“Most of my cookware’s older than you,” he says, tone flat but edged with a little curl of humor. “I don’t cook much, so it never seemed worth replacing.”
I raise a brow. “That’s tragic. You’ve got the kitchen of a king and the pots of a pauper.”
His mouth quirks. “And what would you suggest?”
“New stuff, obviously.” I trail a finger along the rim of a chipped saucepan. “I love to cook. Give me the right tools, and I’ll make you things you’ll dream about later.”
The way he looks at me makes heat crawl up my neck. “Things I’ll dream about, huh?”
I shrug, trying to play it casual, though my pulse is sprinting. “Some of us show love through food.”
He steps closer, the space shrinking like the air itself wants in on the game. “And some of us just want to be fed by someone who looks at us the way you’re looking at me right now.”
Another step. He doesn’t touch, but it’s there—the steady pull between us, simmering like a pot about to boil.
“I don’t need new cookware,” he says. “I need you.”
My hand lifts before I think about it, brushing the edge of his shirt, feeling the thrum of his chest beneath. “Then I guess we’ll both get what we want.”
His jaw moves, eyes locked on mine. The heat is rising, raw and unguarded.
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. He kisses me, slow and deep, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into it. My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, the taste of coffee and him flooding my senses.
The kiss deepens, tongues sliding, a hungry edge to it that makes my body ache with need. I press myself against him, feeling his hardness through his pants, and a soft moan escapes me.
He breaks the kiss, eyes dark with want. “Turn around,” he says, voice a low growl. I obey, heart pounding, and he guides me to the island, bending me over the cool marble. My robe falls open, his hands sliding it off my shoulders, leaving me bare. His fingers trail down my spine, sending shivers through me before he grips my hips. I part my legs, my pussy slick and ready.
He unzips, freeing his thick cock, and I feel the blunt head tease my slit, sliding through my desire. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, and then he’s inside me with one slow, deep thrust.
I gasp, hands gripping the edge of the island as he starts to move, each stroke deep, hitting that spot that makes my clit throb. His hands are tight on my hips, guiding me back onto him, and the rhythm builds, hard and steady.
“That’s it,” he says. “Just like that.”
The pressure coils tight in my core, and I’m panting, moaning.
“Damien,” I whimper. He leans over me, chest pressed to my back, one hand sliding to my clit, circling it with deft fingers. The sensation sends me over the edge.
My pussy clenches around him and I cry out, the orgasm crashing through me, my legs trembling as he holds me steady.
He doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls out, turns me around, and lifts me onto the edge of the island. With my legs spread wide, he steps between them, eyes locked on mine.
“Look at me,” he says, and I do, heart racing as he slides his cock back into my dripping pussy. The angle is intense, his thrusts slower but deeper, each one dragging against my sensitive walls.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss.
“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs against my lips. I moan, rocking my hips to meet his thrusts. His fingers dig into my skin, and the pressure builds again, my clit pulsing as he drives into me. “Come for me again,” he commands.
I shatter around him, my pussy spasming as another orgasm rips through me, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He scoops me up and carries me upstairs, lips brushing my temple as we move. In his bedroom, he lays me on the bed, the duvet soft beneath my body. He strips off his shirt, revealing that sexy, sculpted torso, and settles between my legs, sliding his cock back into me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, thrusting deep. I nod, tears pricking my eyes.
“I’m yours,” I say, voice breaking as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. His hands frame my face and we move together, bodies locked. I feel him thicken, his breath hitching.
“Cassandra,” he groans, and I clench around him, chasing that edge with him. We come together, his release hot and heavy inside me. I cry out in pleasure, clinging to him as the world narrows to just us.
He collapses beside me and pulls me into his arms, my head tucked against his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum under my cheek. I laugh softly. “God, I’m tired again already. How is that possible? I just woke up.”
