AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He knows me alright. But he also knows me enough to know I won't tell if I don't have to. And right now is not the time to tell him anything. Although I don't think his question is about my discovery of my father’s letter. I think he's asking about Rosaline and my fixation on her. Or maybe he is asking about everything.
“So far, I'm good.”
I'm not. I can't seem to think properly when she is around me. I've bitten my lips sore trying to keep myself under control, which is also telling for Orazio.
“I don't believe you, but okay for now.
He looks over my shoulder and he smiles, “Did you see my moves, Rosa,” he hollers, “I was going easy on my butter cake because you know, love makes us do stupid things,” he winks at me and I swat his hips as he starts to hop to her with my racket.
I need to breathe.
Chapter Eleven
BENEDETTO
Ibite my lower lip as I slide onto the stool beside the kitchen island, forking through a plate of pasta with Rosaline seated close like we are conjoined twins.
I won't say I don't like this newfound pull she has towards me. It's heartwarming to see her come around and just be herself. But it's my cock that's suffering and my mind is on the verge of insanity.
“I had fun today,” she says with a mouthful and does a little happy dance on her seat as she eats.
I'm seeing a side to her that I didn't think existed. She likes to eat. She loves good food and it's a good thing because I make good food and I like to feed her.
I made dinner and it was the only time I'd had to myself all day since we left for the golf club. And that was simply because herfather and brother came to pick her up to do something that lasted through my preparation and nearly through my meal.
I didn’t miss the change in her gait after she came back from meeting with them. Her spine was straighter and it was as if she had a stick stuck in her ass.
Overall, there’s a mood around her that wasn't there yesterday and even more so now, after her meeting. It's like she increased the gear of clinginess a notch for dinner. It's not the hair she now wears down or the fact that she is barefoot. It's something else.
“I like the pasta,” she nudges with her elbow.
“Thank you,” I smile at her.
“What?” her face drops.
“You don't like me, Rosaline,” I exhale, “Why are you trying so hard to make me think you do?” I'm not blind, neither am I stupid. No one goes from thinking you assaulted them to looking at you with puppy eyes this fast.
“I'm trying,” she shrugs, “it’s not to make you think I like you, but to see things from a different perspective,” she forks a fusillo, “I won’t say this perspective is clear to me yet, but you're not the bad guy here,” she shrugs. “You are attracted to me and sometimes attraction makes us do stupid things.”
Fair enough. Doesn’t sound too convincing, but I will make do with that. Besides, it's not all gone. I still see her draw deep breaths when I come close to her and her body fidgets a little when she meets my eyes. So yeah, she is trying. And no, my attraction for her won’t just make me do stupid things. It will ruin one of the both of us sooner or later if I let it drive me. That’s not stupid. That’s barbaric.
“You might want to keep your distance, I can't exactly be blamed for what you are inciting,” I pick up a napkin and reach over to help her brush a bit of sauce off her upper lip.
“I get you though,” she gulps, “I'm just trying to make sense of my life right now and you seem like the only other person who cares enough about how I'm truly feeling,” she drops her eyes to her plate.”
“You are my guest, I brought you here, it's my duty to.”
“Cooking for me isn't a must, it's a choice,” she chuckles.
“It is something I enjoy doing.”
She chuckles, “Then you are in luck, you have a guest who loves eating good food,” she smiles.
I should cook more. Hell, I'll become a fucking chef if I have to and open a damn restaurant if it means she’ll that smile on her face. It's the first real smile I've seen on her since I brought her here from New York.
“Ah, Rosaline,” I chuckle and shake the thought that her smiling face is imprinting in my rogue of a mind, “I should go,” and jerk myself to emptiness if I have to. Who would have thought something as innocent as a smile would make me hard as a rod?
I gulp my bottle of water and then tear open the mint gum beside my plate. No doubt I love to cook, but I hate the residual taste of spicy food on my tongue. I can deal with sweets and coffee but not can't with this.
