"Anything," I confirmed.
"Can I have the truffle mac and cheese?" she asked, and she flinched like she thought I would lash out at her for it.
What had her mother put her through?
"Sure, what else?"
She opened her mouth like she was going to ask for something more, then shook her head and handed me the menu.
I didn't take it. "What else?"
"Bacon grilled cheese and tomato lobster bisque?"
I smiled. My girl needed comfort food.
No, not my girl. She wasn't mine, and I couldn't keep her. I had to keep reminding myself of that.
I took the menu from her and called down to room service, adding inpirozhki, beef stroganoff, and an entireMedovikfor dessert.
Once the room service arrived, I spread out the feast on the small dining table behind the couch, then picked her up, still wrapped in the duvet, and set her in her place.
I pulled my chair closer—close enough that our knees touched beneath the table.
"What is that?" She pointed to one of the dishes.
"Pirozhki," I answered. She just gave me a blank look. "It's like a roll stuffed with ground meat, mashed potatoes, mushrooms, and a few other things. It's my version of comfort food."
She nodded, still looking at it.
"I'll trade you a bite of thepirozhkifor a bite of the mac and cheese," I offered.
She looked down at her fork, already stuck in the pasta drowning in rich cheese sauce. Then nodded.
I picked up one of the warm rolls and tore off a piece, holding it to her lips. "Open."
It wasn't a request.
Her lips parted slowly, and I placed the bread on her tongue, my fingers brushing her bottom lip as I withdrew. She closed her mouth and chewed, her eyes fluttering shut as she tasted it.
A soft groan escaped her throat.
My cock stirred. Wrong time, wrong moment, but I couldn't help my body's response to that sound.
She lifted her fork to my mouth, a strand of cheese stretching between the silverware and the bowl. I leaned forward and let her feed me, the rich flavor exploding over my tongue.
Before she could pull the fork away, I wrapped my hand around her wrist, holding her steady so I could catch a drop of cheese sauce from the corner of her mouth with my thumb.
Her breath hitched.
I brought my thumb to my own mouth, sucking the sauce off slowly while holding her gaze.
Her pupils dilated, her lips parting slightly.
There. That was the reaction I wanted.
We ate in silence after that, but it was a different kind of silence—charged, heavy with unspoken things. I moved my chair even closer, our knees now pressed firmly together. Every time she shifted, I felt it.
When we had finished our meal, I carried her back to the couch and turned on the TV, handing her the remote. I settled beside her, my arm stretched across the back of the couch, my fingers occasionally playing with the soft strands of her hair.
