dirk shuts and locks the office door. Interesting. I didn’t tell him to lock it.
“You’re testing my damn patience,” I say once he’s facing me again.
“So? You’re testing mine, too.”
I run fingers through my hair; they come out sweat-slicked. “You want to talk about this,” I say, gesturing between us. “Is that it?”
We’re not supposed to talk about it, we’re never supposed to utter it out loud. We decided that the moment we felt the spark. It was a mutual thing, since it’s pretty obvious why we can’t give in to our urges.
Our exhausting and endless urges. But looks like they’re wearing both of us down.
“I don’t know.” He groans, sagging against the wall, letting his head sink back so he’s staring at the ceiling.
“You were looking at me like you wanted to eat me this morning. It made my dick hard. My dick convinced me to do this—show up here and offer myself to you—but now I’m having second thoughts. ”
“I did want to eat you this morning,” I admit, regretting the words as soon as I say them, but also unable to stop myself. “Still do, which is why I’m staying over here and you’re staying the fuck over there.”
“Uggggh.” He groans some more, sliding down the wall until his ass hits the floor. “Trav.”
“It’s not happening, Dirk.”
“So, we keep up our sexless marriage bullshit, is that it?”
Is that how he sees us? I guess it’s fucking true. We’re together a lot. We might not be attached at the hip like my son is with his not-so-secret love interest, but when Dirk’s not hanging out with his friends, he’s hanging out with me.
I haven’t done much dating either, with the only exceptions being the ones I tried to date to get over him.
Did not work. Not even a little. I stopped trying.
Exhaling slowly, I force myself to say the words. “I think we should end that, too. It shouldn’t have started in the first place.”
“Fuck that, Trav.”
Silence falls over the room like a cold blast. I stay—safely—where I am, as if distance will protect me from my feelings for him.
Because the truth is, as much as I want Dirk, want to abuse his fucking ass with my cock and make him scream for so long his voice turns raw, that’s not all I want.
If that’s all this was, my lust would have died a long time ago.
I want all of him, want him to be all mine.
I want to bring him to my bed, keep him wrapped around me all night, then make him breakfast and coffee in the morning
Every morning.
That’s why he’s so terrifying. I’ve already seen glimpses of forever with Dirk.
He remains seated on the floor, his back resting against the door. “Do you need more time? Will it help when I’m thirty?”
“Even when you’re thirty, I’ll still be twenty years older than you.”
“It bothers you that much?”
“Yes. God, Dirk. I don’t even love the age gap between Dash and Syd. We’d be worse than that. A man in his forties dating a twenty-something-year-old is a goddamn predator.”
“Or a daddy,” Dirk says, some of the life returning to those pretty eyes of his. He stands slowly. “Alright, you win this round.”
“Not a competition, Dirk.”
“It is, though. It’s always been. You win this time. No sex, but our fucking weird-ass marriage remains as before.”
“I think we need to clear that up—”
“Then you’re saying you’re fine with me dating other people?”
I’m up and out of my chair, breaking the rules—they’re stupid rules anyway—crowding him against the door, curling my fingers around his throat. He freezes underneath me. “You little fucking whore. Anyone who touches you gets dipped in a vat of acid,” I growl.
“Fine.” He grits his teeth. He thinks I’m just saying shit without any idea that I can actually make it happen. “Anyone who touches you loses a hand.”
“And if I ever see you flaunting yourself around here for others, in my fucking restaurant, I’ll take my belt to your ass until it’s as purple as an eggplant, so there’s no mistaking who it belongs to, understood?”
He swallows, eyes blowing wide with lust. “Understood.”
Fuck, if none of that sends him running, I don’t know that anything will.
“As long as you know that I’m it for you, baby,” he says. “You don’t have to fuck me, don’t have to hold my hand in public, you don’t even have to tell a soul. But cheat on me and I’ll cut your dick off. Understood?”
Cheat. As if we’re in some kind of a relationship. Are we? Not sure. Don’t know if I can classify this level of fucked up as a relationship.
“Fine. One more thing. Take this slutty ass jacket off. I never want to see you in it again.”
He rolls his eyes. “I can’t do that, genius. If I’m not wearing a kitchen uniform, people will know something’s up.”
He’s right. I wanna fucking punch something.
“Anything else?” he says, when I’ve said nothing for two whole minutes.
“No.”
“Perfect, see you later, dear,” he threatens, pushing me off him. I’m too startled to recapture him, but boy, do I wanna go after him. He’s mine, and what’s mine should fucking stay put until I release him.
Instead, I watch him go, leaving calmer than the chaos in his wake. The door clicks shut behind him like a bad omen.
God fucking dammit. That did not go as I planned.