Page 22 of Single Mom's Secret Diary
“Yes. He’s nine. Full of energy and mischief, but overall, he’s a good kid.” I miss being there when he gets home, but Sophia takes him for the few hours between school and when I get off work. But it’s good for him to be around family.
“What’s his name?” Ryder is playing with my fingers again, tracing the lines of my palm and the blue of my veins across my forearm. I shiver under the electric current of his touch.
“Charlie.”
“You should bring him in for a tour some time.” The sincerity in his bronze eyes sets butterfly wings fluttering in my chest. “I bet he’d love to do some taste testing of his own.”
“He certainly would. That boy is a chocoholic.”
We chew through our tomatoes, mozzarella, and onions in relative silence, but he never stops touching me. It’s becoming intoxicating.
I like this version of Ryder. The one who’s not trying so hard, whose flirting is subdued and genuine, who’s willing to show me the softer pieces of himself. The food alone tells me he wants to take care of someone—me, maybe. If I let him.
He packs up what he’s brought, and I stand to walk him to my door. Even though we’re in the office, I can’t help but feel the need to reciprocate with my own affectionate gesture.
Ryder hugs the box against his side and tucks my hair behind my ear with the other. A soft nudge lifts my chin like he might kiss me, but when he leans in, it lands on my cheek instead.
“You’ll have to let me make you dinner sometime,” he says against my hot skin. “And then, perhaps, breakfast after.”
12
Wyatt
Ipace around my lab and office, waiting for Avery to return after lunch for another taste test. It’s difficult to wait, to not simply go and retrieve her, to find ways to keep her down here with me for the rest of the day.
Fuck, she’s monopolizing my thoughts, and there doesn’t seem to be a damn thing I can do about it. Her beautiful face takes over the numbers, ratios, calculations that I’m used to crowding my brain.
Ever since she led me upstairs for a brand-new way to taste chocolate, I’ve been floundering.
But the sight of her eyes fluttering closed as her lips pursed around my finger. The feel of her tongue against the pad, and the moan low in her throat… All of it sent a charge through me that hasn’t found its way out.
I almost kissed her in that kitchenette. And that is all I can think about—how much I want to kiss her.
It’s only been a few days, but I’m not sure I can go on much longer like this. I’m out of sorts. It’s affecting my ability to work.
Hence the tray of chocolates in my office cooler waiting for her. I made them over the last few days, creating new flavors that I think she’ll enjoy based on the comments she’s made on the other chocolates we’ve tested from competitors.
The mango one will be her favorite, but the avocado one is the outlier. She’ll love or hate it, and I need to know which it is.
My sanity is slipping.
Hands clenching.
I’m barely holding back from seeking her out when she glides into the lab. I watch from my office as she shakes out her hair and ties it up to keep it out of the way. I’ve discovered those long strands in my office chair, where she sits as we decide what our next steps will be.
Finding myself in the doorway, leaning and staring like some kind of invalid, I’m reminded once again that I’ve never met a woman before who’s provoked this kind of reaction out of me.
I want to map every inch of her body, learn every little dip and divot and sensitive spot that makes her whimper and moan. I want to explore her wet center with my fingers, my tongue, my cock.
The desire burns me up inside until I’m left a husk.
Her smile is sunlight in this gray and chrome room.
I jerk away from the wall, stepping close until she has to look up at me. Her hands fall to her hips, and I wonder why she does that. Is it to not feel so small?
“I made something for you,” I say instead of a greeting. I flinch at myself. Why can’t I be smoother, like Ryder?
Her smile grows, though, stopping the downward spiral of my thoughts.
