The Closer (18+) ✓

| 12.3 | power play

❝Facetime when I'm gone
She gives me dome from a distance
And she loves to climb on top
Because she loves to walk off limping.❞

Chapter Twelve:
Power Play
(cont'd)

When I received a text from Tris saying that there was no need to buy dinner, it wasn't cause for concern but the scent of spices and the sound of sizzling from a saucepan as I walked toward my door was definitely a shock. I rarely allowed Tris to cook in my kitchen. When she demanded to know why I felt so protective of the space, I couldn't give her an answer because I honestly didn't know myself. I just knew that it was my zone. This time, I didn't feel annoyance creep up my spine at the thought of her dicing and sautéing away. Rather, I smiled as I fit my key in through the hole and slid into my apartment, quietly shutting the door behind me.

There was fast-paced music playing from the direction of the open kitchen and the singing along to the salsa beats was unmistakable. I slowly made my way through the hall and entered through the side, leaning against the arch of the door and smirked at the sight in front of me. And God, what a sight she was.

Tris stood there, her back to me as she swayed her hips to the beat while stirring the contents of the saucepan with a wooden spatula. Her long black hair was held up in a messy bun with a couple stray strands curling around the nape of her neck. In a white, skin-fitting tank and mini floral skirt, Tris looked undeniably delectable. She flicked her head back to a particular beat of the song, shaking her cute little butt in a deliciously tantalizing circle and I couldn't suppress the chuckle that erupted from my lips.

Tris' joints locked in temporary paralysis and she turned like a robot to look at me, eyes wide in surprise.

"What- Hans?" she whined, stomping her foot down in a huff of anger. She whipped the spatula as if she was wielding a weapon at me, her other hand on her hip as she cocked her head to the left and glared. "How long have you been standing there watching me?"

"Long enough."

Her frown gave out to a small smile but the persistent indent in her eyebrows made her face look like a messed-up emoji, no jokes. With another exaggerated huff, Tris turned back to focus on whatever she was in the midst of concocting on the stove.

"So, what's cooking mamacita?"

"Italian. I'm making spaghetti with classic tomato sauce, and a side of garlic bread." She added a little shyly, "I hope you like it."

I walked over to her and wrapped my arms around her waist, peppering kisses along the side of her face.

"I'm sure I'll love it."

A blush rose up along her neck, spreading to her face. I didn't have to look at her to know she was smiling. Another thing I loved about her; her height. She was tall enough for me to rest my chin on her shoulder which gave me a perfect vantage point to kiss her neck, something that always got her hot. Plus, the friction of her ass was a goddamn tease. I wanted to make it as far as I could tonight without her coming to the conclusion that I was a lust-crazed pervert (as all men are) and so tamed the growing erection beneath my jeans. Or at least, I tried.

"You're a monster," she muttered to herself, feeling my cock swelling against her backside. "Since when does Italian translate to aphrodisiac?"

"Since you started cooking it."

She stopped stirring the sauce when I spread kisses along her neck, tongue swiping out to taste her caramel skin. Tris' mouth was delightful as always as she let out a string of curses but that didn't stop her from tilting her head back further, giving me the perfect position to kiss along her chin and neck. I swirled my tongue around her clavicle, feeling her ground herself unconsciously against my pelvis.