Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“I’m not clingy.”
“You definitely are, but it’s fine. I like it.” I dipped my head and kissed her. “You got a key?”
The anger in her eyes slowly processed out of her body once she got what she wanted—me. “Underneath the pot by the front door, with the red geraniums.”
Too obvious. We’d have to rectify that later. “Alright, I’ll see you when you get home.”
“I’m going to swing by the store after work. Need anything?”
“Shaving cream.” I hadn’t shaved in a couple days, and my beard was starting to get thick. I preferred an electric razor, but whatever she used on her legs should be fine. “Now get going,” I said as I tapped her ass. “Before I take you in the back seat.”
She smirked like it was an affectionate joke.
Oh, it was not a joke.
“Goodnight,” she said as she stepped away.
“Night, baby.” I watched her turn around and walk back, and I shamelessly stared at her perky ass in those tight denim jeans. A juicy peach in the heat of summer that I wanted to shove my dick into.
15
FRANCESCA
I didn’t go upstairs after I came home.
I unloaded the groceries and got dinner started, careful not to make too much noise so he wouldn’t wake up before he was ready. I liked knowing he was in the house after I’d been up all night thinking about all the things that could go wrong. It was just a few days ago that he’d been shot in the arm. He never mentioned it or gave any indication he was in agony when he picked me up or put weight on it—like he really was immune to pain.
I made chicken on a bed of fettuccini, making the sauce from scratch and drenching the breadcrumbs in it before melting way too much mozzarella on top. Cooking was a hobby I picked up in the last few years since I was so far away from everything. The dinners my father hosted with the kitchen staff had inspired me.
My father had planned to host a dinner the other night, but after everything that happened with Lombardi, it got pushed back. Now it would be held tomorrow night, which was more fitting since that conflict had been resolved.
“Damn, smells fucking unbelievable.”
I didn’t hear him walk in, so I started to turn around to see him standing there in nothing but his black boxers.
But he pressed his front into my back, his big arms wrapping around me like a cocoon and squeezing me to him. He dipped his head to my shoulder and kissed my neck as he pulled me into him, like he wanted me to feel that steel pole right against my back. “You turn me on when you cook for me.” He moved his hand up my shirt and underneath my bra, squeezing one of my tits. Then he let me go, giving me a hard smack on the ass before he moved to the nearby counter and leaned against it, so fucking hot in his muscles and ink.
He reminded me of a Roman soldier without armor, still a killing machine in just his flesh. It was hard not to stare, especially when I saw him at work. Sometimes I spotted him through my window, and I stood there and watched him for a while…like a creeper.
Maybe I was obsessed with him.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t hear anything, but there’s no better way to wake up than to a woman’s cooking. Well…” That handsome, boyish smile moved on to his lips. “I guess there’s one other thing…”
“Well, it’s ready if you want to set the table.”
“Yes, signorina.” He reached for the plates in the cabinet and grabbed silverware and napkins before he set the table. He picked up a bottle of wine from the counter and poured two glasses of water before he took a seat at the table.
I served the pasta on the plates then used the tongs to pile the chicken on top. I gave myself one piece but him two because he looked like he could eat a lot more than I could. I carried everything to the table and sat across from him.
“Cristo, look at that.” He immediately grabbed his silverware and went to town on his food, cutting the chicken, stabbing it with his fork along with some pasta, and placing it in his big mouth. He ate much faster than I could, inhaling his food like an animal. “You are one hell of a cook, baby.”
“Really? I think you’re a little biased.”
“I mean it. If your food sucked, I’d tell you.”
“You would?” I asked in slight surprise.
“Yep. Don’t ask me questions if you aren’t prepared for the answers.”
“Alright, how am I in bed compared to other women you’ve slept with?”
He’d just taken a bite, and he gave a quick choke as he chewed. After a few moments, he got it down, staring at me with shock and amusement. “Damn, you came right at me, huh?” He cut into his chicken again. “It’s different hooking up with a woman from a bar than it is to pay for sex. Because when you pay for it, it’s all about you, right? And when you pick up a stranger, you try to be more…generous.”