This was the life. When he finished swimming, he’d alternated between reading an autobiography on George Weston and gazing up at the clear blue sky. He was lying on a comfortable sun lounger, rubbing his hand up and down his warm chest, with only a towel draped over his pelvis and a dark pair of aviator sunglasses protecting his eyes. Boy, if his father could see him now. He bet the old bastard could no longer say he’d never been jealous. Wick didn’t care about envy. While completely elated over experiencing the daylight, Wick still adored the night… except this… this was just so new. And wonderful! New and wonderful didn’t come along for him often. He checked his cell phone again. Bloody great. It was almost four and daylight was dwindling. Justice was still deep in sleep and Wick didn’t want to disturb him.

Since he didn’t feed much when they made love this afternoon, he was feeling his hunger again, which would definitely wake Justice. Wick sat up quickly, an impulsive idea forming in his head. He threw his towel off and hurried inside, making a hard beeline for the kitchen. Hell, if Henry can master cooking in twenty-four hours, then I can probably do it in two. I’ll make my mate a late lunch. He couldn’t wait for Justice to look at him so appreciatively when he was the one to place a huge plate of food in front of him. Wick gave himself a pep talk while he scrolled through his phone for a chicken recipe, since that’s all Henry had defrosted in the refrigerator.

He found what he thought was a simple enough one – a grilled chicken sandwich. He read through the instructions once right before his phone died. Instead of going upstairs and getting the charger, he figured he had it.

Wick took out what he felt was the right pan and dropped the meat into it like dead weight. Disgusting. He grimaced. It stinks, too. How can he eat this? Well, he probably wonders why I almost come from drinking his blood.

Wick sat there staring at the pan, waiting. Then he remembered: seasoning. Did he remember exactly how much...? Not so much. Wick raised his brow and shrugged. It probably didn’t really matter. He looked around in a few cabinets and found where Henry put his spices. It looked like he was enjoying his trips to the grocery stores now. The man had somehow filled up the owner’s cupboards, pantry, and fridge within a week.

It took Wick a moment to get the range on, but when he did, he quickly had the house smelling liked cooked meat. He tried to remember each instruction and just remembered to flip it over and cook it on both sides. It took him a few tries to turn the slippery meat with the flat-looking utensil he’d seen Henry use on the vegetables. It was annoying and time-consuming. Wick sucked his teeth impatiently and turned the temperature all the way up to high. The meat really began to sizzle and pop, the pungent aroma permeating the entire downstairs. Before he knew it, the meat was done… well done. Wick began to nod because he remembered reading chicken had to be thoroughly cooked. He didn’t want to make his Beloved sick. Justice was going to be so surprised to see his mate in the kitchen being all domestic.

He took out the lettuce and cut a few uneven hunks off, stacking them on a thick piece of bread and the chicken on the other. The texture made his fingers itch, and the smell of the tomatoes almost made him  gag. However, when Justice bounded into the room and yanked Wick up in his arms, he dropped the knife he was just about to cut the sandwich with and let his mate spin him around.

“What are you doing, crazy! Put me down,” Wick hollered.

Justice kissed all over the back of Wick’s neck, rubbing his three-day old beard along his sensitive skin. “What am I doing? What in the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m making my mate some food. I took a lot out of him today.” Wick gave him a firm look. “Henry isn’t the only one that can satisfy your robust appetite.”

“Mmm. That sounds sexy and slightly jealous… my Lord.” Justice moaned the last words, pushing his hardness against Wick’s ass.

He saw Justice survey the sandwich with a perplexed and slightly skeptical look.

“What’s wrong? It doesn’t look right? I followed the recipe.”

Justice’s expression softened and a warm smile caressed his handsome face. “It looks perfect. I’ve been meaning to try blackened chicken.”

“Marvelous.” Wick clapped once. “Go, sit. I’ll bring you your plate and water.”

Justice sat at the high-top, watching Wick like a man in love.

He set the plate down and took up his usual seat so he could watch with satisfaction. After the first huge bite, Justice chewed slowly like he was savoring all the flavors. Wick was used to that. It was his favorite part. He loved how vocal Justice was about food and his appreciation of it when it was prepared well. Wick sat patiently waiting for his compliments. When none came after the second bite, Wick began to wonder.

