I edged back half an inch. “But tomorrow night is at your house.”
“Yeah, my house. And bein’ a house, it’s got a kitchen. So you’re cookin’ at my house.”
“But I won’t know where anything is.”
“I don’t have kitchen utensils from Mars, babe. I found my way around yours. You’ll find your way around mine.”
Of course.
“Right,” I murmured then told him, “If you want to get on with the green beans, I can get myself a glass of wine. Do you want a beer?”
“Yeah, I want a beer and I also want you to keep your ass where it is. I’ll get your wine.”
“Tack, I can get my wine and your beer and come right back and hang with you while you finish dinner,” I offered, thinking I was being nice.
Tack’s eyes flashed with amusement as he said, “I bet you can, Red, but what’s up for debate is if you can not argue about every f**kin’ thing.”
My back went straight. “I was being nice!”
“I see you can’t,” he muttered, his lips tipped up at the edges.
“Whatever,” I snapped. “Wait on me. See if I care. I’ll just sit here and sniff chops.”
“Honest to God,” Tack kept muttering as he moved away from me and toward the fridge, “she’s pissed I’m gettin’ her a glass of wine while I’m cookin’ for her.”
“I’m not pissed, pissed. I’m mildly pissed but only because you won’t let me help,” I amended.
Tack stopped, fingers wrapped around the fridge door handle, and he twisted to me. “Tomorrow, you can take care of me. Deal?”
I stared at him. Then I agreed, “Deal.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, I saw his grin right before his head disappeared in the fridge.
Then it occurred to me that I could argue about every f**king thing, including Tack getting me a glass of wine.
Which even I had to admit was ridiculous.
But, if that grin was any indication, Tack liked it.
So I looked at my lap and grinned too.
Because I was, at that moment, really glad he did.
* * * * *
My head snapped back and I gasped, “Oh my God.”
Then I came. Hard.
The instant I did, Tack whipped me to my back and kept pounding deep. So I wrapped all four limbs around him tight and kept coming. Harder.
“Fuck,” Tack muttered against my mouth between grunts, “my girl’s got a greedy f**kin’ pussy.”
He was right. I did. Because I was still coming.
When I stopped coming, Tack was still driving deep and it felt so freaking good, it started to build again.
I held him tight, lifting my h*ps to take him deeper and slid one hand up his back, his neck and into his thick, longish hair as I whispered against his lips, his goatee tickling my skin, “Honey, you have to come or I’m gonna come again.”