“I do. Canned stuff just doesn’t have that same sweet, savory flavor. I prefer the real thing.”
His fingers fisted closed at his sides. They’d had to or his hands would’ve grabbed that sweater she wore to see if it was as soft as it looked and he would’ve pulled her to him and told her how badly he needed a taste of something sweet and savory. Something that didn’t have a damn thing to do with food.
“Ah,” was all he could get out. He watched as she skillfully sautéed onions and garlic in some oil on one burner while boiling pasta on another. She moved as if she could’ve cooked the entire meal blindfolded. He knew it was probably going to be amazing.
Which was why it was such a damn shame they weren’t going to eat it.
“Close your eyes,” she said, turning on him suddenly.
“What?”
She pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
Her mouth quirked up. “It’s secret ingredient time. So close ’em.”
He stared at her for a full minute before he realized she was completely serious. “Okay.” He closed his eyes.
But he couldn’t resist. And he couldn’t stand not being able to see her. Her shirt lifted above her waist as she reached into a cabinet, revealing a mouthwatering strip of skin he wanted to lick more than he wanted his next breath. His hands gave up being good and pulled her to him.
“You peeked! Who does that?” Her mouth opened in surprise as he yanked her to him.
“I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.
The wooden spoon dropped to the counter as he licked her soft lips. She opened for him and he dipped his tongue inside. All the talk about sweet and savory and tasting had pushed him to his breaking point already.
“Did you see them?” Her breathy voice pulled at his dick, giving him the last shove over the no-going-back line.
“See what, baby?” His fingers acted of their own accord, dragging her shirt slowly over her head.
“I’m going to burn the sauce,” she mumbled against his mouth, making no effort to stop his pursuit.
“Here.” He reached around and turned the burner off. “And I promise not to tell anyone you put sugar and crushed red pepper in your spaghetti sauce.”
“Ugh. I so don’t trust you!”
He gripped her tightly under the ass and sat her on the counter. “Yes you do. You let me tie you up. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is.”
Her entire body seemed to flush at his words.
“I know you can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered into her ear.
Before she either confirmed or denied it, a loud splashing sound followed by a hiss alerted them that the pasta was boiling over.
Stella let out a small sound of alarm and hopped quickly off the counter. Clad in jeans and a bra, she did some magical maneuver to drain it over the sink before combining it with the sauce.
When she turned back to face him, he raised a questioning brow. “So dinner’s ready?”
Her breasts rose and fell, capturing his full attention. “It is. You hungry, Van?”
“Fucking starving.” Clutching her to him once more, he ran his tongue from the valley of her breasts up her throat.
Her legs buckled beneath her and she wrapped her arms around him for support. “I was really excited to cook for you.”
Her words stopped his assault on the sensitive spot beneath her earlobe. No one had ever cooked for him. Other than Val. And she’d done it for their survival, not because she’d especially wanted to.
“Oh yeah? Well, in that case, feed me, cowgirl.”
A pleased smirk brightened her beautiful face. Van lifted her back onto the counter beside the stove.
Stella removed a fork from the drawer below her and proceeded to twirl spaghetti straight out of the pot.
He opened his mouth and let her feed him a giant bite. It was damn good. Not as good as what he planned to put in his mouth as soon as she’d satisfied her desire to feed him, but damn good nonetheless.
He moaned his appreciation at both the food and the beautiful expression on her face. Her legs came up around his waist and pulled him closer.
“My turn.” He didn’t use a fork. He just pulled a few strands of spaghetti out of the pot with his fingers and dangled them in front of her mouth.
She opened for him. He tossed the noodles into his own mouth instead.
“That was just mean.” She narrowed her eyes before pulling pasta out of the pot just as he had done.
Van wasn’t the type of man who was usually surprised. But when she flung the sauce-covered noodles onto his shirt, he jumped back. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”
She lifted her eyebrows suggestively. “I distinctly remember telling you not to wear a shirt.”
Granting her wish, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. “Better?”
“Much.”
Using her legs, she drew him back to her. He gasped as her warm, wet tongue teased his chest.
“You’re approaching dangerous territory, cowgirl. Consider this a final warning.”
“I’m not scared,” she whispered, grabbing a handful of spaghetti and lobbing it at him.
He watched the noodles slide down his chest. “Oh, that’s it. No mercy.” He slung a glob of noodles right back at her, taking extra care to smear them against the swells of her breasts. The sauce swirled a pattern above the delicate edge of lacy material on her bra.
Her giggling stopped when he began licking the sauce from her chest.
“Time to clean up.” Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her past the bed—the same one he’d tied her to only a few days ago—and into the bathroom.
Her squeals of surprise bounced off the bathroom walls around them. Van chuckled as he set her on her feet on the floor before reaching over and turning the faucet in the tub on.
“What are you doing?”
“Bathing you. You’re all dirty.”
She looked him up and down with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’re dirty too. Get in with me?”
Van glanced at the filling tub. “I was hoping to watch.”
Stella pursed her lips. “Wouldn’t you prefer to watch from up close?”
Before he could answer, she unfastened her bra and let it drop to the floor. She peeled her jeans off slowly, inch by inch as he admired her enticing movements. When her panties followed her pants to the floor, he didn’t have words to articulate his gratitude for the perfection that was her body.
Van’s eyes clung to her naked form as she lowered herself into the tub. When it had filled nearly to overflowing, he shut the water off.
Grabbing the bottle of vanilla body wash that sat on the side, he squeezed some into his hands. Once they were nice and foamy, he turned to her. “May I?”
The warm water had clearly relaxed her. Her eyes had taken on a dreamy haze. “Well, I don’t usually let someone bathe me on the first date, but since we’ve broken all my other rules, no reason to stop now.”
“Rules?” Van lathered her neck, shoulders, and back, massaging her thoroughly as he went.
“You know,” she answered slowly. “No kissing on the first date. No sex for at least a month—and only when you know it’s monogamous.”
“And how long do you usually wait before you let a man tie you to the bed and spank you with a horse training implement?”
Her mouth curved in a way that made him want to kiss the sins right into it. “Oh, you know. A few weeks at least.”
“I see.” Van’s hands made their way down her arms. He kneaded the tensest areas until she moaned.
“I know my mom must’ve done this when I was little, but I honestly can’t remember anyone ever giving me a bath.”
Her wistful tone sounded partly sad and partly grateful. His chest tightened. This was part of what he found so gratifying about taking care of her. It seemed that no one ever had before.