Page 23 of Mr. Winter
We look at each other for a beat. I may be learning to control my mouth, but I didn’t make any promises about my face.
“Let’s go eat lunch,” he offers.
I kiss my teeth and stare out the window to watch the snow fall. It would be beautiful if I didn’t want to punch its creator in the nuts. He chuckles, not at all phased by my silent treatment.
“I’m making holiday paninis.” My curiosity spikes.What are those?“It’s like Christmas or Thanksgiving in a sandwich.” I turn my head slightly in his direction, so he’ll keep talking. “It’s oven-roasted turkey, smothered with turkey stuffing, layered with homemade cranberry sauce.” He moves to the door. “Oh and there’s a brown gravy dip…”
Shit, that sounds good.I slide off the bed to meet him at the door. He gestures for me to go ahead of him. I walk out happy to see the hallway and lead us to the kitchen.
“Did I tell you how nice your ass is, Arden,” Jack whispers like a sex fiend, and I feel air on my ass when he lifts the shirt.
“Muth…” I start but pause to rethink that strategy. “My ass would like to be left alone right now, Jack.”
“Fair enough.” He smacks my ass then jumps over the banister.
I suffer a mini-heart attack but look over to see him glide down to the foyer then disappear into the kitchen.Show off.I take the stairs down like a normal person, and he’s already putting the food together by the time I make it to the kitchen. I sit at the table and watch him move around the kitchen as he whistles to himself. Pushing aside the hurt feelings, my irritation, and my sore body, I decide to live in the moment. I’m actually sitting in the kitchen while Jack makes us lunch. It is beyond surreal. I was beginning to believe I’d never see him and again. When I cried to Kimberly, I wanted to see him again for closure at the very least. We’re stuck together, so now is the perfect time.
He puts a plate in front of me. The sandwich has thick slices of turkey breast he just carved from the turkey. It’s not deli meat. I take a bite, and it’s delicious. I dip it in the gravy, and my eyes roll back.
“You should only make those noises when I fuck you.”
I use the time it takes to chew to formulate a response. “Jack will not be fucking Arden.” This is hard. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. That is a much better response.
Jack shrugs and bites into his sandwich like he’s starving. I get stuck watching him chew. I don’t know how he’s managed to make it sexy, but I’m starting to believe I can watch him eat all day. Our eyes meet when his tongue darts out to collect some gravy from his lip. His smile is seductive, but he doesn’t say the obvious. I’m full of shit. It’s partially true. We’d need to have a real conversation before any more sex happens.
I shift my focus back to my meal, and we eat in silence until a sweet aroma fills the air. Jack goes back into the kitchen and grabs two mugs. He fills them, adds toppings, then comes back to the table.
“S’mores cocoa. It’s cocoa mixed with a little white chocolate and topped with marshmallow fluff, graham cracker crumbles, and a drizzle of chocolate syrup.”
I almost came. I'm both excited and annoyed that it's as delicious as it sounds. Jack takes our plates and places them in the sink, then the asshole takes my mug back.
"Follow me." He takes my crack and moves down the hallway, and I have to scramble to catch up.
He enters one of the conversation rooms and lowers himself into one of the huge, leather wingback chairs.
"Come here," he orders. When I don't move he takes a sip of his drink and emits a low hum because it's so damn good.
Grudgingly, I move closer until I'm standing in front of his open legs.
"Straddle me." My eyes grow big because I want to tell him to fuck off, but I'm still sore.
Jack slowly licks some of the toppings on his drink. It's both seductive and makes me miss my cocoa. His eyes tell me he's not going to tell me again.
"As long as it's not for sex. I was serious, Jack."
He doesn't respond. He just stares at me with his icy eyes until I climb into his lap. His shirt is big enough for me to get into position without flashing him. Jack returns my drink, and his big hand squeezes my bare thigh. I hide my reaction to him by taking a sip from the mug.
His touches elicit strong physical and emotional reactions from me. I must keep a clear head because I'm dealing with livewire. Jack's hand remains in the same place as he studies me. His thumb kneads my thigh as I try to bury myself in my mug.
"Look at me, Arden." I feel like some of the people tricked by Medusa, but I look up anyway. He’s studying me with a seriousness I haven’t seen since I yelled at him last night. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Huh?” I’m confused by his request because I didn’t expect him to say it.
“You had grievances, list them.”
I place my mug on the table next to the chair and play with the hem of my t-shirt. Wanting to vent and being asked are two different things. Those who’ve upset me in the past never stop to ask what’s wrong.
“There are a lot,” I sigh.
