I think he may have added extra vanilla or something, the way it almost tastes like a sugar cookie, but in soft, fluffy pancake form.
Not good for calorie intake, but I can afford to eat today since this is my first meal.
He swallows while I’m still letting all the flavors burst in my mouth and pretending I didn’t just say something weird, and he replies when I can’t.
“We’ll do them together.”
I freeze, nearly choking, dough close to clogging my throat.
Don’t die here, Neve, because he will absolutely be arrested and he’ll probably spend the rest of his life in prison and it’ll be all your fault.
But I force myself to play it cool, nodding once, and finally,finallyswallowing.
A sigh escapes my lips before I can reign it in and he smiles.
“Good, huh?” he asks, before he takes another forkful that would absolutely destroy me, and pops it into his mouth all at once.
“Honestly, yes.”
After he swallows, he says, “You say that like you didn’t trust me, about knowing how to cook.”
I set down my fork and clasp my hands in my lap as I swivel on the stool to face him. “I don’t trust you on much,” I say very seriously. “But this, you weren’t lying about.”
And that’s his cue, too.
He puts down his fork and knife, mirrors my posture, and faces me, our knees brushing, his crowding into my space. I glance down, and I like how thick his thighs are, and yeah, I’ve probably checked out his ass too, which is bigger than mine, but fucking glorious.
I force all of that away, because I can’t be blushing when we have this discussion, else I’ll look weak.
“You wanted to talk about Sylvan.” I say it as a reminder, although I’m sure we both remember it’s how he lured me here.
He holds my gaze, lips pushed together, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathes. But he doesn’t say anything, and neither will I, now that I’ve called him on either his bluff or the truth.
A second passes. Another.
And I can’t help myself.
I add, “Because you definitely don’t want to fuck me.” It’s meant as a joke but it comes out breathy and low, like I’m offended by it, or hurt, which is absurd.
And maybe true.
“No,” he echoes, but his tone matches mine. Low. Dangerous. “I don’t want to fuck you, Neve Devine.”
But I can tell, the smoothness of his words, he doesn’t mean it.
He glances at our knees touching, his eyes roaming over my thighs, then up, to where my white, sheer silk shirt is tucked into my Citizens of Humanity jeans. Both gifts from Nolan. Who won’t send me any more money if I don’t actually reply to his texts.
But I don’t have time for thoughts of my brother right now.
Faust’s gaze lingers around my navel, and he swallows. Hard.
“You wear these shirts a lot.”
I don’t say anything. It’s true. I have five of them, in different colors. Bought from Nolan’s allowance to me. 100% silk.
“They’re distracting.”
I inhale sharp. “Are they?” I volley back.
