Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Soren
She’d lasted a week.
I had to give her credit for that level of self-control.
I felt like I was crawling out of my skin each time we needed to interact while she tried not to talk to or look at me directly. Then shuffled off as soon as business matters were handled.
Admittedly, each time I called her down to the site had been for purely selfish reasons. There was nothing going on that I couldn’t deal with on my own. In fact, her paperwork naming her a silent partner meant I didn’t really need to involve her in any of it, unless there was something she expressly wanted to be called in on.
Still, each time I called, she showed up.
Sometimes with Bastian in tow.
But lately, almost always with that damn driver of hers.
Unlike Bass, who seemed more focused on Saff’s behavior, Serano’s keen-eyed gaze seemed zeroed in on me.
So much so that I made sure I didn’t stand too close or touch her like I wanted to.
I was starting to think that the connection we’d shared that last time she was at my apartment was wholly one-sided.
Until I was standing in my kitchen—home early on a Saturday night since Teresa cut out early for a family birthday—trying to distract myself from obsessively thinking about Saff by doing something I hadn’t done in months: cooking dinner, and in my periphery, I caught the movement as the doors slid open.
Not another soul in the world had a key other than me.
And Saff.
Even Teresa had to borrow mine if she needed to pop by my place.
I froze mid-chop, watching as Saff stepped slowly out, brows pinched as the sound of my music and the scent of cooking onions and garlic met her nose.
Her head turned, looking right at me.
“You cook?”
“I do,” I said, going ahead and letting myself drink her in.
She was casual in a pair of gray leggings, sneakers, and a black tee. Her long blue hair spilled across her shoulders.
“What do you cook?”
“Depends on the night. Tonight, I am cooking creamy garlic and onion pasta with shrimp. I’ll have more than enough for two.”
Saff shifted her feet, her plans to get in, get me in bed, then get back out clearly thwarted. But her hand went to her stomach, and I watched her suck in a greedy breath.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, her interest was piqued.
“There’s wine, if you want it,” I said, gesturing toward the open bottle of chardonnay the sauce was going to require.
“I’m more of a whiskey person,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the wine.
“Help yourself,” I said, gesturing toward the mini bar in the dining area beside the kitchen.
She did just that, pouring a double, then moving to stand at the far end of the black marble rainfall island, watching me as she raised her glass for a sip.
“Where’d you learn to cook? Your mom?”
“No. My mom didn’t cook.”
“Ever?”
“I was lucky if there was anything edible in the house,” I admitted. “Half of what I ate came from the free school lunch and the occasional stolen bag of chips or candy from the corner store.”
I never told anyone about my mom.
But something told me that Saff would understand. If not relate.
“I know a thing or two about shitty moms.”
“Did yours cook?”
“Sure. Yeah. She cooked a lot of meth.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. I hadn’t expected that.
“Yeah. That was basically all the sustenance she needed. So when the teachers noticed my bones sticking out of my skin, they called the ‘good people’ at child services to come and take me away.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight. But a mean and bitter eight. Unsurprisingly, most foster families didn’t want a mean and bitter kid sitting at their dinner table.”
“You bounced around a lot?”
“I’m pretty sure I held the record.”
“Were the foster homes worse than your actual home?”
To that, she snorted. “That’s a complicated question. One of those ‘devil you know’ type situations. Living with my mom sucked. But at least it was consistent. I never knew what a new foster home was going to be like.”
“My mom preferred benzos. And when she couldn’t afford that anymore, she switched to heroin.”
Saff’s gaze bore into mine, seeing something I was sure no one else had ever been able to. “When did you cut out?”
“Fifteen. You?”
“Sixteen.”
“Where’d you go?” I asked, turning to mix the onions and garlic, then salting the pasta water.
“The street. There was nowhere else to go. You?”
“I had a… friend,” I told her. I wasn’t exactly lying. But I wasn’t giving her the whole truth either. She wasn’t the only one with secrets. Hell, mine were likely much worse than hers. “He took me in, gave me some work. It let me slowly save and work toward… all this,” I said, waving around at the apartment.
“Did they teach you to cook too?”
“No, this I did myself. Started with adding things to my ramen to try to make it better. But as money for more and better ingredients came in, my skills grew. It’s relaxing. I cooked a lot that first year when I worked on my first club.”
“Is everything alright with the club?” she asked, tensing.
“The club is fine,” I assured her, reaching for my glass of wine and taking a sip. “T had to leave work early tonight. And I wasn’t going to get much done without her, so I came home. Only… I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not working.”
“Really? I am an expert at being home. I’d never leave if I didn’t have to.”
“Yeah? What’s your favorite thing about home?”
