don’t blame him—a permanent scowl rests on my face since I got home that not even two plates of food could deter. Not to mention there are way too many boxes on the island. Normally I’d be embarrassed, but I could be doing worse things than eating my feelings.
I keep busy as he walks up to me, looking into one of the cartons closest to him. “There’s veggie stir fry labeled in the fridge. I got rice and cheese wantons too. Figured you’d eat some.”
“Piper.”
I close up the last box. “Sorry I didn’t get more. They didn’t have a lot of options and I haven’t seen you eat Chinese food before. Wasn’t sure if you ate it.”
“Piper,” he says quietly, coming up behind me and leaning in. “What’s wrong?”
My teeth grind. “Nothing.”
I go to bring the last of the food to the fridge, but he wraps his palm around my upper arm to stop me. “Piper. Stop. Talk to me.”
Wiggling from his grasp, I yank my arm from his hold and face him. “Why do you care, Easton? I had a bad day. Shouldn’t you be at work or … somewhere?”
One of his brows goes up. “Somewhere being where? I go to work and here. Stop changing the subject. What’s wrong?”
This is the most we’ve talked in a while. Usually our conversations are a few sentences here and there, more often a word or two and that’s it. But the way his blue eyes survey my face, my pinched brows and thinned lips, has concern carved into his flawless features.
“Like I said, I had a bad day.”
“So, tell me about it.”
I close my eyes for a millisecond and let out a heavy sigh. “No offense, East, but I don’t want to. There’s a lot on my plate right now that I need to take care of.”
Finishing my task, I wait for him to walk away and leave me be. He doesn’t. When the counter is clear and plates are washed, he just stands there expectantly.
When I go to leave, he stops me again, pulling me into him and caging me between his body and the counter behind me. His body heat is too warm, too consuming, and the faint smell of peppermint on his breath has me swallowing from the taste I’ve become familiar to.
“East,” I plead softly. “Please stop.”
“Talk. To. Me.”
My jaw locks over his persistence. He shouldn’t care and I’m not sure why he does. Or maybe he feels obligated to since we live together—have slept together. Either way, my feelings are none of his concern.
He spins me around, a breath catching in my throat as his fingers go to my hips. He squeezes and then moves my hair away from my neck, peppering soft kisses against the back of it. “Talk to me, Piper. Just tell me what happened. You’ll feel better.”
Feel better. I’m sure I’ll feel a lot of things if he keeps going. The way his lips trail to the crook of my neck and teeth nip my skin has me arching backward, my butt brushing his hardening length. I bite my bottom lip as his hands move to the front of my pants, lingering on the button.
“I…” I try finding my words as he pops the button and slowly pulls down the zipper. “I don’t know why we’re even talking right now to be honest.”
His chuckle blows warm air against where his mouth caresses me. “You’re like me. It’s hard to talk about your problems face to face. But if you don’t, it’ll bottle up until it slowly kills you. Then you’ll lose your shit on the wrong people, at the wrong time.”
Again, he speaks from experience. His thumb brushes against the skin just above my panty line, not moving lower toward the ache that’s settled between my thighs. He’s right though. I always play off my feelings and pretend like it’s fine, when really it eats me up inside.
“I was fired,” I whisper, barely able to hear myself. It’s the last thing I want to admit aloud, knowing it makes things real. “Sort of.”
His finger dips below my panties, brushing my pubic bone. “How does somebody get sort of fired?”
I lick my lips and give him more access to my neck, letting him lick, nip, and kiss every inch of skin he can. His mouth lingers over my pulse for a moment as his free hand pulls at my pants to lower them enough to dip his hand into.