“Shit. This is actually good.”
I don’t move from where I’m standing. I watch her. She’s trying to keep her eyes anywhere but on me, but I can feel the way my presence pulls at her focus.
Lev’s still talking, but I’m not listening anymore.
She finally looks up at me. Holds it for a heartbeat too long. There’s heat there; not enough for her to admit it, but enough for me to see it. The kind of look a woman gives when she’s wondering what it would feel like to get fucked against the nearest hard surface and hates herself for wondering.
My eyes drag to her mouth. Soft, flushed from biting her lip. She could wrap those lips around me, and I’d watch every second of it. Her cheeks hollowing, those pretty sounds breaking out of her before she can swallow them down.
Then her throat, pale, smooth, begging for my hand. I want to feel her swallow with my palm at her neck, my cock buried in her until she’s shaking apart.
Lev’s earlier joke about fucking her flashes through my head, and for half a second, I let myself picture it: her bent over this counter, my hand in her hair, her breath catching on everythrust. Hearing her moan in this kitchen, where my men are eating like nothing’s wrong.
Her lips move.
“Do… you want some, too?”
It takes me a second to process that she’s talking about food.
“What?” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to.
She blinks. “The food. Do you want—?”
“No.” Too sharp, too fast. Because right now, the last thing I’m thinking about is eating lunch.
Boris sets his fork down like it’s just occurred to him he has taste buds. “Boss, this is really good. Like… actual food. Not that vacuum-packed survival shit you keep in your freezer.”
Lev’s already dropped into the chair across from Mary, chewing like he’s in a commercial for expensive dental work.
“Come on, boss. You’ve only had coffee and… What was that this morning? Cold dumplings from the place Boris swears is better after midnight.”
I don’t answer.
Mary shifts, sliding off her chair.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She doesn’t look at me, just moves to the stove. “Getting you some before they inhale the rest.”
I should tell her no. I don’t want her serving me like—
Her hip brushes my thigh as she leans past, and my brain just… stops.
The smell hits me first. Rosemary from her balcony pots. Garlic on her hands from brushing the toast. And underneath it, the warm, human scent that makes my cock twitch before I can think about stopping it.
She scoops eggs onto a plate, grabs a slice of toast, and sets it in front of me like this is some kind of family meal. Then she sits back down… next to me.
Too close.
Close enough that Lev’s smirk shifts from amused to knowing.
Close enough that Boris is absolutely getting a whiff of her too, and that’s… not fucking acceptable.
“Eat,” Mary says, like she’s the one giving orders here.
I pick up the fork just to shut her up. The eggs are… Fuck. They’re actually good. Light, soft, with that hint of rosemary, like she knows how to use it without turning the plate into a soap commercial.
Lev leans back in his chair, still chewing. “See? Told you. Man can’t live on caffeine alone.”
