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“Don’t touch me,” she growls under her breath, glaring at me right in the eyes, and for some goddamn reason, I feel a wave of arousal from the intensity of her stare.
“You didn’t seem to mind it last night.”
I smirk into her face, and Sasha immediately swings her hand to smack my face. But I expected her to attack me, so I grab her wrist before it can reach me, and while she’s distracted, trying to fight for it, I catch her other hand and push her against the wall.
“Fucking asshole,” Sasha hisses, looking up at me, and I chuckle and click my tongue.
“Isn’t that a bad word for your son to hear?”
“Shut up!” she manages to yell at me in a whisper, and I huff a chuckle and lick my lips.
I can feel her warmth against mine, and no matter how badly she wants to be mad at me, I know her body remembers and yearns for my touches. Her eyes are dark, her cheeks are pink, and the way she yields into my hands makes me lose my mind. Without a second thought, I lean in to kiss her lips—but Sasha bites me again and kicks my leg, making me hiss with pain.
Goddamnit! I growl under my breath and push her harder against the wall, kissing just the corner of her lips before murmuring breathlessly, “Why do you keep fighting me?”
I pin her hands against the wall and push my knee up and between her legs, making her tense up and rise on tiptoes. But she can’t escape the pleasure of it, and I see her closing her eyes with a shaky breath.
“Why do you keep fighting yourself?” I whisper, pressing my knee harder, and I can feel the tiny shiver that runs through her body. She enjoys it, of course she enjoys it, and I press a quick kiss on her cheek. “Isn’t it better to give yourself what you want?”
Sasha shakes her head, still pretending like she doesn’t like it, but I see her bite her lip when I rub my knee against her. God, just seeing her so aroused makes me hard in a matter of seconds. I want her so badly, and when I kiss her lips again, I feel her surrender to me. She kisses me back, pushing against my knee, and it’s not enough,it’s not enough,I want more of her.
I release one of her hands to let it slide down to her waistband—but before I even get the tips of my fingers below it, Sasha pushes her knee up to her stomach and kicks my side with her foot. The impact sends me all the way to the opposite wall, and the back of my head hits it with a loud thud, making me wince.
Ah, shit, that hurts. I reach for my head and blink my eyes open only to feel a touch of steel against my neck. I don’t know where she got it, but there’s a goddamn dagger in Sasha’s hand, and she presses it right against the frantic pulse of my artery. She looks disheveled and furious with her cheeks still pink and her eyes burning with hatred.
“You’ve forgotten your manners,” Sasha growls, pushing the blade deeper into my skin. “If you ever touch me without my permission, I will kill you, Louis Messina.”
She holds my gaze for a second longer as if making sure that I understand her, and I remain pressed against the wall, looking down at her. I can see just how pissed she is, and something tells me she can actually stab me right now, so it’s better to keep my mouth shut.
I don’t know if my silence is enough to please her, but after a long moment Sasha finally steps away from me, hides the dagger behind her back, and with a last glance my way, she turns away and walks to her bedroom. Damn it. I run a hand over my face, leaning back against the wall. Looks like I messed everything up once again.
The next morning, I don’t have a place to rush to, and after a night full of restless dreams, I get up early and get to the kitchen first. The house is quiet, just like it usually is, and I hum an old song under my breath as I start making pancakes. I don’t know if Sasha and Misha are gonna trust me enough to eat my breakfast, but I for sure want some sweet and fluffy pancakes with my coffee.
By the time they wake up, the pans are already sizzling with butter, and the kitchen smells of milk and vanilla. I don’t even hear the steps on the stairs, too focused on flipping the pancakes and dancing to my own humming, until I catch a movement in the polished surface of the hood.
I immediately turn back, following a mindless reflex, and see Sasha and Misha standing on the other side of the kitchen. The boy looks unsure, glancing between me and his mom, while Sasha looks at me with a frown as if she doesn’t understand what I’m doing here.
“Morning.” I wave at them with my spatula and gesture at the stack of pancakes on the bar counter. “Help yourself, I’m making more.”
I turn to the stove, allowing them some space to make a decision on their own. I don’t want to force my presence on them, but we are supposed to share the kitchen anyway, so isn’t it better to find a compromise right at the beginning?
I hear them talking about something in low voices, muffled by the hum of the range hood, and eventually I hear one of the stools graze the floor. A moment later I feel Sasha’s presence behind me, and I look at her over my shoulder just to keep her in my line of sight. After yesterday, I don’t trust her that much.
But Sasha ignores it and only grabs a couple of plates from the shelf next to me. She doesn’t even look at me, but when she turns away she pauses for a moment and says in a low voice, “Thank you.”
Well, it’s my pleasure.
When I turn back to the counter, half of the pancakes are already gone and Misha is pouring maple syrup over his plate with a concentrated face. It’s kinda cute, and I chuckle, walking closer.
It’s the first time I can look at him properly. Misha is quite tall and thin for a ten-year-old, especially considering that he’s a member of one of the richest families of Chicago. Unlike his mother, he has round glasses on his nose, brown hair—perhaps the heritage of his father—and the gray eyes of his grandfather. But the thin complexion, button nose, and birthmark on his shoulder make his relationship to Sasha obvious.
I don’t realize that I’m looking at him for a moment too long until Misha tenses up and puts the bottle of syrup away, avoiding looking at me. Oh, here we go again. I swallow a sigh and take a seat opposite him. Honestly, what have I done for him to be so scared of me?
“So how is it? Is it good?” I ask with a smile and look between them. Sasha obviously refuses to warm up toward me, and Misha keeps his gaze on the countertop. Yeah, amazing.
“You know, I’m kind of a pro at making pancakes! I was living on my own for so long that I had to learn how to do it. It’s nice to share it with someone, huh?” I keep talking just to fill the tense silence above the countertop and finally take a bite of my own. “Mhm, it’s not bad, but don’t you think it’s missing something?”
I hum and drum my fingers against the countertop before raising my finger with a theatrical realization. “Aha!”
