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"I am really okay," I plead.
"Let me be the judge of that." He points a finger at me, "Don’t move." He walks over to one of the shelves at the far end of the kitchen.
I drag my gaze up those powerful thighs of his that are outlined in the pants, and my belly trembles. His butt is compact, his waist trim, and at the small of his back, he wears a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. I bite the inside of my cheek. "You’re never unarmed, are you?"
"It’s just a precaution," he says without turning around.
"You must have felt naked without your gun all the time you were a guest of the Sovranos."
"I managed." He opens the door, removes a first aid kit, then walks over to me. Uncapping a tube of salve, he proceeds to spread it over the splotches of red on my skin. Any remaining burning sensation instantly subsides. The tension oozes out of my shoulders.
He blows on the skin, then glances at me from under those thick eyelashes. "Better?" he asks.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Somehow, this, being the center of his attention, is both unnerving as well as something I enjoy far too much. I could get used to it.
He places my arm on the table, then reaches over and cups my cheek, "I didn’t mean to hurt you."
"You didn’t hurt me." I chuckle, "I was just surprised; didn’t expect you to creep up on me like that."
"What were you singing?" He jerks his chin, "Earlier, when I came in, you were humming a tune."
"BTS," I clarify.
"BT who?" His eyebrows knit.
"BTS." I stare, "You don’t know who they are?"
"Nope." He smirks, "I take it, they’re popular?"
"They are only the biggest band in the world right now. They’ve also won almost every music award there is to win."
"Hmm," he stares at my mouth and I wriggle around in my seat.
"They are, uh, like, really influential on social media," I murmur.
"Are they now?" He drags his thumb across my lower lip and I can’t stop the moan that spills from my lips.
"Um, I think we should finish breakfast before it gets cold."
He finally raises his gaze to mine, "I think I’d prefer something else for breakfast, actually."
Moisture laces my core. I glance away, then back at him. "But I already started cooking," I point out, "and it’s not good to waste food."
"It isn’t, hmm?"
I shake my head.
"Okay, then." He leans in and presses a hard kiss to my mouth. By the time he straightens, my head is spinning.
I stare as he caps the ointment and sets it aside. Then he saunters over to the counter, proceeds to plate the bacon, along with the toast that has already popped in the toaster.
"How do you like your eggs?" He turns to me, "Let me guess, scrambled?"
I nod.
He heads to the refrigerator, pulls out eggs, then returns to the gas range. He proceeds to make the eggs, plates them and returns with two heaped plates, one of which he sets in front of me. He moves back to the drawer near the stove and grabs cutlery that he slides over to me before he takes his own seat.
"Eat." He points at my food.
