Her shoulders hunch as if she’s failed something monumental. “Whatever. You do it.”
“Let’s do it together.”
“How—”
I wrap my arms around her from behind and she goes still, the word she was about to say remaining stuck in the air between us.
A full-body shudder goes through her and I can’t help inhaling deeply, breathing in her orange blossom perfume mixed with her delicate natural scent.
Everything about her is delicate. Whether it’s her tiny features, her small frame, or her pale skin that can be bruised with a single press of my thumb against it.
For some reason, her softness always drags out the primal part of me, the part that needs to claim her every second of the day, then repeat it all over again.
The part that can’t get enough, no matter how many times I’ve f*cked her, touched her, and made her scream my name.
Despite loving the feel of her writhing body beneath me and how she demands the roughness I give, I’m starting to think it’s not only due to the need to f*ck her. Or else I wouldn’t have shown up here every single day for the past week.
I knew I shouldn’t have stayed when she asked me to. I shouldn’t have given in to the temptation of her gentle voice and her inviting warmth, but I did.
And now, I can’t force myself to leave.
I can’t bring myself to spend a single night without her wrapped around me as if I’m a lifeline. In a way, I’m thankful for her small sofa that only allows us to sleep when we’re glued together or she’s lying partially on top of me.
Now, I feel it again. The way she relaxes against me as if her little body belongs in the crook of mine. My jaw clenches as my dick begins tenting against my trousers, but I refuse to let him take rein this time. I refuse to bend her over the kitchen counter and take her rough and hard.
At least, not at this moment.
For some reason, I want to keep feeling her like this, in the silence, with her body so attuned to mine that we breathe in sync.
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me chop potatoes?” she whispers when I grab each of her hands in mine but don’t do anything.
“One moment,” I murmur against her hair, rubbing my nose in it. “I haven’t gotten my fill of your smell.”
She squirms, a tremor going through her hand. “I can feel it, you know.”
“It?” I ask with a note of amusem*nt.
“Your…thing.”
“It’s called a co*ck, not a thing, Anastasia.”
“Yeah, well, it’s poking my ass.”
“That’s because my co*ck is demanding access.”
Her face turns a deep shade of red. “Pervert.”
“Me or my co*ck?”
“Both!”
“Then you’re stuck with two perverts, beautiful. Aren’t you the lucky one?”
She wiggles again and that only serves to aggravate the state of my unsatisfied erection.
“You might want to stop that unless you’re planning on being my dinner.”
I feel the hitching of her breath against my chest as she goes still, then murmurs, “What about me? I don’t get dinner?”
“You can choke on my co*ck if you want.”
“Stop it.” She laughs, elbowing me. “I want real food.”
Her hit isn’t strong, but I stagger back due to the force of something entirely different—her laughter.
It’s such a rare occurrence to hear the musical sound of her laughter. Her eyes close slightly and her head tips back a little as if she can’t contain it.
I’m trapped in it, in how f*cking carefree she looks. Ever since I first met her, she’s been a bit reserved, careful, and always counting her steps. But over the past week, she’s been slowly but surely getting more comfortable around me.
The fact that I’m the only one who brings out this side of her fills me with a raw sense of possessiveness and a deep feeling of pride.
I’m the only one she laughs around.
Only me.
“Come on. We need to make something before the movie starts.” She nudges me when I remain frozen, completely and utterly f*cking smitten with a view that meant sh*t to me in the past.
“You mean, I need to make something since you’re hopeless at it,” I joke to camouflage my inexplicable reaction to her. “And I’m not watching another Harry Potter film tonight.”
“Why not? They’re fun!”
“They’re unrealistic.”
“It’s fantasy, so that’s the whole point.”
“Still not my thing.”
“You’re weird.” She rolls her eyes. “Next, you’ll tell me you didn’t read the books.”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh my God, who are you and where have you been living?”
“In England, where those books were set and I’m still not interested.”
“How about Lord of the Rings? The Hobbit?”
“No and no.”
She gasps inaudibly, her mouth closing, then opening a few times. “How is that even possible? Wait. Are you from another planet?”
“Nope, earthling through and through.”
“This won’t do.” She shakes her head with pity written all over her face. “I’m going to have to fill in the gaps you’re missing. We’ll start with the books and then the movies.”
