Something flickers across his face—a hint of a smile. “Control what you can.”
I don’t push. Instead, I watch his hands move with practiced confidence, wondering about the story behind that brief shadow in his eyes.
“What are you making by the way?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the way his forearms flex as he works.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he sets a small piece of roasted pepper on a fork and holds it toward me. “Taste.”
I lean forward and take it. The flavor hits my tongue, smoky and sweet. I close my eyes and moan in delight. Then I open my eyes to meet Dmitri’s heated gaze.
“Well?” he asks. His voice seems to have gone deeper. Husky.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, almost breathlessly.
“Good.”
He continues cooking—some kind of Mediterranean dish with peppers, tomatoes, and herbs over pasta—occasionally offering me bites from the pan. Each time, he watches my reaction with an intensity that makes my pulse flutter. It becomes a game: he feeds me, I react, and his eyes grow darker.
When the food is ready, he comes around the island to sit on the stool beside me. He dishes the food onto one plate and places it between us. “Let's eat,” he says, handing me a fork.
“From the same plate?”
“Yes,” he says simply, like it's the most natural thing in the world. “I want you close.”
We eat together, trading bites and soft conversation. I tell him about my classes, about the professor who assigns too much reading and the study group that meets at the campus café. He listens intently, asking questions that show he’s actually paying attention. It’s so different from the boys at school who only wait for their turn to talk.
But beneath the easy conversation, there’s a current running between us—something electric that builds with every accidental brush of fingers, every lingering look.
When the last bite of pasta is gone, Dmitri rises and moves to the refrigerator. He returns with two small glass bowls filled with something creamy and topped with a swirl of whipped cream and fresh berries.
"Dessert," he says, but instead of setting one in front of me, he places both bowls to the side and dips his spoon into one.
"Open," he murmurs.
My lips part automatically, and he slides the spoon into my mouth. The taste hits my tongue—rich, creamy, with a hint of vanilla and something citrusy. I close my eyes and let out a soft moan of appreciation.
When I open them again, Dmitri's gaze has darkened.
"Good?" he asks, his voice rougher than before.
"So good," I whisper.
He feeds me another bite, then another, each one delivered with deliberate slowness. His eyes never leave my face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses my features. It feelsdecadent. Intimate. Like he's learning every one of my reactions and filing them away.
On the next bite, a bit of whipped cream catches on the corner of my mouth. I start to reach for it, but Dmitri catches my wrist.
"Let me."
He leans in close—so close I can feel the warmth radiating from his body—and his tongue traces the cream from my skin.
I gape at him, unbelievably aroused by the gesture. My skin suddenly feels too warm, my heartbeat too loud. Dmitri must have seen something in my face because his eyes darken further in response.
“If you keep looking at me like that,kukolka…” He leans closer, his voice dropping. “I'll be forced to give in to the urge to kiss you senseless.”
My chest tightens at his words, and a million butterflies erupt in my stomach. I swallow hard, unconsciously pulling my lower lip between my teeth. Dmitri’s heated gaze falls on my mouth, and before I know it, he pushes the dessert aside and closes the distance between us, his eyes boring deeply into mine.
Then slowly, he leans toward me. My heart erupts like a drum in my chest. He dips his head, and all of a sudden, my mind goes blank. I can't think. Or breathe. Just pure, electric sensations shooting through my veins.
Blood roars in my ears as he closes the last sliver of space between us. It isn’t fast. Not like I’ve seen in the movies… He doesn't swoop in aggressively. No. I watch his face inch closer, his gaze moving from my mouth back to my eyes several times, studying me, watching my reaction. Then he raises his hand to gently cradle my face.
