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“Thank you for the drink. But aren’t I supposed to be the one to buy you a drink?” I gather the rest of my courage, trying to find the woman I was five minutes ago before this second-guessing kicked in. “Would you have?” I ask. His gaze pierces right through me. “Every night until you sent me away.”
“Ryder, I’m the one who sent you a drink.” I don’t know if it’s hearing me say his name—in
I’m thinking you were hot before, but picturing you as a chef? Cooking, and then feeding me? I didn’t have a chef kink before, but I definitely do now.
“I’m going to hell for letting you get on your knees when I should be the one worshipping at your feet,” he says gruffly, his hips already making shallow thrusts. One hand slides into my hair to hold it away from my face. “Goddamnit, you didn’t even let me touch you.”
“After you,” he says. And there’s that familiar twinkle in his eye when he adds, “The world is literally your oyster today.”
“Ryder ‘Hot Waiter’?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I hold my phone up. “Is that seriously
didn’t want you to confuse me with the other Ryders.”
Life’s too short to live in a box.
“They do say the most sexually compatible partners are men in their twenties and women in their thirties…”
