She hesitated but spoke. “Before you, the fanciest meal I’d ever had was brand name macaroni from the box.”
Anteros rubbed his thumb back and forth against the soft skin of her chin. He’d grown up never knowing when his next meal would be. His mother and father had been unreliable and when Lucio had taken him to America, his meals weren’t any surer. He got by on whatever he could scavenge. It wasn’t until he cooked for himself that he’d learned how food should taste.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered.
He coughed and released her, walking back to the ingredients he’d picked out. “I’d better start cooking.” It was always a little iffy using flash-frozen ingredients, but there was no other way when at the safe house.
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed but didn’t say anything else. Frankie watched in silence as he cooked, head in her hand. In only his t-shirt, her eyes were wide and a waterfall of curls fell down her arm, a small smile lifting her cheek. She looked at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world when he poured the wine into the pan. He’d never had anyone watch him like that, with total, unabashed affection. It made him uncomfortable, but he never wanted her to stop, and Anteros had to fight the urge to stop cooking and take her on the kitchen island.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you thinking?” His voice was rougher than he’d expected. Through the smoke and heat of cooking, her face was blurry. The aroma of the wine reduction wafted into the air, muggy and delicious.
She sat up straight, face red, and put her hair behind her ear. “I, um…” She pointed to the wine. “Can I have a glass?” That wasn’t what she’d been thinking, but she hadn’t pressed him and he wasn’t going to give her a reason to.
“This is cooking wine,” he explained, turning to the cabinet. Below he had a small wine cellar, but there was at least one bottle of good cabernet in the kitchen. “This is for drinking,” he said, pulling out the bottle. Placing the lid on the pan and the meat on simmer, Anteros poured a glass and brought it to her.
“I wouldn’t know the difference,” she said.
A small smile broke his lips. “You will. I’ll teach you.” Frankie put the glass to her lips, ready to drink it quickly, when he covered her hands. “It would be such a waste to drink it without savoring the flavor. Take a minute, let it come to you.” He spun her around, pushing her against the counter until her back arched. Her eyes grew wide when he bent down and spread her legs.
Fuck.
She was fucking perfect. Wet. Open. He would always be stunned by her. There wasn’t a better position to be in than between her thighs. His hands roamed up and down her still bare legs, gripping the flesh. When he bit inside her thigh she gasped, but she still hadn’t taken a drink. Her hand shook, red liquid wobbling in the glass.
“Taste how ripe it is on your tongue,” he said, taking a long lick from the inside of her knee to the crease of her groin. She tasted so goddamn amazing. Skin, sweat—uniquely and tauntingly Frankie. With a low sound in his throat, he pulled her outer lips into his mouth one at a time, sucking deeply. In his periphery, he could see her free hand clench the granite.
“Note how bold the flavor is when it first hits you,” he said, voice hoarse. “How when it finally slides down your throat, the sensation is intense.” He pushed her thighs wider and slid his tongue along the inside of her wet cunt. The hissing food and her sharp inhale was an intoxicating melody.
He devoured her, lost himself in her flavor. She was so fucking good. Frankie watched him with half-mast eyes, bottom lip tugged so tight between her teeth it was practically bloody. Wine half drunk, lips wet with juice, she was hypnotic.
“It’s sweet,” he growled, going back in. “Creamy, stunningly…” A groan stuttered his words when she arched up to meet his tongue. “Stunningly eager.” He stroked down her folds until he reached her entrance, dipping deep inside her, tasting her from the source. At the same time, a droplet of wine fell on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw the glass at her lips shaking.
Frankie was on the edge, Anteros just had to tip her over. Letting go of one thigh, he replaced his tongue with a finger and thrust deep inside. At the same time, he pulled her clit between his lips and sucked. Almost instantly she pulsed, thigh shaking and vibrating underneath his palm as his name left her lips on a prayer.
When the final throb had settled, Anteros licked her clean. He drew his tongue along the inside of her thighs, sucking Frankie’s taste off her skin. Then he went back to her pussy and flattened his tongue on the folds, soaking up the flavor. She trembled and he looked up, catching her hooded stare. He tightened his grip on her thighs, about to go for round two, when the timer went off.
Anteros stood to his feet. Frankie’s chest echoed her orgasm in heavy, shaky breaths. The glass was empty, only a few beads of red on her lips. He stepped between her legs, pressing deep into her, needing her to feel him, needing to feel her. Eyes locked, he placed two fingers to her core. Her mouth parted, a small sound escaped, but she didn’t break their stare. He kept his touch between her thighs longer than necessary, loving how she trembled and the way her eyes betrayed her need. Then slowly, he pulled his fingers away and painted the taste of her on her lips. He dipped his head down, devouring her and the wine off them.
“Wow,” she gasped when he was done. “I really like wine.” He laughed, gave her one more furious kiss, then adjusted her shirt and walked back to the meat. He could still feel her wet in his beard, just another fucking perk to having the thing.
“I’m…” Her voice was breathless in the way he loved, and he looked up, cheek quirking when he found her flushed. “I’m kind of a lightweight. I never really drank before—obviously.” She raised the drink for emphasis. “That night I was drunk with you was the first time ever.”
Anteros paused with the herb he was about to throw in, the night she was talking about coming back to him in a rush. He wasn’t very proud of how he’d acted that night. Quickly he threw the mint into the pan and continued cooking.
“There were a lot of firsts with me.” He said it as a statement, though he wanted to know the response.
“Yes,” she said.
“There will be a lot more.” His eyes were still down, focusing on the bubbles in the simmer.
“Yes.” He looked up. Frankie was staring intently at him. Two breaths passed, and then he went back to cooking. They said nothing else as he finished, but it wasn’t a cramped silence. It was easy and comfortable.
“Are you warm enough?” Anteros asked, setting dinner in front of her.
“Will you tell me about yourself?” she responded. Slowly he sat beside her, a crease forming between his brows.
“Please,” she continued, not touching her dinner. “I want to know what no one else knows.”
After a moment, he said, “I’ll give you three questions, on one condition.”