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“Good evening,” I called when he turned the corner and entered the kitchen.
His confident gait faltered slightly as he took in the scene. My borrowed sweatpants were rolled several times at the waist, and the t-shirt swamped me. I’d showered and brushed my hair into a long waterfall of gold around my shoulders. Kirill had always loved my hair. The table was set, and two plates were covered with cloches.
Who had a twin set of cloches in their cupboard? Kirill, that’s who.
I wondered why he had them. Did he cook for a lot of women here? I brushed the troubling thought aside. The past didn’t matter. The future was all I cared about. Now that I’d finally found him, I suddenly felt like I might have a chance at one.
He made an arresting sight as he stood in the doorway. He was clad in black again, a designer suit and black shirt, buttoned up so high I could only see the tendrils of his neck tattoo. I longed to see it all. I wanted to know the story behind it and every scar and bruise on his body. I wanted to know why he limped. Once, I felt like his body belonged to me, and I longed to feel that ownership again.
“Evening. What’s all this?” Kirill asked, his deep voice low and unemotional.
Last night, I got the impression that he’d wanted to say something but bitten his tongue. There was a world behind his eyes I wasn’t allowed to see. But I understood. He needed time. It made sense, even if it hurt.
“Well, since I’ve been here all day playing housewife—”
“Housewife?” Kirill interrupted, arching an eyebrow.
For some reason, I was embarrassed by his quiet amusement, like it was presumptuous of me even to imagine he might marry someone like me. “Fine. Since I’ve been here all day like a one-night stand who doesn’t know when to get lost, I thought I’d make dinner for you.” I forced a grin to hide my awkwardness. Christ, we’d been intimate last night, and it was already tense as hell.
“You made dinner. Am I to assume your culinary skills have improved since high school?”
“You shouldn’t assume that at all. I had to make do with what was in your cupboards, so I feel like this is on you. That being said, you should know this is probably my favorite meal,” I said blithely.
Kirill approached a cloche and lifted it. A perfectly cut triangle of peanut butter and jelly on white bread sat in the center of the plate.
He stared at it and turned to me.His eyes met mine, electrifying me. “Your favorite meal?”
I nodded. It felt like an oddly solemn moment.
Kirill tugged me close, surprising me with the sudden movement, and the discarded cloche fell to the floor with a loud clang.He held me in place, his hands circling my wrists and keeping me still as he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me. He was rough and demanding, his tongue forcing entry and feasting on mine like he wanted me for dinner, not the lame sandwich I’d made.
He walked me back against the table until my ass bumped into the smooth wood.“Why is it your favorite?” he broke the kiss to ask, his voice strained.
“You know why . . .” I stilled as his hand came up to cover my mouth.
“Yeah, I know why, Princess. But like to hear you say it,” he grunted.
His hand went to his fly and unzipped himself. Feeling brave and horny as hell, I brought my hand to the front of his pants. I palmed his rigid length, rubbing up and down and feeling my body grow damp and soft in places.
“It’s my favorite because you always made it for me,” I whispered.
His eyes were bright with a glowing darkness as he took me in. I felt everything in that look. Possession and hunger so fierce, it stole my breath.
“If you want to do something nice for me, get on your knees,” he said quietly. His subtle challenge thrilled and scared me. “I’ve been missing you all day.” His eyes narrowed at my hesitation. “Too far, Princess?”
“No, I just don’t know what to do. Teach me,” I breathed, Iowering to the hard floor.
It felt wicked, kneeling before him as he unsheathed his huge member and rubbed his hand along its length. He looked at me with a veiled look I wished I could break through.
“Are you sure? I’m not a gentle man,” he said quietly.
Nerves and something dark and twisted coiled inside me.“I trust you.”
His lips curled at the edges. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was the closest he came nowadays.“Good girl.”
20
KIRILL
