Page 142 of Finance Bros
“Oh, and you hate that,” he says, rolling on top of me to prove my point, and maybe his, because my dick immediately perks up.
What I do hate is having no self-control around him. I was all over him after he fell. I’m surprised I didn’t start undressing him to check for wounds in front of Miguel and Bailey. Kissing him on the neck once I got him off his back was a moment of pure helplessness. Relief.
“You should eat,” I tell him with his mouth an inch from mine.
“Good idea.” He dives in to kiss my neck and starts working his way down my chest.
I grab him by the hair to stop him. “Deacon made soup.”
“Soup? I’m not sick.”
“You are if you think I’m gonna let you suck me off eight hours after we left an emergency room.”
“You’re not making sense,” he says, his lips wet and red. Tempting. “That’s not a rule.”
“You need to eat.”
“I’ll make you a deal. If I eat, you do whatever I want after.”
“I can’t agree to that,” I tell him.
“If I told you what I want doesn’t require me to use either of my hands, would you agree to it?”
“Maybe…” I say, picturing things. Sucking him…eating him…fucking him.
“I need more than a maybe,” Mal says, those teal-blue eyes arresting mine and holding them hostage.
“Fine.”
“You can do better,” he taunts.
“I’ll letyoudo whatever you want. Satisfied?”
He smirks. “I will be.”
I ease out from under him and get out of bed.
I’m surprised to find Deacon didn’t just make soup—he made clam chowder. I’m more surprised when it’s one of the best I’ve ever had. “Deac?” I call out.
I don’t get an answer. I guess he left. I’ll have to save my gratitude and compliments for later. He was really great when we got home in the middle of the night, making sure we had everything we needed and letting me know I could text him if I needed him to run out and grab something else.
But Mal’s fine. His wrist hurts, but there’s nothing more to be done about it. This chowder, however… I can barely work a stove, and Deacon madethis.
Norah made a clam chowder once, and I thought it was good, but Deacon’s is the perfect amount of creamy and peppery. Hers was thinner and not super memorable, so why the fuck am I thinking about that now? Maybe because I talked to her for an hour yesterday while I was rushing from store to store, picking up groceries and vitamins and lube.
It wasn’t an overly intimate conversation. It was about work and how things are going with the challenge. She had a rough week with her assistant, so she vented about that for a while. It was less flirtatious than some conversations we’ve had, but it did remind me how well we get along. How what I might have had with her would have been good. And yes, I’m already thinking of it in the past tense. It’s not like I can tell Malcolm I’m in love with him and actively picture a future with someone else.
I feel guilty for not talking to him about it, though, which does make me more willing to let him have his way with me once he’s had something to eat.
I bring two large mugs of chowder into the bedroom andhand him his along with a spoon. He’s propped up with some pillows against the headboard. Stephanie and Bud are soaking up the sun in Bud’s bed on the window seat. I sit facing Malcolm to make sure he eats.
“I think I left my work badge at my apartment yesterday,” he says.
“You shouldn’t go in tomorrow. Not if you’re still taking the pills.”
“Twist my arm,” he says around his spoon. “Just not the broken one.”
“You really hate the job?” I ask.
