Kendall Ryan - Craving Him

When I climbed in beside him Ben rolled toward me and covered my body in a hug. “Mmm, morning, baby. . . .” he mumbled, his lips brushing my collarbone.

“Morning.” I curled into him, tangling my legs with his.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. A little queasy,” I admitted.

“I can make you some toast if you like.”

“That’s all right. I should probably get home.” Nothing like overstaying your welcome. He was used to having his own space, peace, and quiet, I was sure.

His arms tightened around me. “You’re not going anywhere today.”

I laughed softly. “Oh, really?”

“You’re mine today. Know that.”

I smiled at his conviction. I loved knowing I was his. Hopefully I didn’t do anything too awkward when I was drunk last night. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course, baby. You were kind of cute.”

My brows squeezed together, struggling to remember what I might have done or said. “Did I, um, say anything embarrassing last night?”

His body stiffened over the top of mine. “Don’t worry about that. You were drunk.” He climbed from the bed, tossing a T-shirt over his head and leaving me to wonder what I’d possibly said that had him acting standoffish.

Shit .

“Ben?”

He looked down at the plush carpeting. “You, ah, mentioned something about us having pretty babies.”

“Oh.” Well, that was dumb. Sheesh, why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? Alcohol was like truth serum for me. Things I didn’t mean to say just spewed out, apparently. “I’m sorry about that,” I apologized weakly.

He shook his head. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t lost on me that he didn’t address my baby comment. He’d all but fled the room. Dammit.

I ventured into the bathroom, combed my hair, and secured it in a braid over my shoulder. I knew I was stalling but I just needed a minute before facing him. We hadn’t even been dating long, and now I was talking about having a baby with him. Lord, help me. I wouldn’t blame him if he went running for the hills. Several moments later I joined him in the kitchen.

He had brewed coffee and was rummaging through his nearly empty fridge. “That mug’s for you, babe. I’m trying to see what I can make you.”

I wrapped my hands around the warm coffee cup and peeked around Ben’s shoulder. The fridge contained an odd collection of condiments and expensive bottled water.

“Looks like I’ll have to go out hunting and gathering to feed my woman.” Ben smiled warmly, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “Anything in particular sound good?”

I shook my head. Tolerating any food with my shaky stomach would be a miracle.

“I’ve got just the thing: Benji’s House of Noodles. Hangover-cure food. Trust me. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“That’s sweet of you to offer, but maybe I should just head home. I won’t make very good company today. I’m hung over, PMSing . . .” I paused. Oops . Hadn’t really meant to say that part out loud.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Hush. I’m taking care of you today. It won’t take me long to grab the food.”

His palate was surely more adventurous than mine. He was well traveled, and had lived in New York City for many years, one of the most culturally diverse places in the world. I didn’t think my queasy stomach could handle curry or anything too spicy or adventurous right now. But I merely nodded. I trusted him. I just didn’t trust my stomach.

“Go relax.” He gave me a gentle pat on the butt. “Advil’s in the bathroom cabinet. I’ll be back soon.”

I crawled into bed when Ben left, and though I hadn’t expected to fall asleep, the sound of the front door closing woke me a little while later.

I ventured into the kitchen and found Ben unpacking cartons of food on the butcher-block island in the kitchen. Fragrant aromas of garlic and sautéed chicken and vegetables greeted me. It smelled terrific and my stomach grumbled at the thought of something warm to fill it.

Ben gathered bowls from the cabinet and dumped the contents of the containers inside. “You’ll love this place. It’s a favorite of mine when I’m in New York. Just don’t tell Fiona.” His gaze flicked to mine, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe he’d just spoken her name.

I involuntarily flinched, but quickly recovered, shrugging it off. “My lips are sealed.” I smiled.

Ben’s easy smile returned as he recovered from his faux pas of mentioning she who must not be named.

The sight of the thin noodles tossed in light sauce with chicken and julienned vegetables made my mouth water. It wasn’t a conventional breakfast but considering it was already noon, it was perfect.

Ben poured us each a glass of ice water from a filtered pitcher in the fridge and we took our bowls of noodles into the living room. Settling on the couch, I took a big bite. Ben watched me, waiting for my reaction.

“Awesome, isn’t it?”

“Oh my God,” I moaned through the mouthful of noodles. “Don’t talk to me.” I held up a hand, chewing slowly to savor the flavors. “Good Lord, that’s good,” I confirmed, digging in for another bite.

Ben chuckled and took a bite of his own. “Told you. I swear they put crack in their food. It’s fucking addictive.”

I nodded, happily stuffing another bite of the delicious noodles into my mouth. Once my entire bowl was gone, I stopped myself from actually licking the sauce from the bottom of the dish and instead let Ben put it in the dishwasher. Lounging back against the sofa, I rubbed my full belly. Gosh, this thing could almost rival Fiona’s right now. My little food bump.

I decided to text Ellie to let her know I was staying at Ben’s.

Me: Bad PMS. And a hangover. He’s pampering me so gonna stay here. : )

Ellie: Lucky girl. Guys I’ve dated usually want anal sex when I’m on my period. He’s a keeper! Lol.

I chuckled and stuffed my phone back into my purse. Lord, that girl cracked me up.

“Everything okay?” Ben asked, an amused expression on his face.

I realized I’d just been caught laughing to myself. “Fine.” I didn’t want to tell him about Ellie’s anal comment. No sense giving him ideas. But she was right, he was a keeper.

Emmy

Dating in New York was fun, exotic, and exhausting. We’d been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, dined at authentic ethnic restaurants in Chinatown and Little Italy, visited Broadway and the American Ballet Theatre, and spent an entire chilly Saturday at the Central Park Zoo, where Ben had been once before as a child and which of course I’d never seen.

We shared cocktails at cozy bars, and Ben taught me the fine art of slurping freshly shucked oysters at a quaint riverside seafood bar. He knew New York City and he’d taken dating and going slow to the next level. I’d never been so thoroughly wined and dined. And yet so sexually frustrated.

I was ready to take things to the next level but each night after our dates he’d either drop me off at home with Ellie or tuck me into his bed with a sweet kiss on the nights I stayed there. Nothing more.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I’d planned our date for that Saturday night. After consulting Ellie on what type of date might get Ben’s blood flowing in the right direction, and declining her idea of visiting a strip club together, I settled on taking him for dessert. Chocolate fondue, specifically.

I’d planned this romantic date and tonight was supposed to be all about me and him, but after spending my entire Saturday searching online and applying for jobs, I was frustrated and tired. I felt down about myself. For all the work I’d put in so far, I’d gotten only two calls on my résumé. And neither looked promising.