Page 111 of Dark Heart


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“I like the sound of that,” I say quietly.

She studies me for a moment, her soft grin brightening her eyes.

My lips curve into a smile.

“What is it, Senna?”

Her arms curl around me.

“You don’t need to do it roughly only for me.”

“I know, baby. I don’t do it only for you. I like it rough,” I say and softly brush her lips with mine, relishing the small gasp and the quiver of her mouth.

Her hands cup my face, her fingers threading through my hair. I drop the towel and snake my arm around her, my lips finding hers before locking them into a soft, gentle kiss. Her breaths shorten, her nipples pressing hard against my chest.

Reluctantly, I tear away, my gesture bringing desperation to her face.

“You’re so fucked, baby,” I say, grinning, as her hands still frame my face. “You have to let go of me, now. I have to go to the bathroom. All right?” I murmur in a mellow tone as if talking to Emma.

Her eyes glisten while she nods.

“I’m not going anywhere. Good?”

“Yes,” she says, a smile filling her eyes. I stare at her for a second, realizing that someone different is watching me through her eyes. Someone young and innocent.

A girl.

“Do you have any food in this big house of yours?” I ask as I walk away, heading to the bedroom.

“Nothing cooked, and it’s too late to order. ”

“That’s okay. We’ll find something.”

* * *

Her eyes lightup as I slide the plates onto the coffee table.

“You don’t like anything formal, I gather,” I say, pointing at the small coffee table nestled between the couches.

“No, not really.”

“How come?”

“When I grew up, my family had everything done by the book. Our lives were dictated by norms and rules, and we were all bound by them. The women were supposed to behave in a certain way. Man too. Everything was planned and proper. I hated it.”

“Hmm,” I murmur, sitting next to her.

We start eating.

She takes small bites, tasting every morsel of food.

“This is good. How come you know how to cook?”

“I had no choice.”

“I never had the chance to learn. We always had chefs and servers.”

“The fucking life,” I murmur, mulling over her words.

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