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"Tasting you gives me pleasure, but bringing you to the point of climax while your body slept? That was fucking hot."
"You want to do it again?" I ask.
"Absolutely. The question is: doyouwant me to do it again?"
Atlas is a complicated man, one who has shown he'll take what he wants. However, I sense that he won't take more than I want to give. Hence his question.
"Yes. I do." I'm not going to play coy.
I want all the pleasure this man wants to lavish on me because it's beyond anything I've ever experienced. And we've only had one night and morning together.
"Good." He leans forward, putting his face into my neck. "You smell like me. Like sex. It's fucking addictive."
"I like being addictive, but I'm still going to shower after breakfast."
He inhales deeply, kisses my neck and then stands and returns to his chair. "I'd prefer you didn't."
"I have things I have to do today, and I can't do them reeking of sex."
"You don't reek. You smell good." He takes a croissant and starts to eat it without any jam.
Warmed by his blatant sexual approval, I take a bite of my frittata. I make my own pesto and the eggs are yummy if I do say so myself.
"What do you have to do today? Besides go to the clinic with me?" he asks.
To get tested. Right.
I am not a slut for sleeping with a man I met last night. I am free. Sexy. Things I haven't been in a long time. "We can go there first thing so you can get back to your day."
"I plan on spending my day with you. What are we doing?"
He doesn't ask if I mind. And that turns me on instead of irritating me. Which is all kinds of wrong, I'm sure, but no one else is inside my head to judge me.
Not anymore.
No longer a mafia princess, I am Lucia Esposito, nightclub owner and newly discovered sex kitten.
I stand up and start clearing the table. "I need to pick up packing boxes."
"You're moving?"
"I'm buying a house." My voice holds all the delight and pride I feel at that reality.
I've worked hard to get to a place where I can take care of Lenny and have a home of my own. The one thing I've missed since leaving my family behind that I can actually do something about.
Atlas grabs the rest of the things off the table. "I'll do the dishes while you shower."
Surprised, I put the plate I'm holding down and stare. "You're going to wash my dishes?"
"You cooked. It's only fair."
"But I don't have a dishwasher." No room in the kitchenette.
He gives me an odd look. "I can wash a few dishes and pans by hand. I'm not helpless."
"Okay."
Why does the thought of him doing dishes in my kitchen make me wet?
