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CHAPTER 15
Louisa
“Do you want me to wash your shirt?”
I’m still wearing said shirt as I plate him my homemade pizza. Luckily, I had just made a new batch of dough this morning for me to have this weekend, so I am excited to share it with Ciaran. The kitchen is filled with the aromas of basil and pepperoni, and I can’t wait to see what he thinks. I turn with his plate to find him watching me, wearing only his boxers. He is huge in my little kitchen, taking over the space with his long legs and wide shoulders. I worry my chair might snap underneath all his weight. He’s ripped with muscle, but the chair did hold earlier as he held me down on the table and licked me until I was a trembling mess.
I was surprised I even remembered how to make pizza after that.
His eyes are sultry as he watches me set the plate before him. “I can make sure it’s clean before you need to go,” I tell him.
“I don’t want my shirt washed.”
“No?”
“Not at all,” he promises, his eyes so damn sexy. He snakes his arm around my thighs, bringing me between his legs. “I haven’t had anyone cook for me in a while.”
That makes me proud for some reason. I grin like a fool. “I hope you like it.”
“I know I will,” he says, kissing my stomach, leaving me breathless. He pats my ass, and I back out from between his legs until he stops me. “Where are you going?”
I point to the chair, giggling. “Sitting down.”
The possessiveness in his eyes has heat gathering between my legs. I mean, who am I kidding? Ciaran looks at me, and I’m ready for some action.
I’m his deranged whore.
Lord, slow your roll, Lou! I get my world knocked off its axis from the pleasure he gives me, and I’m calling him mine.
I’m pathetic.
Ciaran shakes his head, pulling the chair closer so I don’t have to leave the space between his knees. He picks up my legs, draping them over his before reaching for the bottle of wine I had placed on the table, along with two cups of water. “Wine?”
I smile happily, popping a piece of tomato into my mouth. “Please.”
He gives me a lusty look, and I laugh. “You and that word,” he mutters, pouring me a glass. I don’t miss the grin pulling at his lips or the way he keeps looking over at me as he pours the wine. He pours himself a glass and then hands me mine. I hold it up to his, and he meets my glass, his eyes intent on mine.
“To pomegranate-orange muffins,” I tease, and that has him grinning even bigger.
“And to kisses beneath a desk.”
I smirk back at that as our glasses clink. I take a sip when he does and then watch as he takes a bite of his pizza. He does that nodding thing he does when he enjoys the taste of something. I’m knocked back to earlier, under the desk and his hot kisses, but then pride fills me deeply as he meets my gaze.
“This is the best damn pizza I’ve ever eaten.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
He shakes his head. “I love it.”
The way he says those three words makes me wish he was speaking of me and not the food. I know that’s insane, and I also know that I’m currently being a hypocrite. I loathe instalove stories; they drive me insane. Unless they’re fated mates…then I’m down, but I can’t help this feeling I’ve got. Like he’s it. Which, again, is ridiculous! I don’t even know him.
“Are you from Knoxville?”
He looks up at my question and then swirls his tongue to capture a string of cheese from the pizza. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m suddenly not even hungry for food. “No, I’m actually from Michigan, grew up in East Lansing.”
I nod as I chew my bite.
“Are you from here?”
