It felt real. Domestic, even. Like we were playing house without any of the messy strings attached—no scandal, no cameras, no bet. Just… us.
My chest tightened in a way I didn’t expect as he looked up and caught my gaze. There was something softer in his eyes then, something that unraveled me a little. No smirk. No armor. Just warmth.
“You know,” he said around another bite, “this might just become our thing.”
“What? Serving up kitchen nightmares?”
He chuckled, wiping syrup off his chin with the back of his hand. “Exactly.”
The quiet between us didn’t feel awkward—it felt safe. Like we’d stepped out of the storm and into something honest, even if it came wrapped in burnt toast and cinnamon overload. For once, we weren’t navigating power plays or pretending not to care.
We were just figuring it out.
Together.
And somehow, that messy, cinnamon-drenched moment felt more perfect than anything else in the world.
Nick pushed his plate aside, eyes never leaving mine. In one swift motion, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto his lap. His grip was firm but gentle, fingers splayed across my waist as he settled me against him. The sudden shift made my heart skip a beat, but the warmth of his body beneath me was an anchor.
"Dessert," he murmured, voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
I laughed softly, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Isn't it a bit early for dessert?"
His smirk was pure mischief. "Not for the kind I'm thinking of."
Before I could respond, he leaned in, capturing my lips with his. The kiss was deep and possessive, a claiming that left me breathless. His hands roamed beneath the shirt I wore—his shirt—fingertips tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
He stood abruptly, lifting me with him as if I weighed nothing. With a swift movement, he set me on the dining table. The cool surface pressed against the backs of my thighs as he stepped back, eyes dark with intent.
"I like the idea of you feeding me," he said, voice husky. "But I think I prefer this more."
He knelt before me, hands gliding up my legs and spreading them wide. The sight of him there—strong and commanding yet so utterly focused on me—made my breath hitch.
"I've been craving this," he murmured against my skin. His hands slid higher, pushing the hem of his jersey up to reveal more of me.
The vulnerability of the position made my pulse quicken, but there was no fear—only anticipation. He pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh, and I shivered.
"Already wet for me, princess?" he asked, voice teasing but eyes serious.
My cheeks flushed at his words, but I nodded, unable to form a coherent response. His touch was electric, sending sparks through every nerve ending.
Nick’s grin was feral as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and slowly pulled them down. He tossed them aside and spread my legs wider still.
He leaned in close; his breath hot against where I ached for him most. “Good girl,” he whispered before pressing a kiss that sent fireworks through my veins.
And then? There were no more words—only sensations as he showed me exactly how much he'd been craving this moment too.
His breath was a warm whisper against my skin, sending shivers through me before his tongue even touched me. When it did, I gasped—a sharp intake of breath that filled the quiet room with the sound of my need. He licked a slow, deliberate path up my slit, tasting me with a reverence that made my toes curl.
Nick groaned, a low, primal sound that reverberated through my entire body. “Fuck, you taste even better than I remember,” he murmured against me, his voice thick with desire.
My hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through the blond strands as he worked me with his mouth. Every stroke of his tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing over me, each one more intense than the last. It was like he was playing me—knowing exactly where to touch, where to press, how to make me unravel completely.
The world narrowed down to the sensation of his mouth on me—the heat of it, the slick slide of his tongue, the way he sucked gently on my clit before flicking it with maddening precision. My hips moved of their own accord, arching into him as I chased that building crescendo inside me.
“You going to come for me, baby?” His voice was a gravelly whisper against my most sensitive flesh, and I whimpered in response.
“Yeah?” he asked again, teasing yet coaxing. “Yeah, you are. I can feel it.”
