Rushed: Hushed Part 8

"Stand up so I can see them and I'll give you my opinion."

"You're impossible," I said. "I really need to know this stuff." I stared at the legs in my gla.s.s again and recorded my lame observations. "What smells so good in the kitchen?"

"Chicken marsala." He grinned again, like everything was an inside joke. "Chicken something. I put my own twist on and subst.i.tuted another wine, a Washington white with a pinch of brandy. The point of view I'm showcasing tonight is a Pacific Northwest-Italian fusion." He went to the fridge, pulled out a stoppered bottle of white wine, and showed it to me.

I started to laugh, too. "Your dad's. Again."

"It's free."

"And yet you made me bring the wine?" I tried to sound playfully indignant.

"Hey, you just brought your homework." He lifted his gla.s.s and took another drink. "Dinner's almost ready. Want to help me plate?"

Chapter 7.

Maddie We finished our gla.s.ses of wine. Seth poured us each another. I joined him in the kitchen. We each downed another gla.s.s while he cut polenta into squares and put them on the plates, tasted his chicken, and added a pinch of salt.

He handed me a knife and a bunch of Italian parsley. "Cut up the garnish?"

"Only if you show me how you want it."

Guys! He grinned like I'd said something dirty. Everything had a double meaning to them. Then he was behind me, with his arms around me. It was warm in the kitchen. With him pressed up behind me, I grew even hotter. He covered my hands with his and took control of the knife. Like the rest of him, his hands were strong and hot. They covered mine completely. My hands were as lost in his as I was lost in him.

"We want to mince it, leaving a few long stocks for flair." He pulled me close and smelled so good. His breath was hot in my ear. "Set a few pieces aside. We want some pretty leaves. Fold the rest of the parsley over in half. Then slow chopping strokes so no one gets hurt, keeping the fingers folded out of the way."

His idea of slow chopping was evidently very different to mine. He chopped quickly with fast motions. Chop, chop, chop, chop. I reflexively backed away from the knife, right into his hot front. My b.u.t.t pressed up against his jeans. I felt his d.i.c.k, long and hard, rubbing against me. Like a slow seduction. Much more slowly than the pace of the knife.

The wine had settled over me, leaving a pleasant glow, making me tingly to the tips of my fingers. Taking away my sense of balance, which was already off kilter from being wrapped in Seth's arms. I was lightheaded with the nearness of him. I spread my legs apart for balance. He took that as an invitation, and slid one of his legs between mine, rubbing me gently with his thigh.

Waves of pleasure built between my legs. My breath caught. I cleared my throat. "You're good."

"I try to be." His breath was hot in my ear.

"With a knife." I pulled my hands free from his and spun around, looking up at him, trying to resist him. Wondering if he would kiss me. Wondering what it would lead to if he did. I looked down and braced my hands against the counter. "We were going to plate?"

"Yeah. Are you hungry?" His voice was low and deep with desire.

Oh, yes, I was. For him. And nervous. And fl.u.s.tered. And confused. "Starving."

He grinned. "Good." He backed off and grabbed the plates of polenta. He put chicken and sauce on top of each, then sprinkled the parsley and laid a large stalk across each. He held them out for me to inspect. "What do you think?"

"Beautiful." I smiled at him.

"Yeah." His gaze was on me. He carried the plates to the table and set them in front of us. Then he refilled our winegla.s.ses. "You first." He pointed to my chicken. "What do you think?"

I took a bite. The chicken fell apart in my mouth. I closed my eyes like I was deep in rapture as I tasted. "Awesome. Completely tender and delicious! I'd give it an A."

When I opened my eyes, Seth was staring at me like he'd rather taste me. "But will Chef Steven think so?" He took a bite. "Pretty good. I think it's the wine." His foot reached over and playfully rubbed mine.

"Yeah, must be the wine." It had gone to my head, just like Seth had. "How did you learn to cook like this?"

He began talking. And I was lost in him, wanting to know everything about him. We talked and drank the rest of the wine, as if we both wanted to know everything about each other. As if we would never run out of conversation. With none of the awkward silences that happen when you're not connecting with someone. Or you just plain run out of things to say. Can you fall in love with someone over dinner?

Because as we talked about everyday getting-to-know-you things, I really thought I was. Maybe it wasn't love yet. But I was falling for him. Headlong. We had so much in common.

"Siblings?" I asked as I cleared the table and he made soapy water to wash dishes. One of the many perils of college apartment life-hardly anyone had a dishwasher.

