Throttle Me

Chapter 23

Mouth-Watering Goodness

Suzy

I settled in my bed, thankful to be home, and watched City as he undressed. I'd never been with a man that I couldn't stop staring at. I wanted the image etched in my brain. His muscular build flexed as he took off his pants. The tattoos on his torso and arms moved, and I was mesmerized as if watching a movie. I ached to tug on the bar that hung from his nipple, salivated to taste his flesh, and shivered at the thought of him inside me.

He kicked his pants in the air and caught them. "Don't look at me like that, sugar." His shaft bobbed, catching my attention; my mouth suddenly felt dry.

I blinked and looked at his face. "Like what? I was just thinking about how skilled you are at catching your pants." I giggled.

"You just looked at my dick in a way that makes me want to jam it down your throat." He grinned at me, and even though my face hurt, I wanted nothing more than for him to do that to me. "Not today, sugar."

"Tomorrow?" I raised my eyebrows, hoping that I could entice him, or at least get a promise of something before the weekend ended.

"We'll see. I decide when and how. What can I get you?"

"Your cock." I knew when I said dirty words that he couldn't resist me. If he continued to deny me, I sure as hell wouldn't make it easy on him.

He rubbed his face and muttered something I couldn't quite make out. "Want something to drink or eat?"

He stood there, buck-naked and mouth-wateringly delicious, and waited for my answer. How could I think of water when his beautiful body was on full display? I shook my head and patted the mattress with a crooked smile.

"Tomorrow, sugar."

A pout hung on my lips, but inside I was happy to at least get a concession. "Good enough. I don't have anything in the fridge, City. I didn't think I'd be here much this weekend." Admitting to an Italian man that you lacked even the staples in your pantry wasn't easy.

"My mother wants to drop off food later. Are you okay with that?"

"Really?" My mother had never brought me food, even when I had the flu. I always fended for myself, even if it meant crawling to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. His mother, a woman I'd never met, would bring me food, and I had a twinge of jealousy. What would it have been like to grow up in a house like his?

"I can call her anytime and she'll drop something off. You just say the word."

"Word, word, word! Does your mom use Ragu like mine?" My mother never cooked from scratch. As a child I thought Chef Boyardee was the bee's knees, until I grew up and realized it was closer to vomit in a can.

City laughed, and his smile made my chest ache. "Don't even mention the word Ragu to her. She'll have a mental breakdown."

"Good to know," I said. "Remind me to never cook for her, okay?"

City grabbed his phone as he crawled in bed. "Hey, Ma. Suzy's going to rest for a bit, but we'd love for you to drop by with some food." I could hear her talking on the phone, and it reminded me of Charlie Brown's teacher. I couldn't make out the words, but I heard a garbled voice as I put my head on his chest. I played with the piercing, which earned me a stern look. "I'll text you her address. Thanks, Ma."

He put the phone down and stared at me, but I just smiled. "What?" I asked innocently.

"You must've hit your head harder than I thought."