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If Trent believes that I’m his, I doubt there is anyone who can change his mind.
Maybe not even me.
Trent excuses himself to take a shower while I pretend to keep eating. After watching him organize the kitchen exactly the way I liked it, I lost whatever was left of my appetite. Instead, when I hear the shower turn on, I walk back to my sink and leave my dirty plate in it, just so I can tarnish the perfection he left behind.
Nothing is perfect.
I would do well to remember that.
I walk over to my living room and slouch on my couch, searching for something to binge-watch. I need a distraction from the naked man in my shower who is determined to win me over by occupying my safe space as well as every thought in my head. Unfortunately for me, when Trent returns—bare-chested and in black silk pajama bottoms—he coaxes my mind to travel away from a tidy kitchen and onto all the dirty things we could be doing in the bedroom.
“What are we watching?” he asks as he sits beside me, placing his arm over the couch’s headrest.
“I’mwatching a true crime documentary. Not sure what you’ll be watching,” I unintentionally snap.
I don’t even apologize because it’s his damn fault for being in a bad mood.
I mean, c’mon.
First, he makes me a mouthwatering meal.
Then, he cleans up after himself.
And now has the audacity to flaunt his toned, muscular physique like it’s no big deal.
The nerve of him!
Doesn’t he know that a woman can only take so much before she cracks?
“Okay.” He chuckles, completely oblivious to my meltdown. “True crime it is. Figures you’d be into this anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, love. Just watch your show. I’ll stay quiet from now on.” He grins.
“Well, if you’re going to be so accommodating about it, you should also add stop smiling to the list of things not to do. It’s unnerving.”
“Whatever you want, kitten.” He laughs under his breath.
I try to relax and focus on the show, doing my utmost best to ignore his presence. However, through my peripheral, I do sneak a few peeks at the ink on his chest, wondering if it’s against the rules for me to run my tongue all over his abs.
I probably haven’t been too discreet about it, though, because every once in a while, Trent smirks as if he can read my mind.
Somehow, in between eye-fucking Trent and the loud transcripts of murders, I manage to fall asleep. I only wake up when Trent gently picks me up from the couch and carries me off to bed. I snuggle into his embrace, his scent mixed with the heat of his skin like a warm balm to my aching soul.
“You smell good,” I whisper, half asleep.
“So do you, kitten. Good enough to eat,” he groans.
“Really?” I purr.
“Really,” he grunts, his reply coming out more like a guttural sound than an actual word.
Trent then carefully places me inside the bed, quickly sliding in after me and pulling the covers on top of us as he does it.
“Good night, Piper,” he coos, placing another kiss on my temple.
I crane my head back and try to open my eyes so I can look at his face one more time before sleep pulls me under.