He shook his head. "Not living. I had a brother. But I never knew him. He died before I was born."

I set a plate on the counter next to him and rested my hand on his arm for comfort. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I wish I'd known him. I've always wanted a brother."

"What happened to him?" I didn't know if it was gauche to ask, but I couldn't help myself. I felt sad, and bad for bringing it up.

"Bicycle accident. He was twelve. He was on his way to school on a sunny spring day. A car hit him." He stared into the soapy water, playing with the bubbles as he slid a plate in. Looking like he didn't want me to see his pain.

"Dad doesn't talk about it much. My brother had ma.s.sive head injuries. He was wearing a helmet. It came off during impact. His head hit a curb. He lingered for a week before Mom and Dad made the decision to take him off life support. Ultimately, his death broke up the marriage." He looked up, his hands full of bubbles. His eyes full of sorrow. "It's just a story to me. You know how things are that happened before you were born. Ancient history."

I came up behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and rested my head on his back. The wine had taken away my inhibitions. I was pleasantly buzzed. "But your parents stayed together long enough to have you!" I sounded way enthusiastic. Because I was.

He snorted. "Yeah. Their replacement son. That didn't work out well. You?"

"I have a brother. Who followed me to school one day. He's a professor here."

"He's a professor? How old is he?" Seth wiped his hands on a towel.

I gave him a squeeze and reluctantly let go of him. "Thirty-four.

Seth paused. "Same age as my brother would have been."

"Really? Another thing we have in common," I said. "Most of my friends' brothers and sisters are much closer to them in age." I grabbed the leftover chicken. "Where do you want this?"

He gave me directions where to find a plastic storage container to put it in and asked me to put it in the fridge. His fridge was surprisingly full. And sitting right in front was a large bowl full of a lush spinach salad.

"Oh," I said, touched. "I'm sorry. You should have served this."

He turned around to look. "And forced you to eat the bitter stuff? I wanted you to enjoy my cooking." He shook his head. "It's okay. It keeps."

"But you went to a lot of work."

He slid the rest of the dirty pots and pans into the soapy water to soak. "Yeah. So why ruin the evening with bitterness?" He grabbed the second bottle of wine that was still sitting on the counter and lifted it toward me. "You still have more homework to do."

I was already feeling lightheaded from drinking my share of the first bottle of wine. A second bottle was such a bad idea. "You're right." I tossed him the cork puller. "Are you going to help me?"

He grinned that s.e.xy grin of his as he opened the bottle and poured two gla.s.ses. "I can't text the guy who made this one. Sorry." He handed me a gla.s.s. "And I may not even be a super taster." He took a drink of wine.

I matched him. "We could find out. If you had blue food coloring." I didn't hold out much hope for that. What guy had blue food coloring lying around?

"We're in luck. I do." He went to the cupboard.

I giggled, like he was being absurd.

"What's so funny? I have it." He held up a bottle of it for me to see.

I reached for it. "I can't believe it."

"Green beer," he said cryptically. "For St. Patrick's Day. Add blue to yellow beer..."

"Ah," I said. "And here I thought you were also a master pastry chef or something. If you have a cotton swab, we're in business."

"Be right back." He returned a minute later with a handful of them.

I grabbed a piece of notebook paper and explained the experiment to him as I tore off a piece with a hole in it. "I'm going to swab your tongue with the blue food coloring. Put this hole over it and count how many taste buds you have." I squirted the food coloring onto the swab. "Stick out your tongue."

"Dad told me never to stick my tongue out at people, especially girls."

"Do you always do what you dad told you to?" I raised one eyebrow, challenging him.

He stuck his tongue out. As I swabbed it, he made a face. I laughed and put the paper over it. I didn't need to count the pink taste buds that now stood out. I could tell at a glance he was a regular taster. But I leaned in close and made a show of it, bracing my hands against his chest. "Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Oh, so close! But not a super taster. You missed it by this much." I held my fingers a tiny bit apart.

He pulled his tongue in. "How many did I need?"

"Thirty-five." I pulled away from him.

He grabbed his wine and took a drink.

"I'm impressed, though, by the way you combine flavors. Super taster or not, you have good taste." I took a drink of my wine, too.

He grabbed a cotton swab and the food coloring. "Let me count yours."

I hesitated.

"Fair's fair. I want to see a super tongue."

I giggled again and stuck my tongue out.

