Chapter 41 #2
When he comes into view, I find him sitting in his big leather armchair, head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed.
He has a lit cigar in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other.
He’s still in his work clothes but lacks the usual polish.
His dress pants are creased from sitting, his dress shirt unbuttoned, revealing some of the dark trimmed hair on his muscular chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
I lean against the door frame and drink him in with only the glow of a small lamp illuminating the space.
His strong Italian features are highlighted by the shadows—strong nose, square jawline, and the luscious mouth I want caressing every inch of my body.
His broad shoulders fill most of the space, and I think about how much they’re probably carrying right now in a metaphorical sense.
He’s an honorable man, even if he doesn’t want to reveal that side of himself to me.
Yet. I take my fill, marveling at how powerful he looks and how my body craves that power directed at me.
I know I’m about to be discovered when he tightens his grip on the crystal scotch glass, making the veins in his forearm pop in that delicious way. Fuck, my roomie-with-no-benefits is sexy as sin.
Without moving a muscle, he greets me. “Hello, wife.” The gravelly timbre of his voice shocks and thrills me all at once. “Nice boots,” he says, looking me up and down hungrily and focusing his attention on the shoes in my hand.
“A forget-me-not present from the sexy cowboy,” I return, unable to resist needling him.
He grinds his teeth and lazily swings his heated gaze to my face, squinting his eyes as he takes another puff of the cigar he’s holding in that delicious way with his thumb and next two fingers.
He exhales smoke in rings and beckons me to him, eyes smoldering albeit glassy, a telltale sign that he’s probably a few scotches deep.
His usually neatly-styled hair is unkempt, like he’s been raking his hand through it, signifying there must be a good reason for the alcohol consumption.
I don’t dare ask him about it because I don’t want to ruin this rare moment of feeling desired by him.
Selfish? Perhaps. But maybe he needs something to help him forget whatever is bothering him too.
“Come and try this. I think you’ll like it.”
I walk to him and stand between his legs.
“Hello, husband,” I say, playing along. He reaches for me without hesitation and pulls me into his lap.
I gasp. The affectionate gesture throws me for a loop, but only for a moment, because I’ll take any crumb of affection this man is willing to throw my way.
I wrap one hand around his neck and take the cigar he’s offering me with the other.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my roomie? He goes by the name Raf, and he’s a grumpy-as-fuck lawyer.
” I say as he arranges my legs across his.
Before I take a toke on the cigar, I pause a moment to breathe him in, letting his spicy cologne with the merest hint of rich vanilla invade all my senses, enveloping me like a homecoming.
It’s overwhelming and comforting all at once, just like the man willingly allowing me to melt into him, perhaps smoothing some of his rough edges at the same time.
He puts his mouth to my ear. “I think someone needs reminding she’s not in Texas anymore,” he growls before nipping at my ear.
“Put your mouth around the tip and inhale, just enough to fill your mouth with smoke, but don’t take it into your lungs,” he instructs, the words rolling off his tongue, his voice like velvet.
“Swirl the flavor in your mouth so you can taste it.”
I know we’re talking about the cigar, but all I can think about is using my mouth to do the same thing to him. God, how I want to taste him again. Feel his desire surge through him and straight into my mouth.
“Good girl, just like that.” His praise is doing nothing to quell my hunger for him.
“What do you think?” he asks, like he truly cares about my opinion. Like we’re equals for once and not enemies intent on spearing each other with vicious words.
“Hmmm, I think I need the full experience,” I tell him, leaning across for the scotch glass.
He intercepts me and grabs it instead. He brings it to my lips, and I take a sip, humming in approval as the smoky notes dance on my tongue.
Raf continues to watch me, like he’s truly seeing me for the first time.
“Hmmm, that’s smooth. You’ve got good taste in scotch.”
“I don’t have many guilty pleasures, but good scotch and cigars are non-negotiable.”
Feeling emboldened by his lack of restraint, I try my luck.
“Is that so? I can think of another guilty pleasure or two you could enjoy.”