“It’s mine. I never had anything that was just mine growing up. And I had even less when I was living on the streets. Once I could finally afford my own place, I really dug my heels in. Every inch of it is how I want it. Except the kitchen. The only things I care about in there are my coffee maker and the fridge for storing my takeaway leftovers.”
“You never make anything? Boxed mac & cheese, nothing?”
“Nothing. The fanciest I get is pouring hot water into instant oatmeal packets.”
“Did you never want to learn?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Come here.”
“Oh, no. I’m not in a lesson mood.”
“You’re not ready for a lesson,” I said, watching her struggle to keep her lips in a straight line. “You are strictly here for observation,” I said, grabbing her hand to pull her into the kitchen.
Then, before she could even think to object, I reached down, grabbed her behind the knees, and popped her up on the island.
“And maybe a little bit for decoration,” I said, letting my gaze slide over her before turning to mix the garlic and onions one more time, stirring in the wine and letting it burn off.
“Okay, that was kind of hot,” Saff said as I shook the flaming pan, making me shoot her a smirk over my shoulder. “Oh, my God. Focus. You’re going to set yourself on fire.”
“Worried about me, darlin’?” I asked, lowering my head, then adding in the heavy cream and spices.
“Yeah. Who’s going to feed me if you’re in the burn unit somewhere?”
“Your concern for my well-being is touching,” I said, moving to stand in front of her, my body pressed against her knees as I reached past her for my glass of wine.
Her pretty eyes were on me as I took a sip, gaze lowering to my throat as I swallowed.
Her legs parted, and I wasted no time sliding between, putting down my glass so I could trail my hands up the sides of her thighs.
“Are you going to mess up dinner?” she asked, draining her whiskey, then putting the glass down with a quiet click.
“It’s simmering,” I said, leaning down to press my lips into her neck. Her head tilted, silently inviting more. So that’s what I gave her.
Then my hands were sinking into her hips, pulling her down from the counter, turning her, then bending her over the island.
A soft gasp escaped her as I grabbed the material of her leggings and panties and slid them down her legs.
A sweet little mewling sound escaped her as my fingers teased over her ass, then slid between, already finding her wet for me.
A rumble moved through my chest as my thumb slid up her cleft to work her clit while two of my fingers slid into her pussy.
A low moan moved through her as her hips rocked and her walls tightened.
She’d gotten soft and sweet from me last time.
This was going to be something else entirely.
And the way she writhed and moaned as my fingers fucked her hard and fast told me she was absolutely fine with that new arrangement.
“Soren, please,” she panted as I drove her closer and closer.
With my free hand, I reached for my wallet, plucking a condom out of it, then sliding my fingers out of her to free myself and slide the protection on.
Saff’s breath shuddered out of her when she felt the head of my cock tease up her cleft, rocking against her clit for a second, then gliding back down to thrust inside her.
Hard and deep, her whole body jolted with the motion as a deep moan escaped her lips.
My one hand went around her, slipping down—both to protect her hips from ramming into the unyielding marble and to engage her clit.
My other hand tracked up her back to gather her hair, wrapping it tightly around my hand, then yanking back as my hips thrust.
The deep, almost feral sound that escaped her—and the way her pussy tightened hard around my cock—said all I needed to hear.
I fucked her just like that—hard and deep—the sounds of our bodies slamming together mingling with her moans and cries as I drove her closer and closer to that edge.
“Soren…” she whimpered, thighs shaking, pussy a vice grip around me.
“Come for me,” I demanded, yanking her hair a little harder as I thrust, as my fingers toyed with her clit.
Then, just like that, she did, her cries filling the kitchen, her pussy pulsing around my cock, dragging me along with her.
She was still gasping for breath as I moved away, landing a soft slap to her ass before leaning down to pull her panties back into place.
“You won’t be needing the pants,” I told her before walking off to the bathroom.
When I came back a moment later, she was standing at the stove, face flushed, mixing the sauce like it was some sort of volatile material that might explode if stirred too roughly.
“Look at you, halfway to a cook already.”
“Right. Takes a whole lot of skill to stir something. Your other water looks like it’s about to bubble over.”
I moved behind her, pressing a kiss to her neck before dropping the pasta in the boiling water.
“How about you stir these into the sauce,” I said, producing the mini shrimp from the fridge.
We worked side by side then.
“This is the first time I’ve ever shared my kitchen with someone,” I confessed. “I like it,” I added, watching the smile toy with her lips.
“If this turns out gross, I’m placing the blame squarely on your shoulders,” she told me as I strained the spaghetti.
“The experiment is half the fun,” I told her as I scooped the pasta into the sauce.
“Really? Because if I spent an hour cooking something and it came out inedible, I’d be so pissed.”
