Page 7 of Wrapped in Hope
I set my glass on the table. “Is there anything I can help with?”
He goes back to the stove, stirring the pasta and sauce. “I’m making dinner for you. I want this whole weekend to be special.”
I sit down at the table and stare at him, completely amazed that I have such a sweet guy. “I don’t deserve you,” I think out loud.
The spoon in his hand clatters to the stove as he turns to me. “Why would you say that?” he asks, walking closer.
I’m frozen. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I only meant to think it. Is he mad that I said it? I’m confused. What do I do?
He falls to his knees beside me. “You are beautiful, and smart, and kind. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” His lips land on mine forcefully, and my body comes to life again.
What has happened to me? A week ago we could kiss without having these overwhelming feelings to take things further. Has sex changed me that much? Is it always going to be like this? Will every little touch from him have me busting at the seams? Will a simple kiss leave me panting for air? Will a look at his intense blue-green eyes send tingles throughout my body?
God, I hope so.
With his lips on mine, I turn in my seat so my body is facing his. His hands land on my hips with a soft squeeze of assurance. The way my body buzzes for him is addicting. I take the kiss deeper.
His hands pull me from the chair onto his lap. My weight pressing his knees onto the hard-wood floor has to be killing him, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he’s consumed with the same burning desire.
Clothes are pulled off at record speed before he lays me back. The cold floor on my overheated skin shocks me and I inhale deeply, causing my chest to rise. He catches my already sensitive nipple in his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around it. I whimper and wiggle against him, needing him inside me. I need to feel him, to be one with him.
Using his right hand, he places his hard cock at my entrance and thrusts forward, filling me to the brim.
Feeling him with nothing between us has me wanting to fall apart already. I know we’re young and should be using a condom, but things like this can’t be planned. We are simply overcome with intense feelings of love for each other, need, and wanting.
Our lips glide together in the perfect rhythm with his thrusts. This time is harder and rushed. It’s love in its rawest form. It’s a claiming of one another. It’s ownership. He’s mine, and I’m his. That’s how it’s always going to be.
It doesn’t take long before we’re both crying out with our release. When our hearts and breathing have settled, he rolls away, joining me on the floor, staring up at the white ceiling tiles.
I look over at him to see a small grin. “Why are you smiling?”
He looks back at me. “Why wouldn’t I be smiling? I have you in every way possible. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
It feels like my heart melts with his words, but suddenly, his attention is no longer on me. It’s on the stove. I turn quickly to see what he’s looking at: the pots on the burners now have smoke billowing out of them, quickly filling the room.
Dean jumps up quickly and turns off the flame. He grabs a pot holder and picks up the pan, setting it in the sink and turning the water on. The cold water washing over the hot pot sizzles like its angry.
When the small flames have been extinguished, he takes his place on the floor next to me again. “I can’t believe I fucked up dinner. So much for our perfect weekend.”
I roll to his side. “This is the perfect weekend. Burnt dinner didn’t ruin anything.”
He looks at me, relief washing over him. “Frozen pizza?”
I laugh. “Sounds perfect. But how about I cook this time?” I stand and move toward the fridge. “You know, so we don’t burn the place down.”
He lets out a mocking laugh as I set to work on cooking the pizza.
Twenty minutes later, we’re eating our pizza and drinking our wine. There are two tiny, white candles in the center of the table, and the bright, white moon shines in through the window next to us. It’s so romantic that it makes the emotions flowing between us almost thicken.
“Thank you for dinner,” he says with a smirk.
I let out a laugh. “You’re welcome. Thanks for trying to cook dinner.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I did that. I ruined everything.”
I reach across the table and place my hand on his. “What did you ruin?”
He looks up at me, annoyance with himself written across his handsome face. “This.” He pulls a small black box from his pocket.