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“Yeah.” I shrug. “I am your boyfriend, after all. Shouldn’t I know these things?”
“No. Because this is not real.”
“Okay.” Well, I tried.
Why is this silence so heavy now?
“Fuck, I can’t believe I am indulging this. Blue.” Kira sighs. “Blue is my favorite color.” She looks like it was physically painful for her to give me that tiny tad bit of absolutely normal information, and I work extra hard to keep the grin from breaking out on my face.
“Blue,” I say as if I am tasting her answer. “Deep blue or more baby shades?”
Kira groans, tipping her head back. “Why are you so annoying tonight? I almost wish for that time when you pretended to ignore me. How about we go back to your cock in my mouth and forget your little Q&A.”
“Evading again.” This time I do grin and also adjust myself because hearing Kira say cock and her mouth in one sentence will never not get me hard.
She mutters something bitterly.
“Jesus, you’d think I was asking for your secret sauce modèle recipe.” Which is essentially a sauce Kira created herself that is the epitome of perfection and goes with her signature steak dish.
No one knows the specifics of the sauce, and she is the only one who creates it and distributes it to her restaurants.
A little ridiculous if you ask me, but we chefs can be quite eccentric.
“Good try, but that sauce will die with me. And deep blue.”
I smirk because I don’t care all that much for that recipe—okay, I do—but I wanted the answer about that color more at this moment.
Why? No idea. Maybe I am trying to find a human behind the horns.
“Mine is white.” I think I have officially passed the point of exhaustion, and now my mouth is too tired to shut up.
“I didn’t ask, and white is not a color. It’s a shade.”
But it is. And it is one I’ve come to associate with Kira despite all the darkness surrounding her like a thick blanket. Somehow, I just know there is more there, and I shouldn’t know it.
I shouldn’t have wanted to know it.
I should have kept far away like I promised myself five years ago.
Chapter nineteen
Kira
“White is pure, delicate, fragile.” Great. Something I am not and never will be. All the more reason to stay away from this man. “But it is also clean, sharp, strong, perfect.” This time, his gaze pierces mine, and I fight the lump in my throat because it almost feels like he is talking to me. About me.
“Good to know,” I somehow choke out and clear my throat. “Now, how about we practice that not waking you up thing?”
Vassar chuckles quietly, and that sound goes straight to my core. Right down to those memories stored as “of vast importance” in my brain.
Yes, I am an idiot. Sue me. But I am keeping him close at all times. Even if he annoys me with his stupid questions.
Did he need to come with me? No. But did the thought of him going home to see his girlfriend after what we shared in my office piss the living shit out of me? Fuck yes. Hence, why he is getting all comfortable in the chair opposite mine.
His dark hair is a tousled mess as he keeps rubbing it against the seat to find a comfortable position. His broad shoulderstucked into the soft leather—yes, these seats are comfortable despite what he said.
After about thirty minutes of restlessness, his body relaxes, fully sagging. His shoulders drop, those folded arms around his chest uncurl. His handsome facial features soften after the constant frown he was wearing around me, and soft snores fill the space.
This is the real Vassar Levidis. The unguarded version of him.
