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I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I only gave it to you in case you felt cold. If you’d rather parade around naked—" I drag my gaze down his sculpted pecs, to where his monster cock hangs between his legs. He’s not fully erect, but hell, if that length of his doesn’t seem w-a-a-y too big for it to fit into where he put it earlier. My pussy spasms in recollection. Moisture laces my core. As if he’s aware of what I'm thinking, his shaft begins to thicken.
"As I said," he drawls, "if you’d rather I stay without clothes, you only have to say the word, Flower." His grin widens. "So, what's it going to be?"
25
Aurora
I flip my hair over my shoulder, "You can do whatever you want; I don’t care." I flounce past him, and he grabs my wrist and tugs. I fall against him and the contact of skin on skin makes my breath hitch.
"I haven’t given you permission to leave."
"Excuse me?"
"You can’t leave until I let you."
"Says who?"
"Says your future husband."
"No ring, remember?" I raise my left hand.
Truth be told, I can’t believe that I actually threw away that ring. And I actually liked it… No, I loved it. It was beautiful. And surely, he had chosen the color of the stone because it reminded him of my eyes. Not that he had mentioned it to me, but it had to be that, right? And I had flung it away. It had to be expensive, as well…
But more than that, it had meant something to me. The fact that he had remembered to get me a ring. So what, if it was because his grandmother had pointed out that without a ring, he couldn’t call me his fiancée? Still, it had been my ring. And I had discarded it.
I try to pull away, and this time, he releases me. I march past him and toward the door. I am about to step out when he calls out, "Just remember, we are only getting started."
I resist the urge to show him my finger. And I don’t mean the one missing a ring. Instead, I walk out the door and to the kitchen. I open the door to the pantry and stare at the range of packaged food stocked inside. Dried pasta, cans of tinned fruit and vegetables, pancake mixes—not very common in Italy, so it must be imported from the UK?—pasta sauces, hell, there is even bread flour and a cookie dough mix. Huh. Apparently, the Sovranos believe in slumming in style.
I pull open the door of the refrigerator, and this time I’m not surprised to find the bottles of beers and wines. Also, eggs, juices, and a Christmas Pudding wrapped up in festive paper and stored on the bottom shelf. All the comforts of home and more.
When I open the freezer, I find packets of frozen vegetables, meats, and fish.
I pull out what I need, then turn and crash into a hard chest. The scent of darkness—dark coffee mixed with brandy—teases my nostrils. I try to step around him, but he moves to block my way.
"What?" I scowl. "I’m busy."
"You going to cook for us?"
"Unless you’d prefer to do it?"
"I’m good at numbers, but cooking… It’s best I leave that one to you." He smirks. "Also, I loaded the washing machine with our clothes."
"Oh, that’s good." I try to brush past him, but he doesn’t move. "Now what?" I frown. "I’m hungry, and if we are going to be stuck here, I’d prefer to get the cooking underway so we can eat before I starve."
He steps aside, and I walk over to the kitchen counter. I place all of the items I’d pulled out and busy myself. "I hope you like omelets," I call out.
"I love omelets," he says from behind and above me. Again.
I squeal, "Jesus, can you stop creeping up on me like that?"
"Somehow, when I’m with you, I can’t stop myself from following you around," he mutters with a strange expression on his face.
O-k-a-y. Did he just say that? What did he mean by that. Before I can ask, he steps back. "Why don’t I set the table?" He walks around to the cabinet, pulls out the plates, and places two of them next to me. He retrieves cutlery and napkins, then returns to the island.
I find bread in the bread-box and cartons of milk on the shelves next to the stove. "Wow," I marvel, "this place is fully stocked." I turn on him. "Did you plan all this?"
"Plan what?" he asks.
