Chapter 9 #2
Alistair being Alistair, a wicked grin stretches his mouth. “What a great idea. If he asks you what my duties will entail, I’m happy to provide a list. A long, detailed list. He’ll get a real kick out of that.”
“You’re evil.” I grab a box of Pop-Tarts and rip it open as he rejoins me on the bed. “What do we want for dinner?”
“Meat,” he says, looking me right in the eye. “Lots and lots of juicy meat.”
I clear my throat. “That’s on the menu regardless.”
We haggle back and forth over dinner options before deciding to just get everything, then demolish the snacks he brought up while we wait.
The atmosphere between us is different now—before, we were trying to balance professionalism with sexual tension.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that we don’t actually know each other that well and we’re in the middle of dealing with a crisis of world-ending proportions.
But now… sitting naked on the bed he contrived to steal from me, surrounded by the debris of our predinner snack, sexually…
well, not sated, but with the edge off, at least…
things are a lot more relaxed. I was a little worried that us having sex would turn out to be a bad idea, but it’s really not.
Our chemistry is off the charts, but I also like and respect him, even if he is a little…
offbeat? Weird? The whole ball-licking thing might take some getting used to.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks curiously, stacking the empty boxes from snack time on the nightstand.
“Sex,” I admit. “Do you think we have time to go again before—” My question is cut off by the doorbell. “Never mind.”
“I’ll go,” he says, bouncing off the bed. He’s halfway to the door before I realize he’s not going to stop to put on pants.
“Alistair!”
He pauses in the doorway and looks over his shoulder impatiently. “What? I need the fooooood.”
“You need underwear,” I point out dryly. “More than that would be better, but underwear is the minimum. Unless you want to give the delivery driver a thrill.”
He looks down at his naked self and curses, then takes two steps back in and grabs a pair of pants from the floor. “I’ll put them on while I’m going down the stairs,” he says, and he’s out the door before I can tell him that (a) that doesn’t sound safe, and (b) he’s grabbed my pants.
Don’t worry, judging by the startled exclamation, series of thuds, and string of curses, he figured both out on his way down the stairs. I smile fondly and hope he hasn’t hurt himself too badly.
I listen to him muttering about stupid companies that make all pants look the same and the need for sizes to be color-coded—which, frankly, I find disturbing.
There’s something off about the sound of his footsteps—is he walking funny?
—then I hear the front door open, followed by a sharp gasp and a muffled shriek.
“Great, you’re both here,” Alistair says, which I guess means all our food has arrived at once.
“Al-Alistair?” a shaky young voice asks, and I wince. Obviously the pants wouldn’t have fit him, but I hope he’s at least holding them in front of his sensitive bits. Knowing Alistair, he’s abandoned them completely or has them draped over his shoulder.
“Yep. Hey, is there cutlery in these bags?”
“Uh… yeah. Should be?”
“And the tip was included when we paid, right? Because I’ve got no cash on me right now.”
I settle back against the pillows and bless shifter hearing. This is better than theater.
“Y-Yeah, we can see that,” another voice says, this one shaking with laughter. “Tip’s been covered. And thanks for the bonus.”
Alistair laughs, then I hear the door close and those funny-sounding footsteps coming back upstairs. Is he injured? Maybe he hurt himself trying to put on my pants, which are three or four sizes too small for him.
He appears in the doorway a moment later, and I literally choke on my laugh.
He didn’t abandon the pants.
Nor is he wearing them as a cape or half-assed toga.
He’s actually wearing them .
Of course, he could only get them about halfway up his tree-trunk legs, so they’re basically acting like shackles, and his goods are still on full display.
I sputter as he puts the food down. “What the fuck, Alistair?”
“What?” He looks up from unpacking food containers, and I gesture to his lower half. “Oh. I picked up your pants by mistake.”
“I know. Why are you wearing them? They’re not exactly protecting your modesty.”
He shrugs and hands me a plastic fork. “I already had them on before I realized, and I didn’t want to take the time to get them off again and risk the delivery drivers leaving.”
I’m not even going to argue with that logic.
“But why didn’t you take them off before coming back? Walking up the stairs like that couldn’t have been easy.”
He shrugs again, then bends and peels the pants down his legs—with quite a bit of difficulty. He must have yanked them on pretty hard. I’m pretty sure I hear stitches popping, and I hope they’re not ruined. I like those pants.
“It wasn’t, but I needed to get the food back to you. That was more important.”
Aww.
He settles on the bed beside me, and I pass him a container. Maybe it makes us savages, but we’re eating in bed with plastic utensils and no plates, and I love it.
“At least you gave the drivers something to tell their friends,” I comment. “Delivering food can’t be the most thrilling job in the world.”
His smirk warns me something outrageous is about to come out of his mouth.
“They seemed pretty impressed. It reminded me of the beginning of a porn movie. The only thing that could have made it better was if you were tied to the bed in the throes of insatiable lust and I had to ask them to help me satisfy you.”
For the third—or is it fourth?—time today, I choke on food. If I’m going to be spending more time with Alistair, I need to learn to be careful about my chewing habits.
He seems to get way too much enjoyment out of pounding me on the back, the ass, but as I turn my glare on him, he offers me a piece of roasted potato on his fork, and I can’t help but forgive him.
“Any chance we could role-play that later?”
So of course he pushes his luck.
I swallow the potato—thankfully not having choked on it—and say, “We’ve only had sex once and you’re already bored with me? Not good for my ego.”
He laughs, then puts down his container and fork and snuggles in close, wrapping his big body around me. “Definitely not bored,” he mutters against the side of my neck, wiggling so I can feel the evidence of just how not bored he is.
My breathing gets faster, and I very seriously consider how much I want him again right this second. It’s a lot, but I’m also really hungry.
“You’ll go fast, right?” I ask, and he stiffens and lifts his head.
“I beg your pardon?” There’s a high level of offense in his tone, and I’m glad he can’t see my smirk.
“I don’t want to wait ages to finish eating. If you’ll go fast, we can fuck again right now. Otherwise, we both have to wait.”
In the next instant, he’s cleared the food off the bed and onto the nightstands (and some stacked on the floor—we really did order a lot) and is pushing me down onto the mattress.
“We don’t have time for a proper role play,” he says, “so we’ll save that for later. But if you could maybe moan a bit about how desperately you need me to fill you, fuck you, satisfy you…?” He sounds so hopeful that I swallow my chuckle and obligingly moan.
“Oh, Alistair, I neeeeeeed!” My voice rises in pitch as he grabs my cock in one of his big, hot hands and applies just the right pressure to make me crave him.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, and if I had more brain cells free, I might think he was getting way too into this role-play thing, “I have just the thing to satisfy your need.”