“And why do you have an extra toothbrush at all? Do I even want to know how many women you’ve brought here?” I interrogate him as I find the toothbrush and pull it from the box.
He lets out a deep chuckle, clearly amused.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
“What’s funny,” he says, shaking his head, “is that you even think I could bring anyone else but you into my home. That’s what’s funny.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?” I arch a brow at my reflection in the mirror, watching his through it.
“You believe it because you know I’m telling you the truth.”
“Oh, is that what we’re doing now? Being truthful to one another?”
“Yes.”
That’s all he has to say. Just one simple word. Enough for me to want to shut down the entire conversation, before he demands to know every last dirty little secret of mine. Not wanting to give him an opening, I brush my teeth, wash my face, and turn the faucet off.
I move toward his bedroom to get dressed, only for him to step right into my path, blocking me with that huge, immovable body of his.
“Yes?” I ask, unimpressed.
“I don’t remember getting a good morning kiss from you.”
“That’s because I haven’t given you one.”
“All the more reason for me to remedy that.”
And before I can shove him away, Kirill’s mouth is on mine.
My mind loses all perspective, all logic, all restraint whenever he kisses me. It’s like he touches something buried deep inside me, something that only wakes up when he’s close.
When he’s made sure that I’m good and breathless, he finally pulls away, running a slow finger over my swollen bottom lip.
“There. Much better.”
I don’t have it in me to curse him out or come up with a witty retort. Not when he’s looking at me like that—like he’s staring straight into my soul with so much love and adoration that saying anything now would shatter the moment.
And right now, I don’t want anything ruining the few minutes I have left with him.
“I fixed you some breakfast while you were in the shower,” he says. “Go eat before you get dressed. I’ll be there soon.”
Then, with a sharp slap to my ass, he slides his boxers down, kicks them away, and steps into the shower.
I stand there like an idiot, watching in utter fascination as he lathers his hands and drags them over his body—slow, deliberate, indecent. I only manage to look away when his hand wraps around the base of his shaft… because if I don’t, I’ll end up joining him for a round in the shower.
I force myself to walk away and head toward the kitchen. There, waiting on the counter, is a plate of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a bowl of chopped fresh fruit.
It’s the fruit that gives him away.
If he has a fully stocked kitchen, that means he must spend more of his free time here than he does in the city.
That’s the thought currently running through my head when Kirill walks into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, his hair still wet from his shower.
“I thought you told me you had a place in the city,” I muse, biting into a strip of bacon.
“You thought correctly.” He winks before pressing a kiss to my temple and then pouring coffee into his mug and then into mine. “If there’s a question in there, just ask,milaya. I’m an open book to you now.”
“This house feels… lived in,” I say, gesturing around. “I’m just curious why you’d make such a long commute every day. Isn’t your apartment closer to the club?”
