Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little #1)(34)

Him cooking for me is a sweet gesture, made sweeter by the fact that he’s making something for me that reminds him of his mother. I’d take something intimate and personal like this over a thousand fancy dinners, and it occurs to me that I should probably make something for him some day soon. Considering I actually know how to use all this mind-blowingly amazing equipment. I make a mental note to find out what some of his favorite foods are; maybe I’ll surprise him one night when I know he’s had a long day at the office.

Caleb finally finds the pan he was looking for, and I watch him as he carefully assembles the sandwiches, a small smile on his face all the while. I get a pretty nice view when he turns his back to me to put the sandwiches in the pan, and I lean back in my chair and enjoy the view while I sip on the rest of my glass of wine.

Once the sandwiches are cooked, he takes the time to plate them neatly. I have to admit, these smell pretty good. They look pretty good, too.

He puts a handful of chips on one plate, and then the other. “These are homemade,” he tells me proudly.

“In whose home?” I tease.


He reaches over and takes the chips off of my plate and heaps them on to his.

“Hey!” I reply, reaching over and snagging one before he can pull his plate away.

“Make fun of the cook, and this is what you get!”

He’s grinning as he walks around the island and takes his seat next to me.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me what you think.”

I take a bite. I have to smile, because as weird as I thought it would be, this sandwich? It’s amazing.

“Good?” he asks, practically sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for my reaction.

“Delicious,” I tell him honestly.

“Yeah?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Yeah.”

He turns in his chair, ready to eat, and I can see that he’s just so pleased. Happiness is radiating off of him, and I think it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Hey,” I say, sliding my hand up his shoulder.

When I lean over and kiss him, he smiles against my lips.

“Thank you for sharing this with me.” The sandwich, the story behind it. Everything.

He cups my cheek and says, “You’re welcome.”





CHAPTER TWENTY





When it’s dark outside, and I’m in Caleb’s bed, lying in his arms, it’s easy to forget about everything that exists outside of the walls of this apartment. It’s difficult not to get lost in him, in the way he makes me feel when he touches me, the hot brand of his lips against my skin. Even when we’re apart, I remember the way the soft scratch of his chin feels against the crook of my neck when he nuzzles in and kisses me there.

I think about the way it feels when Caleb holds me, when he cradles me against his body. To say that I’m missing him right now is an understatement. Sure, he’s right here but my whole body is aching for him. We haven’t had sex since before I was robbed, and I miss the weight of him on top of me. I miss the way my thigh muscles stretch when I’m straddling him. I miss the feeling of him inside me, and the way his body stiffens and his face goes slack as he calls out my name when he comes.

To say I’m desperate for him would be putting it mildly.

That’s why I’m kissing my way along his chest, licking his abs, and nibbling on his skin. My hands are everywhere, and Caleb has—thankfully—not turned me down yet, although there’s this niggling fear in the back of my mind that he’s going to do that the very second I give him a chance to come to his senses. Good thing I don’t plan on giving him that kind of chance.

He’s really into it, and pretty far gone, from what I can tell. His chest is rumbling with quiet sounds of pleasure, and his fingers are threaded through my hair, cupping the back of my head.

When I slide my hand down to grip his cock, that’s when I know I’ve taken this a little too far, a little too fast.

He stiffens, and not in the good way.

“Mia,” he says reluctantly. His voice is tight, like he’s doing everything in his power to keep a tight leash on his control.

“Don’t tell me that we can’t,” I warn, and I keep kissing my way across his body.

“We can’t. Not yet.”

I lean up on my elbows, so I can look him in his lust-filled eyes when I plead my case. “My head is fine, Caleb. You’re not going to f*ck me into a concussion.”

The backs of his fingers tenderly slide across my still swollen cheek. He’s hesitating a little, considering my argument. I’ve got him turned on enough that it’s probably difficult for him to remember all the reasons he’s convinced himself that we shouldn’t be doing this. The way he’s looking at my cheek, though…that’s when it hits me.

I roll off of him—onto my back—and desperately try to make the sting of tears behind my eyes disappear. I don’t want to cry in front of him, that’s not fair.

“I get it,” I say, rubbing at my eyes. “Me looking like this isn’t hot for you.”

“Mia,” he replies gently. “No. That’s not it. I don’t care what you look like, I…look at me. Will you look at me, please?”

I roll over onto my side, and reluctantly my gaze finds his. He gives me a gentle smile, then presses his lips against mine.