Tied with Me (With Me in Seattle, #6)(60)

“Nic, I’m leaving, too! See you tomorrow!” Anastasia calls out.

“Thank you, Anastasia!” I pull my apron off and toss it in the hamper. “I have dinner going upstairs.”

“You do?” he asks softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles down my cheek. “That’s not all I’m hungry for, you know.”

“Well, it’s a good place to start,” I reply shakily. “Then we can work our way to other things.”

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckles.

“It was just a suggestion.” I lift one shoulder in a shrug, watching his mouth as he licks his bottom lip.

“Are you finished here?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go home.” He takes my hand in his and lifts it to his lips, kissing each knuckle softly. “I want to spend some time with you. Enjoy you.” He leans in and kisses the apple of my cheek, then pulls his lips down to my ear. “Then lose myself in you until we both pass out.”

I nod and pull in a deep breath, relishing the smell of him. He smells musky, like pure unadulterated male, and it makes every instinct in me sit up and beg.

“Which part are you agreeing to?” he asks as he drags his nose along my jawline.

“All of it,” I whisper.

He grins, kisses me chastely and then pulls back, leaving me already missing his warmth and impatient to get upstairs with him.

“Let’s go.”

***

“You are not a bad cook,” Matt informs me with a grin as he stacks our plates in the dishwasher. “You had me worried.”

“The slow cooker is easy.” I laugh. “It’s hard to screw anything up in there.”

The whir of the air-conditioning kicks on, battling the hot Seattle summer heat.

“Doesn’t heat the place up like the oven does either,” Matt agrees. “I’m surprised you have AC in here. This is an old building.”

“I had it installed. My ovens downstairs make it necessary to cool the rest of the building, especially in the summer.”

He nods, locks the dishwasher and sets it.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” I insist for the third time. “You worked hard today.”

“So did you.”

“Not for almost twenty-four hours,” I remind him.

“My job isn’t any more important than yours, little one. We both worked today, we’ll both clean up from dinner.”

“That’s very diplomatic for a Dom.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean my hips against the counter.

“I told you from the beginning, I’m not interested in a slave. That’s not who I am.”

“That’s convenient for me, because if you were, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” He exhales and walks toward me, his face sober now. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” He pushes his fingers through my short hair and cups my neck in his palm.

“What do you mean?”

“The Dom thing still makes you nervous, doesn’t it?”

“Sometimes,” I confirm. “I’m just still getting used to it.”

He frowns but nods, his eyes darkening in concern. “Just talk to me when you get nervous, Nic.”

“I do,” I assure him and push my hands up his chest, over the hard muscles of his pectorals. “You feel good.”

“Is that so?” His eyebrow quirks up, and his lips tip up into a half smile. “I have a plan.”

He leads me into the bedroom, and when we’re by the bed, he kisses my knuckles again and grins at me. “Trust me?”

“Of course,” I reply instantly, making him inhale sharply.

“I love that you answer without any hesitation,” he murmurs as he pulls my T-shirt over my head, unties the red ribbon from my hair and tosses it on the beside table, and unclasps my bra, exposing my breasts to him. “Trust is the most important thing in this relationship, Nic.”

“I know,” I whisper. I can’t look away from his face as he watches his own hands, exploring my torso. “I want to touch you.”

“I’m right here, baby.”

I unbutton his shirt and slide it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground as he opens my black capris, pushes his hands inside against my hips and guides them down my legs along with my panties.

He’s standing before me in just his faded blue jeans, the elastic of his blue boxer-briefs peaking out of the waistband. I slip my finger inside, beneath the elastic, and pull him toward me.

“I want you naked,” I murmur.

“Yes, that would be ideal,” he agrees.

“I love your body,” I continue, tracing his muscles with my fingertips, up his torso, down his arms and back again. “Your skin is smooth, but your muscles are hard. I especially love this,” I murmur as I trace the V at either side of his hips.

“What else do you like?” he asks and leans his forehead against mine. He’s panting now, and there is a hard ridge to the front left of his jeans.

“I like these.” I gather his hands in mine and bring them up to my lips to kiss both palms, then place them on the small of my back and push his jeans down his hips to gather at his feet.