Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Maddox
It’d been…over a decade since the last time I’d cooked for someone else. I was feeling raw about the whole thing. Excited, yes. But raw.
“I’ll admit,” Iven said, as I pulled his chair out for him in the dining room and he sat down, “I thought you were going to feed me canned soup.”
I didn’t know if I should be charmed or annoyed by his shallow assumption. Charmed won over when he wiggled in close to inhale and an overjoyed moan escaped him. Normally, I’d find that sort of short-sighted perception annoying.
Not with Iven, though.
With Iven, I only thought it was cute.
“Why?” I couldn’t help but ask, hoping to get him talking once more. I took my seat and held a hand out for his plate. He hesitated for a moment, clearly surprised I planned to serve him, but ultimately handed it over with a shy little grin.
“I dunno, you just…” It took Iven a moment to realize his thought process had been obtuse.
He paled. “Oh dear. That was rude of me.” He frowned.
“I suppose I just assumed you’d be bad at this?
Given the fact that you told me you wanted me to cook for you.
” He blinked, his frown turning into a smile as he watched me pile his plate high with the roast I’d been prepping all day for him.
The scent in the air was succulent and salty, enough to get my belly rumbling.
“But you clearly know your way around a kitchen if that—” he nodded toward the freshly baked bread on the table and the lemon pie that sat beside it, “is any indicator.”
“My mom cooked.” I handed his plate back. “She taught me.”
“Right,” Iven nodded, taking a sip of his wine with a pleased sigh.
He paired it with a bite of meat and potato, and heat flared low in my belly when he groaned.
“Why ask me, then?” He asked when he’d finished half-orgasming.
“Nothing I’ve made you is nearly this…” he made a gesture with his hand to indicate the spread I’d spent all day creating. “Good?”
“The last time someone cooked for me was when I was twenty-five,” I said, voice low. “Mom had died. One of the townies made me a casserole.”
Iven blinked. His blue eyes softened, head tipping to the side as he leaned his chin against his palm to pay attention. For someone who never seemed to stop talking, he was a surprisingly good listener.
“I didn’t think I’d ever taste someone else’s cooking again,” I explained.
I didn’t like talking. Most of the time, the action was uncomfortable and/or unnecessary.
But…sometimes, talking was the only way to remember the people you’d loved and lost. And it was surprisingly pleasant to speak to Iven about such things.
The ache of my mother’s passing had softened over time, but it was still there. A pit in my stomach that never disappeared, even if I’d gotten better at living with it.
“My parents were never home,” Iven said, eyes still smiling. “That’s the reason I know how.”
“Self-sufficient.” That made sense.
“Self-sufficient,” Iven agreed. “Maybe not talented. But passable.” He took another bite, his dark lashes fluttering as he sighed. “This is delicious, by the way. Truly wonderful.”
“Glad you like it.” I was pleased. I couldn’t help but be pleased.
I’d been twenty-five the last time someone else had cooked for me.
I’d been even younger the last time I’d wanted to cook for someone else.
Feeding someone was a special kind of intimacy.
Mom had taught me that. She’d said the best way to someone’s heart was through their stomach. A cliché, yes, but heartfelt.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. Well, silence on my end. Iven devoured his food, sipping his wine between bites, and regaling me with tales from his workday like it was a totally normal thing for him to do. Like we’d done exactly this, hundreds of times before.
Like this wasn’t the first time at all.
It was comfortable to have him exist in my private, personal space.
He was as eclectic and warm as my other belongings, dressed in a navy sweater that made his eyes look like glaciers.
It took no effort to sink into the atmosphere, to listen to his chatter, to fill my belly and my heart at the same time.
It was easy.
Easy.
A word I never, in all my life, thought I’d be able to attribute to socializing with anyone aside from my deceased mother.
When Iven ran out of work stories, he told me about his adventures with gay porn.
Then, his foray into gay romance. And then, all the Google searches he’d conducted over the last week and a half.
He told me in great detail how he’d been feeling, why exactly he was excited about our second date—words he’d used to describe our dinner tonight.
Second date. Date. Because we were dating.
He told me why he thought he’d like to take a chance on a relationship with me.
His plate was empty. Mine was too. The sun had sunk long before either of us realized we’d been supposed to go outside and practice.
“Oh. Oops.” Iven laughed, scratching his eyebrow with his ring finger as he shook his head. “I’ve been talking your ear off.”
“It’s fine,” I replied. I rose from my spot at the table and gestured toward the living room.
“Go sit down with your wine. I’ll join you in a minute.
” Iven hesitated for only a moment before he did as he was told.
A flare of heat simmered low in my belly as he gave me a single, meaningful look before he headed through the archway that separated the two rooms and left me to my own devices.
I cleared up the table and kitchen faster than I ever had in my life.
When I entered the living room with two plates of pie, Iven had made himself at home at the corner of the couch.
He was holding his wine glass close, his long legs folded up like a pretzel atop the cushions.
It was nice to see him comfortable in my space.
It felt right.
“Pie?” He perked up, eyeing the plates like a hungry puppy. “My stomach thanks you, and my waistline does not,” he joked.
He’d taken his shoes off.
His feet were covered simply by socks. They appeared long and delicate where they pushed into the soft cushions. I ached to grab them. To pull them into my lap and dig my thumbs inside the arches till his eyes rolled back. My hands flexed at my sides, and my pulse kicked up a notch.
“Sorry,” Iven said, clearly realizing where my attention had gone, and misinterpreting it. He shifted to put his feet back on the ground. “Habit—”
“Don’t move,” I interrupted before he could untangle himself. “It’s fine.” And it was fine. Another caveat I only felt comfortable giving him. “I don’t mind.”
