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I’m not an idiot, I know Orzo is likely a dangerous man.

It’s in his cadence, his looks, the fresh scars.

But to me, he never will be.

Those weren’t fireworks.

“Cinnamon, I missed you,” he manages to get out, pressing his forehead and exhaling.

And I physically see Orzo relax.

His body deflates. His breathing evens.

As if he was waiting for this very moment. And I watch as he lowers his mask and becomes the boy I met all those years ago.

My heart melts for him. For all he must have endured.

“You’re safe,” I whisper, an echo from the past.

This is dangerous—he is building feelings that threaten to consume me.

To push me into him.

To want to remain by his side.

He jolts. “Thank you.” He takes a single step back, appraising me.

His tongue lashes out, wetting his lips addictively.

“Cinnamon, you are twisting and morphing my reality,” he confesses.

It’s too much. And I need to put the distance back between us.

“Just remember. This isn’t a date,” I remind him.

His lips quirk in annoyance. “I stocked the kitchen for you.”

I’m here to cook. Not to find a boyfriend.

I know all too well not to have one of those…

33

Savoring Her

Orzo

Sitting on the barstool, I watch Cinnamon intently as she moves around the kitchen. And I can see plainly that she is in her element.

That she is happy.

My heart burns at the sight, a jealousy inked with need.

She reaches on the top shelf for the pasta, her chest bouncing at her exertion, and my attention zeroes in.

I imagine my mouth over her nipples, what it would be like to pinch and bite.

Getting up before I can stop myself, I walk behind her, grabbing the noodles off the top shelf and rubbing my hard cock against her ass.