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“Making you dinner,” she replied. “We didn’t get to go out for pizza, remember?”
I let out a sigh, rolling my eyes. “I don’t give a damn about food,” I said, watching her in her bare feet. “You’re wearing my T-shirt. You may as well be naked, for Christ’s sake. I want to touch you.”
“You can have dessert if you finish your supper.”
I dropped my head back, clutching the armrests. This was ridiculous.
Ten minutes ago we were screaming at each other, five minutes ago I had my knife out, and now she was acting all calm as if we’d both just woken from a peaceful nap.
It was insane.
After I’d told her that I’d rid the planet of two child abusers, she kissed me, sat me down, and stripped out of her ruined clothes to put on my white V-neck. All calm. As if I’d just told her that I’d stolen a candy bar instead of stabbing two people when I was thirteen. She was either losing her fucking mind or trying to distract me.
And if that was her goal, it was working. The T-shirt hung down to just below her ass, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“What are you making?” I pressed, getting irritated.
“Steak.”
“I don’t want a steak.” I shot out of the chair.
Walking over to her, I held her hips from behind as she worked at the stove. “Stop acting weird. Either fuck me or yell at me. You have to have something to say about what I just told you.”
She turned around, arched a mama eyebrow, and shot out her pointed finger, directing me to my chair like a child.
“Now,” she ordered.
I groaned, raked my hand through my hair again, and plopped my ass back down in my seat.
And then my heart lodged in my throat when she leaned over to grab rubber bands off the window sill and her thong-clad ass peeked out from beneath the shirt.
I chewed the corner of my mouth as I watched her tie back her hair in two low pigtails under each ear. My dick swelled, crowding the slim fucking pants Madoc had told me to buy.
“Oh, my God,” I groaned. “Pigtails?” I blurted out. “Baby, please.” And I stood up to go to her again, but she spun around with a murderous look in her eyes.
“Sit!” she commanded, and I dropped my ass back in the chair, letting out a growl.
So I waited. Silent and docile for once in my life. Fifteen minutes of absolute torture before she was done.
She grilled some steak on the stove, steamed some vegetables, and chopped everything up, piling it into a large bowl.
But as hard as it was and as much as my mouth watered for something other than the food, I loved watching her in my house. I’d had the kitchen remodeled along with much of the rest of the place, and now I was glad. I wanted her to be happy here. To cook here. To sleep here. To feel good here.
Her slender feet padded along the dark slate tile that I’d picked out myself, and she explored the insides of the new dark cherry cabinets I’d put in. The stainless steel appliances and the granite countertops were the best money could buy, but for the first time I was wondering if someone else liked it other than me. Did she feel at home here?
Jared had liked the renovations, but his taste was different. He and Tate kept trying to talk me into black this and black that, but I wasn’t feeling it. I loved black, but my home was a different matter. It had to be warm.
Juliet came over, set down two bottles of water, and then grabbed the bowl with a fork. She parked her ass on the table in front of me and started stirring up the food.
Yeah. No.
I grabbed her hips, slid her off the table, and sat her in my lap, straddling me.
She grinned to herself, her tone amused. “Okay, now you can touch me.”
She stabbed a piece of steak and broccoli and held it up to me.
I pulled back. “With your fingers.”
She nodded, stuck the food in her mouth, and put the fork down on the table as she chewed. Reaching into the bowl, she took a chunk of meat and held it up to my mouth.
I opened, taking the bite and closing my lips around her soft fingers. Her eyelids fluttered, and her throat bobbed up and down as she slid them out. I barely tasted the food.
I wished I could touch her and not feel what was happening in my chest. I wished I could look at her and know that it would be easy to let her go at some point.
But as she sat there feeding me with her fingers, wearing my T-shirt, sporting her pigtails, her legs spread over my thighs, and her feet dangling six inches above the floor, I knew that I was completely at the mercy of someone nearly half my size.
I was hers.
She fed me another bite and leaned into my hand when I caressed her face.
“Do the police know about what you did?” She spoke softly.
I nodded. “Yes. It’s been taken care of,” I assured her. “I didn’t want that hanging over my head.”
That was the perk of having connections. Ciaran—a gunrunner and drug dealer with resources. Madoc’s dad—one of the best defensive attorneys in the state. And the police—whom I’d worked with supplying favors and getting them in return. No one was going to come after a kid who did what he had to do in a horrific situation.
Of course, my father thought the bodies were still buried in an unmarked grave. And for now, I’d let him think that.
“Will your father come here when he gets out?” she asked, and I ran my hands up and down her thighs, understanding her worry.
“It’s possible,” I said. “Very possible.”