Page 146 of I'm Your Guy
My pulse kicks into a higher gear, and I pour the wine. It’s a long two-minute wait until the front door opens, and Tommaso steps into view. “Carter?”
“Right here!” I carry his glass into the living room. “I cooked. Welcome home.”
For a moment, he just watches me approach. Then he seems to collect himself all at once, tossing his coat into the closet, then taking both glasses of wine and setting them on the coffee table. “Sit with me,” he says. “On the cloud couch.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not sure you know what sitting means,” I say a minute later, after he’s pushed me down on the sofa and climbed on top of me. Now he’s kissing my neck.
He laughs. “Couldn’t help myself. You’re too good to be true, and I thought maybe I’d come home, and you’d be gone again.”
“I said I’d be here. When you called me last night.”
He drags his teeth lightly through the whiskers at my jaw. “Well, that conversation is a little hazy. I can’t believe I called you that late and demanded that you wait at home for me.”
“You asked nicely,” I say, tugging his dress shirt out of his trousers. “And I missed you.”
He makes a happy noise as his hungry mouth finds mine. It’s a luxurious, full-hearted kiss, and I wonder how I ever doubted this man. I taste him shamelessly and let my hands wander all over his exquisite body. I’m really getting into it when he suddenly lifts his head and breaks our kiss.
“Did you say you cooked dinner?”
“Yup.” I help myself to the top button of his dress shirt. “It’s in the warmer drawer.”
“Then let’s eat it.”
I groan. “You’re a tease.”
“Absolutely. And it’s only getting started.” He sits up and offers me a hand. “What’s the smell?”
“My sexual desperation,” I grumble. “And garlic mashed potatoes and bacon pork chops…”
“I’m so there.” He picks up our wine glasses and carries them toward the table.
* * *
After dinner, he insists on doing the dishes.
“The dishes could wait,” I point out.
“It’ll only take ten minutes.” He begins unbuttoning his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to get any grease on this. You know I hate shopping.” He unbuttons it all the way and tosses it over a dining chair.
The abs of glory are right there. My mouth waters. And when he picks up the scrub pad and faces the sink, I’m confronted with the buns of glory, too. Hockey butts are awesome. His particularly.
“Are you fucking with me right now?” I ask his backside.
“Huh? I’m washing up, Carter. You did all the cooking.”
“Right. Well.” I sigh. “Maybe I’ll wait upstairs.”
“Cool.”
“Naked.”
“Yup,” he says. “That’ll save me the trouble of stripping you down. With my teeth.”
