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"Have you done much cooking before?" I ask, trying to hide my amusement.
"Uh, not exactly," he admits sheepishly, glancing up at me with a grin. "But hey, how hard can it be, right?"
I stifle a giggle, watching as he struggles to crack an egg without getting bits of shell into the bowl. It's a simple task but one that seems to elude him entirely.
"Here, let me help," I offer, stepping forward and taking the egg from him. With practiced ease, I tap it against the edge of the counter and separate the two halves, letting the yolk slide neatly into the bowl. Philippe watches me with a mixture of admiration and relief.
"Thanks," he mutters, scratching the back of his head. "Guess I still have some things to learn."
"My mom taught me when I was a kid," I mention, braving using the word. If Philippe noticed how much effort it takes me to say it, he doesn’t draw attention to it, making this much easier for me.
This way, I feel like she's still around.
The room fills with the sound of sizzling bacon, and I can't help but feel a surge of affection for this man who is trying so hard to bring a moment of normalcy to my shattered world. By mistake, he uses salt instead of sugar on the caramelized bacon he's trying to master.
I laugh softly, the sound light and airy – a welcome reprieve from the crushing weight of my grief.
Philippe looks up at me, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness. "It's good to see you laugh, Tatiana," he says earnestly.
I suddenly feel guilty for laughing and stop.
Not wanting him to feel hurt, I change the topic. "Let's just hope the food is edible," I joke, watching as he turns his attention back to the stove. The pasta threatens to boil over, and he scrambles to lower the heat.
"Hey, I never claimed to be a master chef," Philippe retorts playfully, his eyes dancing with mischief. "But I promise, it'll be made with love."
And in that instant, as we stand side by side in the comforting glow of the kitchen, I believe him.
Feeling suddenly impulsive, I lean in to kiss Philippe gently on the lips. He looks up, startled and confused, but he quickly reciprocates, his hands coming up to cup my face tenderly. He wants this, too.
As our mouths move close together in little nibbles, a sweetness envelops me. He bites my lower lip. I, his upper. He nips my neck. I, his ear.
"Philippe," I murmur against his lips, surrendering myself to the passion that is building within me with each passing microsecond. He responds with a low growl, his fingers tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth hungrily.
"Ti voglio, Tatiana," he whispers roughly, his breath hot against my skin.-I want you, Tatiana.
In an instant, we’re going from tender to urgent. Philippe’s strong hands grasp the hem of my shirt dress, ripping it off my body in one swift motion, leaving me standing before him in just my bra and panties.
I gasp at the sudden exposure, but my trepidation is short-lived as his eyes rake over my body with undisguised desire.
“Sei bellissima,”– You’re gorgeous, – he breathes, his eyes darkening with lust as he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. It falls to the floor, and his gaze lingers on my now-bare breasts, his pupils dilating further.
"Touch me," I plead, craving the feel of his hands on my skin. Without hesitation his palms come up to cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing across my nipples. A shudder runs through me at the contact of cold hands on warm skin, and I can't help but moan softly.
"God, Tatiana," he groans, his arousal apparent in the bulge straining against his pants. His hands slide down my sides, coming to rest at the waistband of my panties. With a quick flick of his wrists, he tears them away, leaving me completely naked before him.
"Take me," I whisper urgently, my eyes locked on his as my desire for him becomes all-consuming. Philippe's gaze is a storm of emotions – love, lust, and something deeper, something thattells me this moment is about so much more than just physical pleasure.
"Sei sicuro?"– You're sure? – he asks, wanting to be certain this is what I truly want. And in this moment, with the heat of his body pressed against mine and the promise of release within reach, I have never been more sure of anything in my life.
"Please," I reply, my voice breaking with need, "make love to me. I... make me forget this world. Make me forget my life. Make me forget anything but this moment."
With a growl of approval, Philippe scoops me up into his arms, carrying me over to the dining table.
"That's what you'll get then," Philippe growls, his eyes blazing like a wolf on the hunt. In one swift motion, he sweeps the china and silverware off the dining table, sending them crashing to the floor.
"Philippe!" I protest, wincing at the sound of shattering porcelain.
"Your figure would drive any man mad,cara mia," he tells me, his gaze raking over my body hungrily. "And I can't wait any longer."
