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My pussy throbs with need, even after the orgasm I just had. It might’ve given me a moment of instant gratification, but now I feel extra empty, craving something deep inside me for my muscles to clamp down on. I rock against him once more, but DeLuca is onto me this time. He grasps my hips and lifts me with ease, setting my ass on his desk as he scoots his chair back so he can stand.
He towers above me, between my legs, and I tilt my head back, back, and back farther, so I can look into his eyes. “Naughty little minx,” he practically purrs, and it sends chills down my neck. He takes a step back until he’s no longer between my thighs, and it takes everything in me not to pout like a princess who didn’t get what she wants. “I need to feed you. Come on.” He holds out his hand, palm up, an offering even though his words were a demand.
I lift a brow, looking from his expectant face that’s tinged with the slightest bit of hope to his hand, my heart racing over the fact that not only is he calm—no anger in sight that I went against his wishes and came—but he’s asking in his own bossy way if I’ll have breakfast with him.
I lightly slide my fingers across his wide, steady palm before resting it in the center, my core clenching at the sight of how much bigger his hand is than mine, and his fingers close over mine.
When we reach the kitchen, just like last night, he sets me on the counter to keep me close while he fixes us fried eggs, toast, bacon, and glasses of orange juice. My stomach is growling loudly by the time he moves me to the breakfast nook next to a beautiful bay window that overlooks an overgrown garden.
Before I know it, I’m speaking my thoughts out loud. “I’ve always wanted to try gardening. They make it seem so peaceful on TV and in books. But I’ve never had the chance in the city.” I munch on the bacon, my eyes not leaving a patch of pink flowers that look like they’re close to being smothered by what I can only assume are weeds. I have no idea if the vine overtaking everything was once planted there on purpose and has just gotten out of control, or if it’s something that blew in with the wind.
His deep, quiet voice is a soothing balm when it should make me run in fear. “What’s mine is yours now, Bella.” My eyes turn to his at this new nickname. Is he just shortening my name, or is he calling me beautiful? “If you want to learn to garden, I’ll buy you every book on the subject and hire someone to teach you. As you can see, it’s not my forte.” A hint of a smile as he looks out the window.
“Where did the flowers come from? And you’re obviously loaded. Why not just hire a gardener?”
“That was my mother’s garden. I have a groundskeeper on staff, but he was instructed years ago never to touch Mom’s special oasis. And I’m afraid that might’ve been a mistake, because I think I might’ve ruined all of her hard work by not allowing anyone to keep it up after she passed away,” he confides, and the sad tinge to his tone has me reaching out to grip his hand that rests on the table.
“I’m sorry” is all I say, because emotion clogs my throat when I realize he just told me that I could take over his mother’s beloved garden if it’s what I desired. A garden he hadn’t allowed anyone to touch since she died. When I gain control of my voice once more, I tell him, “And it’s not ruined. Or at least I don’t think it is. There are still flowers, see there? The pink ones? I don’t think anything would be blooming if it was a lost cause.”
His sad smile turns warm, and he lifts his hand out of my grasp to run the side of his index finger along my jaw. “Then it’s yours to bring back to life, piccolina.” He sniffs a small laugh but doesn’t say more as he turns to his food and picks up his fork.
“What?” I prompt, curious. When he doesn’t answer, I ask, “What was that laugh for?”
He swallows his bite of eggs and toast with mirth dancing in his eyes. “It’s just funny to me that you can see the tiniest bit of color in that overgrown garden and say there’s still hope for it with such confidence. Yet, when I look at you, I see the same exact thing, but you seem as if you think you’re that ‘lost cause.’” A pause as he sees his words hit their mark in my expression. “Your upbringing and past relationship might’ve tried to smother all your blooms, my little flower, but it’s the hidden buds I see peeking out of the wilted leaves that absolutely captivate me. There’s still hope for you to be happy—here, with me—in life, if you just trust me and let me show you.”