He leaned in close and swabbed my tongue. His face was inches from mine. "Your tongue looks like one big taste bud. Awesome." He grabbed my arms and leaned even closer. So close, our noses almost touched. He smelled like wine and cologne. His lips were full and tantalizing.

"Count," I said with my mouth open and my tongue out.

"This could take awhile." His voice was low and sensuous as he counted. "Thirty-four." Closer. "Thirty-five." Closer still.

So close, I closed my eyes.

"Thirty-six." He slipped my tongue into his mouth and sucked, pulling me against him, sliding his thigh between mine and rubbing me like he had before dinner.

Making me weak in the knees. I wrapped my arms around his neck and sucked and licked back. Pressing my lips to his, hard. Nibbling. Moaning softly as his leg rubbed between mine, making me wet with pleasure.

He lifted me off my feet, pressing his hard d.i.c.k against me. I was drunk on him as much as on the wine. Everything about him turned me on. He wasn't at all like Zach had made him out to be. He was sweet and considerate. And totally hot.

I jumped into his arms and swung my legs around his waist. He carried me to the counter and set me on it, kissing me in a way that took my breath away. Then his kiss left my lips and trailed down my neck to the hollow where my pulse beat wildly for him.

I pulled off his beanie and ran my hands through his thick hair. He ran his hands beneath my blouse, up to the back clasp on my bra. I was glad I'd worn my pretty lace one. And the matching panties.

I should have stopped him. I didn't hook up with guys. It wasn't me. But I didn't. One more feel. Just one touch of his hot hands on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He unhooked my bra. Without fumbling. Then his hands were warm and firm on my bare back.

He kissed me again, picked me up, and carried me without breaking the kiss. I closed my eyes and let him carry me away him. I rode him to his dark bedroom. He closed the door with his foot, like he was practiced at this.

He laid me down on my back as the bed groaned beneath us. "You are so hot. So d.a.m.ned gorgeous." He cupped my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pushing them up in mounds beneath my blouse. Then he was sucking on them through the fabric of my shirt and my lace bra while I trembled with pleasure.

I lifted his shirt and ran my hands over his back and then his chest. I felt the strong pulse of his heart and imagined it was mine. That it beat for me.

I didn't know what possessed me. Why I wanted him so badly. I was drowsy with wine and pleasantly buzzed. Tingly in all the right places. I wanted what I wanted. Any objections about moving too fast were dulled by the fizzy way the wine made my head feel.

I lifted his shirt over his head. He shrugged it off like he was eager to show off his finely sculpted chest and the excellent bulge of his biceps. I ran my hands over his arms-so toned and delectably touchable-and licked his nipple.

"This isn't fair." His voice was low and filled with desire. "I'm half naked. And you're fully dressed."

"Nothing's fair in love or war." I kissed him as he reached for the hem of my blouse. I fought him for a minute, teasing him while he cupped my breast and pinched my nipple gently, in a way that turned me on more. Finally, I gave in and let him pull it over my head. I slid my loose bra off. His pupils were dark, but his eyes went wide at the sight of my naked, peaked b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Beautiful." It was like he was mesmerized.

I reached up and pulled him against me, pressing him against my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and rubbing my crotch against the hard d.i.c.k in his jeans as if there was no clothing between us. He moaned and kissed my neck, then rolled off me and reached between us to unzip my jeans.

He slid his fingers into the warmth between my legs. "d.a.m.n, you're wet."

I'd only meant to neck and pet. I was so close to climaxing with his finger stroking me. I wanted to feel him, too. I unzipped his jeans and pulled him out. He was long and hard.

I stroked him. Until his breath caught and it seemed like a contest between who could get the other to come first. He stroked me with his fingers. I pumped him with my hand. He kissed my nipple. I playfully bit his shoulder.

I ran my finger over the tip of his d.i.c.k. It was wet and ready, pulsing.

He swore beneath his breath and slid my jeans off, then pulled something out of his pocket and held up a condom. He'd come prepared. Was this sweet and adorable? Or way too hookup-like for me? The wine interfering with my sense of reason didn't care.

He leaned down and whispered, his breath hot in my ear, "I can't hold on forever. Either keep stroking me like that or let's put this on and finish together."

I grabbed the condom from him, giggling though it wasn't funny. Or maybe it was. Or maybe I was more nervous than I thought. I made a move like I was going to toss the condom away, like I was throwing away temptation.

He grabbed my hand and squeezed, rubbing sensually with his thumb, holding my gaze, imploring me with his eyes. There was that vulnerable look again. It melted my heart and made me hot for him beyond reason.