“Shut up.” He smirks. “I know its weird, okay, but it actually relaxes me and makes me feel accomplished and—”
“Hey,” I interrupt. Honestly I think it’s kind of adorable that he spent the day cleaning. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I like you just the way you are.” I reach over and squeeze his hand. He relaxes and gives me that award winning smile.
“Sorry,” he says. “At my age I shouldn’t still be defending myself. I’m pretty set in my ways and I know that but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable here either, Charlie, or make you feel like you have to live up to my standards of cleanliness. This is your home, too. I’ve gotten used to doing things my way the last five years. Even before that, Rachel was pretty tolerant of my analness. There were chores that I just did on a regular basis and she left them up to me to handle because I was so picky about how they were done. Or that they were done, period. Things that she told me she never would do, like dusting the tops of the cabinets.”
I grin and so does he. “Rachel was your wife?”
His eyes widen slightly and he swallows his food before saying, “Oh, yes, sorry, I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned her this whole time.”
I squeeze his hand. “It’s okay. We’ve had a lot going on.”
“We realized the first week we were married that changing the sheets on the bed was going to be my job.” He grins and takes another bite of food.
“Oh?”
He nods. “I saw her doing it and tried to correct her so she handed them to me and left the room. It was my job from that day on. I did have to get used to letting her load the dishwasher her own way. That was rough. I just couldn’t watch while she did it.”
I laugh. That sounds just like my Papa Bear. I squeeze his hand. “How long were you married?”
“Nineteen years,” he says, a somber note to his voice. His eyes don’t meet mine. I don’t ask what happened. Something tells me now isn’t the time. But, fuck, don’t I feel…young. That’s as long as I’ve been alive.
“She’s the one in the picture on the mantle?”
He nods.
“And, the boy?” I hope I’m not prying too much, but it seems like a logical progression in the conversation, and I’ve had the picture staring at me for weeks.
“Our son,” he replies. “He passed away five years ago.”
Shit. That might explain the divorce. I can’t imagine how painful that must have been for both of them. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” he says, and I see the pain in his eyes, even as he attempts a smile.
“I want to hear about your day,” he changes the subject. “How was work?”
I tell him about the elderly couple who gave me the amazing tip because I was a “sweetheart and reminded them of their grandson,” and he beams at me. His mood sours immediately when I get to the part about the rowdy college students who harassed me.
His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches. I can practically see the veins in his forehead bulging. “Down, Papa Bear.”
“Sorry.” He visibly relaxes as I stroke his hand with my thumb. I smile.
“I like knowing you disapprove of their behavior,” I tell him. “I knew you would. I’m fine, though. It’s been taken care of. I have a very good boss.”
“I don’t like to think of anyone treating you that way.”
I bring his large hand up to my lips and brush a kiss over his knuckles. “I know. And that’s why these are the only hands I want on me.”
His pupils dilate and he sucks in a breath. He wipes his face on his napkin. Then he’s scooting out of his chair and pulling me to my feet in one swift motion, taking me in his arms and kissing me like he’s starving for my lips.
I grunt and pull back. “Can I take a fifteen minute raincheck?” I ask. I laugh as he chases my lips. He’s so fucking adorable when he’s horny. I love that he needs me, wants me.
He growls and fists his cock through his sweats, his eyes flaring. “You’re teasing me again.”
I smile. “I just want to shower. I feel gross. It’ll be worth it. I promise.”
He reaches around me and grips my ass cheeks, giving them both a squeeze. I moan as I brush my cheek against his rough stubble. We’re both quivering with the need to be near each other. But I can’t make out with him when I smell like home fries and BO.
“Fifteen minutes, no more,” he tells me. I nod and scurry off. I can’t lie, I’m a little disappointed when he doesn't swat me on the ass. I shower and dress in my sweats and a crop top that readsWoke up gay again.I don’t bother with underwear because I have a feeling I won’t need them. I grab two condoms and shove them in the pocket of my sweats before making my way back to the living room. Paul sits on the couch with his legs across the cushions. His glasses are on and there’s a book in his hands. I grin when I see that he’s already tenting in his pants quite prominently.
