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With as much self-restraint as I could muster, I let her eat the rest of her meal in peace and when she was finished, I slid another pancake on her plate.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she exclaimed.

“One more. For me,” I encouraged, and she smiled tentatively before taking another bite. She ate the whole thing without further complaint, which only confirmed that she was as hungry as I had suspected she might be. She’d worked up an appetite last night; I knew I certainly had.

“That was the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. Is it a recipe from your home?” she finally asked. Dabbing her lips with a napkin, she smiled up at me. Her wariness had mostly dissipated, but I wasn’t going to push anything just yet.

“My mother’s recipe. It was passed down from my grandmother, and her mother before that. I don’t really know whence it originated, but it’s been in the family for ages,” I explained.

“I came across an old recipe book once. I always wanted to try to make something from it,” she said.

“Do you still have it?”

“It’s in the museum archives at the moment. I feature it in rotating exhibits on occasion. Not many of the recipes are legible. It was partially burned in a fire at the New York Public Library,” she explained. Suddenly, it was as if she was in a faraway place, her expression wistful.

“If we get a chance to visit my home, I’ll show you my recipe book. I have to warn you, it’s pretty messy with notes and scribbles everywhere. It’s practically a family heirloom at this point.”

“I’d like that,” she smiled.

I got up to clear the plates off the table after she’d finished.

She protested and I shook my head. Her chin lifted in defiance as she took hers from my hands, carrying it to the sink and washing it without a word.

I almost chuckled when I saw her glance back over her shoulder, almost as if she was waiting to see what I would do.

I didn’t do anything. Not yet.

Sure, I wanted to, but I didn’t want to scare her off.

She’d grown up in an entirely different world than I had, one that was solely focused on work and productivity rather than the simple joy of living lives in community with others.

I knew enough about New Englandia to know that everything I’d brought into her life so far was new to her.

She wasn’t used to a man like me, one that wanted to care for the woman by his side while also giving her everything she needed in the bedroom, red bottom and all.

Fuck, I’d been the first man to ever kiss her, so I was most certainly the first to make her come. From the startled look on her face last night, that was probably her first orgasm ever in her life. I needed to be careful with her. I didn’t want to hurt her or scare her away.

She deserved to be cherished.

I waited until she was finished washing the dishes before I leaned against the counter and lifted my arm, beckoning her to come to me. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

She bit her lip nervously, drying off her hands for several moments too long before she eventually braved the journey over to me. The closer she got, the more I had to resist the urge to gather her up in my arms and take her right there on the kitchen counter.

It was difficult, but I managed.

When she reached me across the vast distance of her kitchen, she took my hand and I gently pulled her in close to me, gazing into her eyes.

I couldn’t get enough of her. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.

Slowly, I traced the line of her jaw, lifting her chin slightly before I captured her lips in a soulful kiss.

This time, she tasted like berries and powdered sugar.

At first, her return kiss was tentative, but her uncertainty soon dissipated as I wrapped my arms around her, running my hands up and down her back.

Her fingers grazed hesitantly against my shoulder.

It took a moment, but she eventually wound her arms around my neck and worked her fingers into my hair as she kissed me back with just as much feeling as I did her.

When I pulled back, I saw the same starry-eyed bliss in her gaze as I saw last night.

“Are you always this forward with the women in your life?” she asked. Immediately, she bit her lip, looking chagrined, as if she regretted asking, but I welcomed the opportunity anyway.

“No. Only you,” I replied.

She buried her face in my chest, but not before I saw the distinct curl of a smile on her lips.

She liked that.

I did too.

The next few days passed by in a whirlwind.

Naomi spent much of her time in her office, prepping her team for her absence.

I explored the capital city, trying to understand the world she came from.

From what I could gather, homes were bare and utilitarian, simply a place to sleep after work.

I hacked into one of her home tablets in her absence and scrolled through her work calendar.

It looked like she hadn’t taken a day off in ages.

My palm twitched. If she were mine, she wouldn’t be sitting down comfortably tonight as punishment for not taking proper care of herself.

But she wasn’t mine. Not yet.

To distract myself I cooked a full meal from back home and packaged up the leftovers for Naomi to reheat if she ever left her office.

The food here wasn’t anything to get excited about.

Simply put, it was boring. Sure, it was nutritionally sound, each meal fortified with vitamins and minerals that had been shown in one scientific study after another to extend human life, but it lacked the rich flavor that came from the combination of imagination and cooking a family meal with people you love.

I yearned to show her that there was more to life than work.

I understood the political stance of New Englandia, but that didn’t mean I liked it. Here, it seemed the people were simply surviving and not really living their lives with joy and enthusiasm. With a sigh, I glanced at the clock.

Naomi was working hard. In the few days I’d been here, she’d come home after ten o’clock each night, weary from her day. It was already seven and the two of us were scheduled to meet her security team in the morning, right before we boarded a plane to take us to our destination in the southwest.

I pulled my comm out of my pocket and dialed Naomi. It beeped a few times as it initiated a connection.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Naomi,” I said first.

“Ryker,” she answered warmly.

“You will come home at a reasonable hour tonight, Naomi,” I said firmly, and I heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“But I… there’s so much to do,” she answered quickly.

“There are plenty of capable people that work with you at the museum. Everything will be alright when you’re gone,” I reassured her.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. I could practically feel her pouting, which only made my cock that much harder.

“You will finish your current task and then you will make your way home like a good girl. Do you understand me?”

She was quiet for a long moment.

“If you are not here within an hour, I will come get you myself,” I put a stern note of warning into my voice. I didn’t need to tell her what would happen if she disobeyed me. I hoped that she wouldn’t. I didn’t want to have to punish her the night before we left.

I was leaving the choice up to her.

“Yes, sir,” she finally breathed.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you very soon.”

“Me too,” she answered, and I could have sworn her tone of voice had somehow turned lighter. Much to my surprise, she walked through her front door about forty-five minutes later. There was the slightest hint of a blush staining her cheeks.

“There’s my good girl,” I exclaimed.

Her cheeks only burned brighter, along with her sweet smile.