Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
The house smells like baked spaghetti, something I knew that I could make and not screw up. Scarlett loves chocolate cake, so I commissioned, well, asked my mom to make one for tonight. Hers are better than anything I could have bought.
There’s a knock on the door, and I call out for her to come in. She doesn’t have to knock. When I don’t hear footsteps, I turn off the oven and move to the door to open it for her. She’s spending the night with me, so maybe her hands are full. Pulling open the door, I see my love standing with a smile on her face. She’s holding a flowerpot full of sticks that have mini-candy bars attached.
“What is that?” I ask, reaching to take it from her.
“Well, I was going to bring you flowers, but then decided buying flowers for a manly man such as yourself wouldn’t be the best option. So, I decided to make you a sweet bouquet instead. Get it? Sweet.” She grins, proud of herself.
“Get in here before you freeze to death.” I step back, letting her through, taking her overnight bag from her shoulder as she passes by me.
“It smells like pasta heaven in here. Please tell me you made your baked spaghetti. I’m starving, and that sounds so good.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, she kicks off her shoes and tosses her coat over the hallway chair as she pads socked feet to the kitchen to pull open the oven.
“You really do love me,” she says, turning to look over her shoulder.
Her smile is radiant, and a flash of what our future could look like crashes into me like a tidal wave. What coming home to her would look like, or her coming home to me during the winter months when I’m laid off. Making her dinner, sharing our days, our lives. Babies. Fuck me, the thought of Scarlett round with our baby has my pulse spiking.
“I do love you, Scar. So much.” My voice is thick, and even though she was teasing, with the images flashing through my mind, I had to tell her. I had to say the words out loud. They’re real regardless, but they needed to be voiced.
“Do you love me enough to feed me?” she asks.
I chuckle. My heavy mood of what we could be if we had the chance is pushed to the back of my mind. “You know I do,” I tell her. “And guess what?”
“What?” She hops up on the counter and watches me as I remove the spaghetti from the oven.
“I had my mom make us a chocolate cake for dessert.”
“Oh, God,” she moans. “You know I love your mom’s chocolate cake.”
“I know.” I get to work scooping out a plate of spaghetti. I sprinkle some fresh parmesan over the top and move to step between her legs. Reaching beside me, I pull open the silverware drawer, grab a fork, and twist the tines around until I have a bite ready for her. I blow to cool it down. “Open, Firecracker.”
“What are you doing?” She laughs.
“Feeding you.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head but opens her mouth to accept the bite I’m offering her. She covers her mouth with her hand as she chews. I take a bite for myself, giving her time to chew before offering her another bite.
“I like this,” I tell her.
“Feeding me?”
I nod. “It helps that I’m nestled between your sexy thighs with your legs wrapped around me. More than that,” I keep going, “I like feeling as though I’m taking care of you. I know you don’t need me to,” I’m quick to tell her. “I still like the way it feels.”
“You take care of me in so many ways,” she tells me before taking another offered mouthful. Once she’s finished chewing, I kiss her before giving her another bite and taking one for myself.
I stand between her parted thighs until the heaping plate of pasta is gone. “More?”
“No. I’m stuffed.” She reaches for a napkin and wipes her face.
“Drink?”
“Water.”
“Sure.” I place the plate in the sink to rinse it while grabbing two bottles of water. I turn off the faucet before handing Scarlett our waters and lift her off the island. “Go find us a movie. I’ll clean up.”
“I can help.”
“Nope. I got it, baby. Just pick us a movie. We’re waiting for the cake, right?”
She groans. “I can’t eat another bite.”
I nod. “I’ll be right there.” I turn back to the sink, washing the single plate and fork, and cover the baking dish with foil. Good enough. I need her in my arms. When I make it to the living room, she’s standing with the remote pointed at the TV. Her half-empty bottle of water sits next to my full one. I reach for it, twisting off the cap and drinking it until it’s empty. When I twist the cap back on and place the empty bottle on the table, I see her watching me.