“For me?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
She turns, grinning. “Too late.”
God, she’s beautiful.Standing in my kitchen with her guard down, teasing me, comfortable enough to be here. The past few weeks have been a masterclass in patience, watching her walls come down brick by brick. Every smile feels earned, and every laugh, a victory.
“What are you making?” she asks, peering into a pot on the stove.
“Risotto.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Fancy.”
“I have layers.”
“You have arrogance.”
“Same thing.”
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. I move behind her, reaching around to stir the pot. She doesn’t step away. Her back presses against my front, and I feel her breath catch.
“This smells good,” she says quietly.
“I am full of surprises.”
“Apparently.”
I rest my chin on her shoulder, and she leans back into me. This right here is what I’ve been working toward. Not the kissing or the sneaking around, though I’m definitely not complaining about it either. But this ease between us. The way she fits against me without thinking about it.
“How long until it’s done?” she asks.
“Ten minutes.”
“What do we do for ten minutes?”
I press a kiss to her neck, and she shivers. “I have ideas.”
“Of course you do.”
She turns in my arms, tilting her face up. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown. I’ve kissed her dozens of times by now, but it never gets old. Every time feels new. Urgent.
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing her jaw. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.”
“Glad you came.”
“I’m here for the food.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe.” She pulls me down, and I meet her halfway.
The kiss starts softly and gently. Then her hands fist in my shirt, tugging me closer, and soft goes out the window. I back her against the counter, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her hip. She makes this sound, half gasp, half moan, and I swear I see stars.
“Reece,” she breathes out against my mouth.
“Yeah?”
