She sets down her mug and links her fingers behind my neck. “You are the perfect man. Can we eat dessert first?”
I kiss her nose. “Not a chance.”
She blows a raspberry that has me laughing. “Older men are no fun.”
I yank her against me, letting her feel the way just being near her affects me. “I don’t hear you complaining when this older man knows exactly how to make you scream his name. Now, come eat dinner like a good girl, and then I’ll show you just how much fun I can be with dessert.”
“Fuck,” Amelia mutters, a gleam in her eye. “How fast can you eat?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AMELIA
We don’t eat that fast, it turns out. Because even with the promise of dirty, cinnamon roll sex waiting for me at the end, I find myself wanting to drag out dinner. To sit here in Elliot’s pretty kitchen eating amazing tacos he made for me, drinking Diet Pepsi out of the most perfect mug in existence, and talking about everything and nothing while Killer winds between our feet under the table waiting for us to slip her little bites of chicken.
Home.
The word has been buzzing in my brain all night, and sitting here with the remnants of dinner spread between us, it just gets louder. This is home. Elliot is home. I know it with more certainty than I’ve ever known anything, and I can see it so clearly. Quick weekday breakfasts and lazy dinners where we catch up on our days. Long nights spent wrapped around each other. All of it here, in this place. His place that I hope maybe one day can be our place.
I want that. I want it all. With him.
I may not know exactly where I’m going professionally, and I’m still keeping so many secrets from my family, and there’s that very big one we’re both keeping from Dean Miller and everyone else at school, but I do know this. And even though it might seem fast, it settles me right down to my bones.
“What’s that look?” Elliot asks, yanking me out of my thoughts.
“What look?”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand, his free hand stroking up and down the ankle I have propped up on his chair. “It looks like you’re thinking big thoughts. Bigger thoughts than weeknight tacos in the kitchen.”
I shrug. “I was just thinking that it’s nice—sitting here with you over a Tuesday night dinner for no reason at all. And also that I hit the freaking jackpot because you’re an amazing cook, and I hate cooking with the fire of a thousand suns. How did you learn?”
He smiles and squeezes my hand. “My mom. As soon as my brothers and I were old enough, she made us each responsible for one dinner a week. She didn’t care what we made, as long as we handled everything from making sure we had the necessary ingredients to setting the table and cleaning up afterwards.” He shrugs, looking a little sheepish and absolutely adorable. “My brothers complained mercilessly about it, and I did too, but mostly just because complaining about shit my mom made us do was what we did. The truth is, I loved it. Something about taking care of people made me happy, even as a kid. And honestly, I think my brothers also secretly loved it because they all cook now too. Well, at least Jordan and Noah do. Cooper is the worst cook on earth.”
I smile and squeeze his hand back. “I’m taking notes in case I ever have kids. I think your mom is my hero.”
Elliot’s face goes soft when I mention his mom and gah, it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. “She’s the best. Do you want kids?”
I lean forward with my elbows on the table, propping my chin in my hands. He looks so serious asking that question that I can’t help but rib him a little. “That’s an awfully serious question to ask when we’ve only been dating for a couple of months, El.”
He grins at me. “Brat. A couple months or a couple years wouldn’t make one bit of difference and you know it. Baby, you were mine the second I saw you in that airport, and you’re mine now.”
I shrug, trying to hide the way his possessive streak turns me all the way on and also settles me at the same time. “When you’re right, you’re right. And yeah, I definitely want kids.” I give him a sly look. “With the right person.”
In one quick move, Elliot yanks my ankle to bring my chair closer to him, and, in a move that immediately ruins my underwear, plucks me off of it and settles me on his lap, straddling him. He drops his mouth to my neck and sucks lightly, running one finger over the seam of my leggings right over my pussy, chuckling when I gasp.
“What was that about the right person?” he asks, putting just enough pressure on my clit to make me squirm over his hand. “Because I promise, Amelia, no one is more right for you than I am. Do I need to prove it to you right here in my kitchen?”
I shift on his lap, achy and needy and searching for friction. “I mean, I think now you kind of have to,” I joke. “Put those magic fingers to good use, El.”
He smirks at me before he leans in and slams his lips to mine, his tongue licking into my mouth at the same time as his hand slides under my waistband. Before I can even grasp what’s happening, he plunges two fingers straight inside me. “Fuck,” Igroan out, practically levitating off his lap when he grinds his palm up on my clit.
“Later,” he says, cupping the back of my neck with his free hand, keeping his eyes locked on mine while his hand works me over. “Right now, I want to feel this perfect pussy come all over my fingers. Then you’re going to watch while I lick them clean.”
“Kiss me,” I practically beg, so turned on by Elliot’s dirty mouth and the wicked way his fingers curl and twist inside me that I think I might actually die.
“No,” he practically growls, his hand tightening on the back of my neck. “I want to watch you when you come for me. The way your eyes glaze over when you’re lost in the pleasure only I can give you is the hottest fucking thing in the world, and it belongs to me. Ride my hand, baby. Show me how much you want this, too.”
I can feel Elliot’s hard cock against my ass as I grind down on his fingers, and the combination of the way he touches me and the evidence of how this is affecting him too has me spiraling higher. He pulls his fingers out and then presses back in with three, fucking me with them mercilessly, despite the limited space he has with his hand literally in my pants.
