Chapter 18 Cocoon
Chapter eighteen
Cocoon
Angel chuckled and cuddled me more comfortably amid the blankets. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes.” I missed his sweet scent, his warmth, and the little catch of his breath when I moved closer to him.
“Well, I’m here now. We can do whatever you want, pidge.” He gently ran his fingers up and down my back until the hoodie rode up to give access to bare flesh. “Whatever you want.” He kissed my forehead, affection tingling to my extremities.
I stretched myself around him and nuzzled into his neck. “I want this. Closeness. More of it.”
He caressed the base of my spine, his fingers dipping just below the waistband. “Oh yeah? How do you suppose we remedy that?”
Sex?
No. Not in my sister’s bed.
Kat probably wouldn’t mind if I laid a different blanket under us first. And washed it after.
But that would involve moving out of this comfortable position. Or talking, which meant reliving the whole nightmare.
“Can we stay like this for a minute?” I asked.
“Of course, pidge.” He stroked my back.
I closed my eyes and relaxed, my breaths slowing to pace with the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Everything seemed better now that he was here. Maybe it was his confidence. Or the calming aroma of his vanilla body wash. Or the gentle rhythm of his fingertips across my skin.
All these little comforts made him exactly the person I wanted in a crisis. And the aftermath. And after that.
So, forever. I wanted him.
“Angel?” I lifted my head to kiss him, but I realized with a start that I had somehow become little spoon to his big. It was so cozy, all wrapped up in him.
He flexed. “Hey, pidge. Did you have a nice nap?”
I covered my mouth and gasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pass out on you.” Especially if he was keen on being romantic.
“It’s okay. You had a late night and a rough morning. We need all the sleep we can get. How are you feeling?” He kissed my shoulder, and I shuddered with pleasure.
“Better.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, should I help you with these sheets, or do you need to cuddle a bit longer?” He played with the edge of the fitted sheet.
“No.” I twisted to pin his wrist flat against the mattress.
He arched his brow. “No to which part, pidge?”
Looking down, I cleared my throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.”
“What if I want to take care of you?” He brushed my hair behind my ear. “That’s what good boyfriends do.”
“You’re the best boyfriend, Angel.”
His pupils dilated. “The best?”
Oh, I needed to stroke that massive ego of his.
I smiled, caressing the trails of his major arteries, his pulse jumping under my touch. “You’re a dream come true. Now, I want to take care of you,” I said, hooking my fingers in his waistband.
“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice husky.
“I want to.” I kissed the soft fuzz on his stomach, massaging his thighs and shaft over his clothes.
He lifted his hips, and I tugged his pants, hungry with curiosity.
I was going to taste him. Take him. Not as part of an exam, but as an intimate way to connect. To learn what makes him moan. What makes him thrust. What’ll pleasure a deeply sensitive part of him.
Would he hold my neck? Curl my hair around his fist? Tell me what a good, perfect girl I was for him?
My mouth watered at the prospect.
But just as I lowered my head for a taste, my stomach growled.
Stupid, traitorous organ. I still hadn’t had breakfast.
He propped up on his elbows. “Do you need—”
“No. Ignore it,” I said, determined to suck the gleaming droplet from his tip to silence my body on the subject.
But then his stomach gurgled, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
He chuckled too. “I’m just so hungry for you, pidge. And you’ve been hungry for me.” He flexed his abdomen to make his dick twitch in a ‘come hither’ motion.
I snorted, which devolved into a giggle fit. “Angel. I can’t…”
No matter how many times I tried to school my features or curl my lips over my teeth, I couldn’t get over his balls jiggling while he held back laughter.
Of course this would happen. I collapsed onto his pelvis in defeated giggles.
“I hope you’re not laughing at my dick,” he teased.
I shook my head, my cheeks hot as I gestured to his penis. “Do you still want—”
“I mean, generally, yes. But maybe after we’ve had breakfast? And made the bed,” he suggested, stretching the edge of the fitted sheet.
I rolled off him, covering my face with my hands. “Ugh, I must be the worst girlfriend ever. I can’t even give you a blowjob without incident.”
“Practice makes perfect, pidge.”
I smacked his thigh, and he laughed.
Poor guy had been blue-balled more than once in this relationship.
He tucked his erection into his waistband and started to sit up.
“I-I really do want to help you find release,” I said, fiddling with the zipper on my borrowed hoodie. “After all, you’ve certainly helped me.”
He clasped my chin, gently guiding me to meet his ocean gaze. “You’re a great girlfriend, Tori. My literal dream girl. You don’t need to give me an orgasm for me to appreciate our time together.”
I smiled, though my ribs felt too small to contain my heart. “I don’t know why I’m so fixated on this. It just feels like we should be having sex. Sexy sex.” But I had no experience. And presumably, he had lots of it. “I don’t want to be too sweet to satisfy you,” I said.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he ran his thumb across my lower lip. “Making you smile is very satisfying. It took a long time for me to get you there.”
“Hopefully it doesn’t take as long for me to get you off,” I grumbled.
He chuckled, then kissed me tenderly enough to wake up every nerve ending. If only my smiles inspired half as much ecstasy as his kisses did.
Unless…maybe they did?
He dragged his dreamy gaze from my lips. “Try not to worry about it, pidge. I’m having more fun with you than any fling. This is the first time I’ve felt any kind of intimacy.”
“Really?”
He nodded, caressing my face. “Part of me feels guilty for even starting this.”
I leaned back. “What do you mean?” Did he regret starting a relationship?