Justice looked up at him and winked, his mouth sealed tight as he worked the food down. Ah, Wick understood now. It was so good and his mate was so surprised, he was speechless. Justice would probably always want him to prepare his meals now. No way.

Wick crossed his arms charmingly. “I see you winking and smiling, love. Well don’t get used to it. I know you American men and your archaic ways. Don’t think because I prepared one successful meal that you’re turning me into a chamber-maid and having me slaving in the kitchen, butt-naked with an apron that says My Buns Taste Better, while you handle the business. Whereas for me, you only call when you want me to satisfy your raunchy needs or get fed. I bloody refuse.”

 

 

Justice almost spit out his water from laughter. “I’m sorry… did you say my raunchy needs? What the hell were you reading out there by the pool…The Joy Luck Club?”

“The what club?”

“Never mind.” Justice hurried and swallowed another small bite without chewing. “And, no worries on keeping you in the kitchen, Wick. I promise, you’re safe.”

“You’re not eating as fast as you usually do, is—?”

“Hey, you said you wanted to stay up the rest of the day, remember. And everyone you communicate with is asleep… looks like we have an evening free. How about we do what most Americans do when they have free time.”

Wick looked to think for a bit then said, “Write in their journals.”

Justice scoffed when he realized Wick was serious. “Um, no, King Bentley. I was referring to watching some television.”

“An idiot-box?”

“Can you possibly say idiot any snootier than that?” Justice shook his head in amusement. “You don’t watch TV, ever?”

“I have no need.”

“Well, none of us have a need for it… it’s… entertainment.” Justice hoped he was rambling enough to keep Wick’s mind off the food he was trying so hard to finish. It’d been ten minutes already, when it generally only took Justice thirty seconds to finish a sandwich – or three bites.

“Why are you shielding me? I can feel you blocking me in there somewhere.” Wick squinted at him. “What are you not telling me, Justice Volkov?”

“Baby, don’t be so suspicious. You got too much sun exposure today. We’re going to have to monitor you with this day walking.” Justice rubbed Wick’s shoulder then took another bite of the burnt sandwich. “Now, how about that movie? It’ll be an experience. I’ll introduce you to lazy date-night… Netflix… it’s the American way.”

“You’re patronizing me and you’re rambling.” Wick stared into Justice’s eyes for so long, his skin began to tingle. His mate was actually pushing past his barrier. “Let me in and show me what you’re hiding,” he singsonged.

Oh hell. Justice barely held in his grunt when he pushed Wick further back. His mate scoffed and bored in even deeper, his obsidian eyes blinking to an arctic blue right before him. This was the first time they’d butted their energies together. It was a fascinating contest.

Justice stared back at Wick’s beast. Alpha to Alpha. He couldn’t break eye contact, it wasn’t in him, but he didn’t want to tell Wick the truth and hurt his feelings, either. His mate believed he’d completed a successful meal. However, Justice’s tongue didn’t feel like the surface of the sun after successful meals.

Justice’s chest rumbled and a grunt finally escaped when Wick leaned forward, hissing slightly under his breath, his eyes penetrating him. Seeing clear through him to the pits of his being where only the scary things were… that was where Wick found his sandwich.

Wick reared back and gasped, his mouth falling open in half shock, half laugh. “You hate the bloody sandwich!”

Justice wiped his napkin over his mouth to conceal his smile. He huffed and dropped his shields. “I can’t hide it anymore. I do, babe. It’s um… um. Don’t be upset, you tried and I love you so much… but this meat is way too salty. Not to mention, it’s as spicy as the devil’s cock. I like minimal spices. Keeps the integrity of the meat.”

Wick crossed his arms over his chest, his glower falling short of scary when it came to him. “I should jump on top of you and bite you for trying to hide from me.”

Justice eagerly raised his head, until Wick finished his rant.

“… and it wouldn’t be a feel-good bite. I can’t believe you’re sitting here wolfing it down, dying a slow death. Silly.” Wick took the plate with the three-quarters eaten sandwich and threw the entire thing in the trash, silverware, too.

Justice pointed to the bin. “Those dishes aren’t paper, baby.”

Wick looked so confused Justice couldn’t even pull himself together enough to explain.