“Not gonna lie, I’ve angrily eaten some pizza or Chinese a time or two. But I have more wins than losses. Can you grab the plates right above you?”
“You’re not one of those people who insists on sitting in uncomfortable silence, looking for conversation to engage in, are you?”
“Prefer eating in front of the TV?” I asked.
“Only if I get to pick the show.”
“Seeing as all I ever watch is the news, the remote is all yours.”
“The news?” she asked, nose wrinkling up. “Real exciting leisure time you have there, Soren,” she teased as I piled her plate. “I’ll find something better,” she promised, taking both our plates over toward the living room.
I refilled our drinks, grabbed silverware and napkins, then joined her where she was sitting criss-cross on the couch in nothing but her tee and panties, her lower lip tucked into her teeth as she squinted at the TV.
“Do you wear glasses?” I asked.
“Shut up,” she said, shooting me slitted eyes. “I probably need them. But I don’t want them, so we are doing the adult thing and avoiding the issue. If you never watch TV, why do you have every streaming channel known to mankind?”
“The answer to that is probably not going to make any sense.”
“Try me.”
“I have them because I can have them. Because I spent so much of my life not able to afford a simple luxury that now that I can afford it, I want them all. Even if I don’t use it.”
“It makes sense to me,” she said with a shrug. “I have a gym membership. And not even a normal one. I splurged for the super expensive one that everyone likes to brag about. I don’t work out. Ever. But I keep paying in case one morning I wake up with the kind of self-discipline that I’ve never once exhibited in my entire life.”
“It feels good to have things, doesn’t it?” I asked as she selected a show and hit play before reaching for her plate.
I did the same, but waited for her to twirl her pasta, then stab a piece of shrimp and slip the fork in her mouth.
The moan she let out was damn near erotic.
“Good?”
“Why did you go into business when you could have become a personal chef and cooked like this for me every night?”
“Better money.”
“Hey, you don’t know how much I’d be willing to pay for this.” She did another twirl and shoved that in her mouth before she even finished chewing the first forkful.
“Luckily, you can have it for free anytime you want,” I said, finally tasting the food myself.
I had to admit, it was one of the best recipes I’d tried out. And I wasn’t even usually a big pasta fan.
“Okay. Now you have to pay attention. This one is pretty action-packed,” Saff said, gesturing toward the TV with her fork.
I did that, sneaking the occasional look over at Saff, just enjoying her being right there, in my apartment on my couch, eating off of my plates, sipping on my whiskey.
It was almost, for a little while, like she belonged there.
“Where’d this come from?” she said, finally finished with her food, and a third of mine, and grabbing something off the end table.
“Looks like a book to me,” I said, trying to play it cool. Even if I’d secretly been reading a few chapters each night since I’d bought them.
“Duh. I see it’s a book. But why are you reading this book?”
“It came highly recommended.”
It had. The lady at the bookstore had gushed about it.
“Yeah, but…” She paused, flipping open the dust jacket to look at the synopsis. “I’ve been waiting for this to come out,” she told me. “I just haven’t gotten around to get to the store. I almost bought it online, but I always try to, you know, support the bookstores.”
I lost her less than two minutes later as she casually flipped past the copyright and title pages. Then promptly got sucked into the first page.
I went ahead and put away the leftovers and loaded the dishwasher before making my way back over, finding her sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, her spine in a C-shape as her eyes frantically moved over the page.
I had to admit, I’d gotten pulled right into that book too.
Kicking off my shoes, I sat down across the couch, reaching for her and pulling her between my legs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, only half paying me any attention.
“Getting comfortable,” I said, positioning her against my chest.
And feat of all feats, she didn’t try to move away. She just relaxed against me as she kept flipping pages.
As for me, I reached to pull a blanket off the back of the couch to cover her bare legs then entertained myself by running my hands through her hair, over her scalp, while half paying attention to the show on the TV.
It was the most relaxing night I’d ever had.
Even if Saff was a wiggly reader, constantly turning from one side to the other, pulling her legs up, putting them down. And that wasn’t even to mention all the dramatic sighs, grumbles, and the occasional quiet gasp.
I was drifting in and out of sleep when her voice shocked me awake.
“Soren.”
“Yeah?” I asked, pressing my face to the side of her head.
“Did you get to chapter seventeen?”
“No, I think I left off on sixteen. Why?”
Saff flipped back a few pages, then lifted the book a little higher. “Read it.”
It wasn’t long before the argument the characters had been in during the previous chapter turned into an entirely different kind of heat, and I suddenly understood why her thighs were pressed so tightly together.
“Turn the page for me,” I said as my hand slid down her body, just like the character in the book.
This was an entirely new kind of foreplay for me.
And I was going to enjoy the hell out of it.