“You’re obviously going through something, and my schedule’s about to get even more demanding. If we aren’t sharing classes anymore, and I’m not at the mall as often…” He dropped his hand, my heart aching in the absence of his silken touch.
I rubbed my cheek on his hoodie. “You think we’ll grow apart.”
He shook his head, his gaze clouded. “I don’t know. I might not be able to show up like this. I don’t want to sleep together, then pull away.”
Like he’d done with other girls?
I bit my lip. “Won’t you still want to see me?”
“Yes. All the time, unfortunately.” He pressed his forehead to mine and sighed sweetly. “My longing was slightly more manageable when you didn’t like me. Back then, I didn’t know what I was missing.”
Neither did I.
I cupped his face. “Well, the good thing is, I know how intense med school can be, so I’ll understand if you need to study. Or sleep. Maybe you can do all that beside me.”
“Sounds like a dream.” He eyed my lips in contemplation. “Now, aren't you hungry for something other than me?”
I snorted and stood. “Yeah. Let’s see what's in the fridge. Ordering would take too long, and I’m starving.”
Heavy topics were too hard on an empty stomach, anyway.
We made our way to the kitchen, where Jinx was enjoying his breakfast. He spared us a disinterested glance, and when we made no moves to get closer, resumed eating.
“Let’s see what we have here.” I perused the pantry. “Oh, pancakes! These’ll be easy.”
“We got any syrup?” Angel propped open the fridge, then chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” I sandwiched myself between his arms, his chest warm against my back.
He gestured to a full array of syrups and whipped cream. “Someone’s gonna have a hell of a Valentine’s Day.”
“What do you mean? I see they got strawberries. Do you think they’re gonna do ice cream sundaes or fondue?” I asked.
“Eh, both. Probably. Lots of tasting.” He cleared his throat, a blush climbing his neck. “I’ll dress the pancake stacks when they’re ready with strawberries and cream, if that sounds good to you.”
“Yes, please.” I texted Kat to make sure it was okay to use.
Once we got the thumbs-up, we got to work. He handled the fruit and knives since he was slightly less sleep-deprived.
I ladled the pancake mix into the pan, trying to make a heart shape. Two little cute dollops. Uneven, but cute. This was the perfect first meal to cook with my boyfriend. So romantic!
I happily lumped another batch out—which promptly splattered across the pan.
“Oh no.” I tried to spread the mixture out and ended up with sort of tapered veins coming off it.
“Are those heart-shaped pancakes?” Angel teased, glancing over my shoulder.
“Um, yes. I’m making you Valentine’s-shaped hearts as well as slightly more realistic organs to celebrate how we met,” I said.
The ‘veins’ were cooking way faster than the rest of the pancake. He raised his brows at the sizzling disaster waiting to happen.
I plopped a few more pancakes in, making the best of where they landed. “I know they’re a little weird-looking. But that’s okay. You already have the heart that matters,” I said, batting my eyelashes.
“Aw, pidge. I’m honored.” He massaged the nape of my neck and peppered kisses across my face.
“Safety hazard,” I squeaked, playfully swatting him away.
He hugged me from behind, swaying gently as he watched the batter bubble. “You’re doing amazing. It smells good, and I bet it’ll taste even better.”
Being so close to him and his natural scent made me want to add vanilla extract to the batter. But the cream should be enough of that. “This is the first time I’m cooking for you. I want to make it special,” I said.
“It is.” He squeezed my waist. “Hey, want to see a trick? I’ve learned a few things from the kitchen.”
I stepped back and grinned. “Please, show me your expertise.”
He eased the spatula out of my hand, then stacked the completed pancakes with flair.
I clapped in appreciation. “Very fancy.”
He bowed, then flipped the whipped cream can over his forearms to present it formally, his voice thick with a French accent. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. Would you like some, eh, whipped cream for your berr-eez?”
“Yes, please.”
“We just shake-a the can, then we present, parfait.” He winked, pressing the nozzle firmly.
Cream exploded from the can. Onto his face. Onto my chest. Ricocheting off the pancakes to catch our hands. It was a brief, sugary firework no one could escape. Not even Jinx, who darted across our feet with an indignant meow for interrupting his breakfast.
Angel blinked through an uneven spray of cream across his face, his eyes wide. “E-excusez-moi. That doesn’t usually happen to me.”
I cackled laughter, wiping away tears and cream. “You must’ve been really excited for breakfast this morning.”
“I was,” he said, accent dropped as he put down the can. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Eh, life’s messy.” I scooped a particularly impressive glob of cream off his cheek. “But spending time with you is always a treat.” I sucked my finger with a happy little pop and beamed at him.
He stared at me for a second, his pupils dilated and skin flushed. “Tori…”
Was that unhygienic to eat off his body? I rubbed my finger against my lips, not sure what to do. “We can clean after we eat.”
He cupped my face, careful not to smear anything across my hot cheeks. “I want to spend every morning with you,” he said, close enough I could smell the mix of strawberries and cream on his breath.
“Every morning?” I grinned, delirious, before reality pierced the daydream of making breakfast with Angel in a brightly-lit kitchen, leaving lipstick imprints on his cheeks. “But you’ll be too busy. We’ll be lucky if we can share a coffee.”
“What about the next few weeks, then, while I’m house sitting? I’ll show you what I can really do in the kitchen,” he said, his gaze darting between my eyes as he slid his hands across my throbbing pulse to clasp the back of my neck. “Stay with me.”
The heating kicked on, fluttering the curtains so sunlight made the sugar sparkle across his lovely face.
This was not the picture-perfect fairytale I’d imagined as a girl. It was so much better. It was messy, and it was real, and it was right within my reach.