Page 103 of Bound By Flames
“Baby, focus, we’ll have time for whatever you’re thinking after.” He chuckles with his deep voice.
“I bet you’d be interested in what I’m thinking.” I lick my lower lip.
Oh, that would be so much better than trying to eat this unidentified dish.
A low chuckle comes out of him, and I fall even harder for my husband, a hand running in his hair as if he couldn’t believe the piece of work I am.
“Hey, you married me!” I tell him, pointing at his chest with my finger.
“Oh, I’m fucking much aware, princess,” he grins, “and I wouldn’t change it for anything in this world.” He takes my hand to his lips and turns it until my wrist is facing him before he leaves a wet kiss on it, making goosebumps appear all over me. His gaze darkens, letting my forearm back on the table, he shifts the plate toward me.
“I asked Larry to make it simple.” He motions his chin toward the pasta in front of us.
“Simple is…good. Simple is…” I look down at the plate.
“Safe,” he says with a reassuring tone.
“Yes, exactly.” I blush at the sight of my husband finishing my sentences in such a vulnerable part of myself.
“He made the pasta, said it was organic and local or shit and…” He furrows his brows as if he’s trying hard to remember what our fifty-year-old grumpy cook told him.
“Ares?” Hearing my voice, it sounds so small and vulnerable.
“What?” He says, studying me.
“I love you,” I declare simply.
He jerks back a bit, his brows lifting in surprise. “I love you too princess. You’re okay? Doing this? I’m not pushing you too much?”
“It’s, it’s perfect. No one ever took that much time to…” he waits patiently for me to find the right words, “just you taking this time and putting this much effort, it’s…it’s huge for me,” I admit, my heart pounding hard under my chest.
He smiles at me gently. “You keep looking at me this way, woman, and I swear we’re gonna have to take a break right the fuck now.”
I laugh loudly, then shake my head. “No, no. I mean, I want to, but you’re right, I want to do this.”
“That’s my girl.” He grins proudly.
“So, yeah, where were we? Larry, yeah, shit, he said it was made from scratch, and the tomatoes and basil are from the garden. Basically, can't be healthier.”
I swoon over my husband, larger than life, with skulls inked into his hands, talking to me about vegetables with the seriousness of a business meeting. Biting back a smile, I lean over and kiss his lips softly, then pull back and dig into the plate, watching his chest swell with pride.
It’s…good.
The pasta doesn’t feel like it’s choking me, and knowing that the sauce was homemade appeases my fears. It’s dense and full of flavors and…
Okay.
I’m okay.
My fingers aren’t trembling, my heart isn't racing, my throat isn’t closing.
I’m eating food outside of my comfort zone, and that’s okay.
Ares' eyes widen, watching me like a hawk, from fingers to throat to cheek, as if he wanted to find my triggers and make them go away.
“Mia, you okay?” He flexes his hand, furrowing his brows and making my heart melt at the sight of his worry.
“I…I think I’m good.” Biting my lip, I put the fork down.
