Page 163 of Brutal Heir

“Okay,” she moaned softly. “That is good.”

“Fuck, woman. Keep moaning like that, and we won’t make it to dinner.”

Never in my life had I been jealous of a spoon.

“When do you add in the cream?”

I held my hand up, pinching my fingers. “Mamma mia. You Americans and your cream! There is no cream in Carbonara. And while I’m at it, there is also no cream in Alfredo sauce.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

“Yes. It is only good quality butter and cheese for Alfredo. You are supposed to use the starch of the pasta water for thickness. Not cream.”

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “That’s funny. I thought you liked…cream.”

After picking up the wooden spoon, I gave it a quick wag in front of her. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to spank you with this.”

Fuck. There was something so undeniably alluring about her innocent seduction.

It was like watching an angel give a striptease.

I removed the pasta from the water, transferring it still dripping directly into the skillet with the crispy guanciale.

I killed the heat and poured the creamy Pecorino-egg mixture over the top, then I tossed it quickly to coat the pasta without scrambling the eggs.

The result was a luscious, velvety sauce that clung perfectly to every al dente strand.

Sabrina leaned forward, inhaling deeply. “Damn.”

I plated up two dishes and grabbed the wine. “Come.”

She lifted her brows. “Where?”

Ignoring her question, I led her past the formal dining room and deeper into the palazzo, through a set of double doors, and into a small yet elegant room filled with cozy furniture.

A fire crackled in a stone hearth, casting warm shadows over the rich leather armchairs and the slightly worn but inviting sofa.

I gestured toward it. “Sit.”

Sabrina hesitated before lowering herself onto the plush cushions, her fingers tracing the soft fabric. “What is this room?”

“My private drawing room.” I handed her a plate and a glass of wine. “We can eat in the formal dining room if you prefer.”

She looked around again then shook her head. “No. This is the first room that feels normal in this whole place.”

I sat beside her, close enough that our knees brushed.

After replenishing our wine, I twirled my fork into the pasta and took a bite.

She followed suit, lifting her fork and swirling it through the creamy, glistening strands. As soon as she took her first bite, her head fell back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as she let out another moan.

I shifted uncomfortably, my cock responding instantly.

Adjusting my jeans, I forced myself to focus. “So, what do you think of your first authentic Carbonara?”

She opened her eyes, her lips curving into a slow smirk. “Don’t quit your day job.”

I scoffed then reached out and tugged one of her curls, letting it slip between my fingers.