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He peels off the lid from the saag before tearing off a bit of bread, scooping up some spinach and lamb, and then holding it to my lips.
“Do I need to make choo-choo train sounds?” he asks when I continue to sit there.
“Fuck you,” I snap. But I let my lips hang open, and he carefully slides the bite past my teeth and onto my tongue.
I close my mouth around his fingers and suck, and he lets out a soft groan before pulling them away.
The saag is good. The salt off his fingers is better. I close my eyes as I chew, and I notice that under the scent of the food is the scent of him. It’s his bodywash—kind of woodsy and musky and familiar. I would always catch a whiff of it every time he walked by my office after his long showers.
It takes everything in me not to drag him into my lap right now. Instead, I give him a pointed look, and he smiles and repeats himself. This time, though, he doesn’t pull his fingers back right away, and I lick around them.
His pupils go wide, and he sits back when I start to chew.
“Good?” he rasps.
I nod and swallow. “I haven’t had this in a while. Thank you.”
His cheeks go faintly pink, and he nods before pulling the top off the chicken. “Want me to feed this to you too?”
Yeah, I do. I want to make a big fucking show of this before I yank him onto my lap and make him ride me into oblivion, but work isn’t the place for that. We took one risk already, and I’m not sure I can do it again.
If I get fired, I’d be fucked. And I don’t think Camilo will be able to save me from something like that, even if he wanted to.
#emlindsey #mmromance @theauthor.agency
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