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I wanted to make her a big breakfast, from me for once, after I worked out. My shirt was halfway up her body, giving me a view of that delicious smooth Greek skin. Look, I don’t normally like the Greeks, their Mafia is a joke, constantly losing their shipments and money, and they are in the skin trade. But Penelope gives a whole new meaning to Greek.

Flipping the last of the eggs, I go to finish the pancakes and bacon. I already made french toast and cereal. I have no idea what she likes, so I made it all. I’ve already gathered from grocery orders from the cleaners that she likes the five-dollar frozen pizzas, she’s learned how to make homemade breadsticks. Found that out from cameras. She also likes broccoli and cheese soup, baby carrots, and cubes of mozzarella cheese.

Why is she eating just mozzarella cheese? I have no idea. I have a feeling she didn’t get a variety of food. I know for sure she didn’t get enough because of how skinny she is, but I think she was given the same thing. It’s mental abuse that I use on people before I torture and kill them. It works wonders, let me tell you.

I hear the bedroom door click open, signaling she’s woken up. She walks into the kitchen, her hair all in a mess from tossing and turning. My shirt is still drowning on her small body. It’s such a sight.

My cock grows hard under my sweats, no doubt going to be showing if I move from behind this counter.

“Good morning, Mossy.” My voice comes out low and raspy, and I see goosebumps rise on her arms. So I do have an effect on her. A smirk grows on my face.

“Food?” Her voice is so soft and buttery. It sounds like she isn’t even talking, that’s how soft her voice is. I love that she has started to speak around me.

Her voice has captured me since that first word. Yes. God, I need to stop thinking like this before I cream my pants like a kid.

She’s been speaking with mama, learning how to pronounce words and make sense of what certain things mean. I’m so proud of her. Mama said she hasn’t spoken since she was seven. So for her to warm up to mama and me so fast, something terrible happened to her at the hands of her father. Anger starts to seethe in my chest. Pushing the thoughts out of my head, I realize I never answered her. She’s just been standing here waiting.

Clearing my throat, I speak, “Yes. I don’t know what you like, so I made it all.” Her eyes peer into mine, something along the lines of admiration and sadness swirling in them. “Come eat.” Her eyes light up as she makes her way to the counter, not bothering with a plate as she picks up a piece of bacon and bites some off.

I put a plate in front of her, letting her put anything she wants in it. I wait for her to place one of everything on it before loading my own. “I never had this bread.” She says, pointing at a piece of cinnamon bread on the plate, taking a few seconds in between each word, trying to figure out what to say.

“It’s called French toast, it’s my favorite,” I say and ruffle her hair slightly. We don’t bother moving to the dining room, being completely content right where we’re at.

She’s not what I need, I don’t want to be barged by love or marriage, but she’s everything I’ve always wanted and never knew. This is my favorite. I crave for more of it. For a lifetime of it. For a lifetime of her, in my kitchen, in my clothes, in my life. I want her, need her.

*This book is an advance reader copy and is to not be distributed anywhere. [email protected]*

10

Chapter Ten

Cigarettes out the Window - TV Girl

Penelope

He spent the whole day with me. He picked my outfit. It’s a light blue sundress with white fine-line flowers covering it. So light you can barely see them, but gorgeous up close. The dress has spaghetti straps, and it flows around my figure, rippling with me as I twirl. He picked matching light blue sandals with white flowers on them.

I asked for flowers and vegetables to plant, and he had them delivered to the penthouse within an hour. Then, he carried everything up to the roof for me, bickering with me when I tried to help.

Someone went out and bought the entire garden section with how many bags of soil, rakes, planters, and seeds that man bought. He came back up to the roof with all of that, and I squealed like I was a little girl.

We spent most of the day up there, with me gardening and him wanting to people-watch. We’re a lot alike; it’s just a scary thing to admit that maybe I like it. Having someone want to spend time with me, want to be around me without being repulsed.

At the end of the night, he sat me down and said some bad people are starting to fight with him and that he needs to go away for a few months to take care of them and make sure they don’t bother him again.

I think I know what he means by taking care of them, but I don’t ask him to elaborate, knowing he isn’t going to tell me.

Before we went to bed, we took a shower together, after he got me drunk on a delicious red wine that tastes just like juice and I could barely walk. I asked him to try some after Linda had been drinking the same one a couple nights before.

I feel super dizzy. The whole room spins as Riot sits across from me on the couch, concern etched on his pretty face.

He’s gorgeous, absolutely stunning. His brown eyes turn black when he’s angry, full of lust, or tipsy like he is now.

His buzzed hair is slowly starting to grow back, and I wonder what it’d be like for him to grow it out all the way and let me run my fingers through it.

I started talking to him more today. I don’t really have a choice but to trust him and just pray to a God I hope exists for him to not break it and then have it ruin me for good.

I still don’t say much, not knowing how to string sentences together or how to pronounce some words, or even just what some things are called. Like the bread from breakfast. French toast, I think he called it. It was delicious.