I could remember getting in trouble for that as a kid.
Mom didn’t like my feet on any surface but the floor.
Since then, I’d made a habit of always sitting with “proper posture”.
It wasn’t something I’d ever thought about until now.
Until seeing Iven make himself at home, all those long limbs put to good use.
“You sure?” His brow furrowed. “I’m happy to—”
“I want you comfortable,” I gruffed softly.
Iven blinked, then flushed, blue eyes darting to the fire as a little smile curled his lips. It wasn’t like his other ones. Wasn’t manic. Just…sweet. “Anything you want,” he said softly.
If only he meant that.
I set the plates on coasters then sat beside him. I took up a considerably larger amount of space than he did. We’d never simply…sat on a couch together. It was intimate. This whole night had been.
I’d told him things I’d never shared with anyone else.
And Iven, in turn, had opened up far more than expected.
This wasn’t like the other times he’d come over.
I’d let him see me more plainly than I’d let anyone else for longer than I could remember.
I couldn’t believe my luck. It seemed impossible that he could want me, considering how badly I’d been wanting him.
But here he was. Doing just that. His blue eyes swam with emotion, conflicted, but sure.
They said, I want this.
They said, I want you.
They said, I’m sure.
Iven set his wine glass down on the table, swore, then moved it to a coaster with a muttered apology. And then, before I could fully process what was happening, he knee-walked across the middle cushion and straddled my lap.
He weighed more than expected. Solid. Dense for his size. I’d noticed when I’d lifted him into the truck before but hadn’t really thought about it. Not until he was wiggling in my lap, and those long, expressive fingers were carding through my beard.
“Is this okay?” Iven murmured softly, lids at half-mast. “I told you I wanted this, but you didn’t really…say much in reply?”
I hadn’t?
Ah.
I’d been too absorbed in studying him to properly respond. “More than,” I assured, hands finding his hips. He was warm. Soft around the middle a little. I liked the bit of give I felt as I dug my fingers in. Iven shuddered.
“That, my friend, is what I like to call my emergency rations.” I snorted in amusement.
“You know. In case the zombie apocalypse ever happens,” he added, voice deepening a little when I spread my fingers wide to see how much of his body I could cover.
“That’s why I eat cookies. Not because I find them delightful or anything. But because I’m a forward thinker.”
I squeezed, and Iven’s lashes fluttered.
“Janis told me—” Janis was his ex. The one he said he didn’t care about.
“That I needed to do more sit-ups.” My brows must’ve betrayed my displeasure because Iven nodded along.
“I know. Rude, right? Like—worry about yourself, and stop body shaming me-eee—” His voice cracked when my hand slid lower, just a fraction, enough that my fingers teased the upper swell of his ass.
“You’re perfect,” I told him, putting an end to his misery.
“Oh.” Iven shuddered again, his head dropping forward, nose brushing mine. “That was a very nice thing to say. Kudos to you.”
“Mmm.” I kissed him softly, sweetly. He was too stiff.
Too worried, maybe, about how I perceived him.
Forty-plus years of experience colored this moment with me.
When our lips parted, Iven’s eyes took a moment to slide open.
And when they did, his pupils were a lovely, flat black.
“I don’t care what Janis said,” I told him bluntly.
“Or any of your other exes.” This time, I said it more firmly, punctuating the words as my hands slid lower still, finally curving around the swell of Iven’s ass.
“This…between us—” I needed him to understand what this was.
“This is ours. Just ours. I want this. I want you. Just as you are.”
My words echoed the sentiment I’d seen in his eyes, and Iven melted.
Iven seemed to understand what I meant because he relaxed further.
“I am eager,” he admitted, rubbing the tips of our noses together.
“Christ, am I eager.” He licked his lips, and my fingers tightened on his ass, gratified to see his lashes flutter.
“I just…don’t know what I’m doing.” He laughed. “Starting over like a teenager.”
“It’s not so different,” I promised him, voice soft. “Just people.”
“Just…people,” Iven echoed, like what I’d said was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. “You’re right.” He pecked my lips, and I let his mind race for a moment before I reeled it back in. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you like?” I asked. “We can start there.”
“What I…like?” Iven echoed, like communication as foreplay was a foreign concept. “That’s…well. That’s a hard question.”
“What you don’t like then.” The point of this exercise was to get to know one another, after all. Dislikes were as powerful, if not more powerful, in some scenarios. Iven paused to mull over my words for a moment.
“I don’t like having to decide everything,” he finally said. Something inside me flickered to life, sitting up tall as I paid extra attention. “I…” he paused as he thought some more. “I don’t like feeling like I’m the one doing all the work.”
We were far more compatible than I’d realized. My dick had been half hard since the moment he’d so sweetly climbed into my lap. It was fully hard now as I let his words sink in, and I recognized what they might mean for a tumble in the sheets with him.
“What about…” I had to force myself not to grind up into him. There was something intimate and heady about openly talking about sex. Sometimes it felt more personal than the act itself. “If I did all the ‘work?’” The fact that he called sex “work” was telling.
Iven blinked, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “You do all the…” His eyes took on a faraway sheen, glassy and soft. “Oh.” He licked his lips again, hips performing a delightful little squirm I was certain he didn’t notice. “As in…a fifty-fifty delegation of tasks?”
“No.” Tasks. Another word that was far more telling than he probably realized. “As in…” My voice dropped lower as my hands gave his ass a deliberate rub. “You lie back…” Iven shivered. “Spread those pretty legs.”
“Oh dear.”
“And I’ll take care of everything.”