Strong Enough

I chewed slowly, appreciating the slight crisp on the outside and the soft, doughy inside. A little sweet, a little savory, the perfect balance. “How do you say delicious in Russian?”

“In this case, vkusnyy.”

“Well, this is fucking vkusnyy.”

He laughed. “I’m so glad you like it. You’ll have to let me cook dinner for you sometime too.”

“You can cook for me any time you want,” I mumbled, my mouth full. “This is so good.”

He smiled, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Thank you.”

After breakfast, I helped Maxim clean up the kitchen and we went up to my bedroom so I could give him the clothing I’d bought. He stood near the doorway while I went to my closet and retrieved the bag, pulling out the receipt and tucking it into my pocket. He’d see the price tags, so it was probably a silly gesture, but maybe I could convince him they’d been on sale. I had a feeling he was going to protest they were too expensive.

When I came back in the room, he was still standing by the door, looking around curiously. “Looks different in here in the light,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh. Right.” I glanced at the bed, which I’d made this morning after changing the sheets. The sight of it made my stomach muscles clench. Was it too soon to do it again? Was he sore? Don’t think about it. “So. Here you go.” I handed him the bag. “If you want to try them on in here, you can. I have a full-length mirror on the door.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll give you some privacy,” I said, moving toward the door. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to get him to strip in front of me—not that I’d complain. But he caught my arm.

“You can stay.” He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

Fuck, every time he gave me that look, the one that said I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, I wanted to throw him down and roll around naked.

I cleared my throat and perched on the edge of the bed. “Okay.”

He took off his clothes, and I openly stared at his body. Jesus. No wonder I’d lost my mind last night. In fact, I was kind of sad to see his legs and ass disappear into the new jeans, but glad they fit him. “They look great,” I said, repositioning myself so my swelling erection wasn’t trapped uncomfortably.

“Thanks.” He shrugged into one of the shirts I’d picked out and buttoned it up. “What do you think?”

I think you’re perfect. “Is it a little too big? It might be too baggy around your waist. But I’m not sure the next size down would fit you in the shoulders.”

He frowned. “I don’t know. It feels comfortable.”

“Try the other one.”

He traded the first shirt for the second. “This one feels good too. How does it look?”

Like I want to rip it off you. “Great. You like it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s yours. I think we should take the other one back.”

He looked worried. “Take it back? But you took it home and I wore it. They will do it?”

“Yes. The tags are still on. I promise they’ll do it.”

He smoothed the shirt over his stomach. “I really like this. I’m glad you chose it.”

“Good. Do you want to look in the mirror?”

“No, that’s okay.” He smiled. “If you say it looks good on me, I’ll believe you.”

“It does. Do you want to wear it today?”

He thought for a second. “I better wear my work shirt in case we don’t have time to come back here.” As he was taking off the button-down, he noticed a price tag hanging from the label. “Eighty dollars?” he asked incredulously. “For one shirt?”