Page 48 of Praising Haru

“Eh, it’s nice, I guess. Your chest is better.”

He tuts. “Are you being a brat?”

I tilt my head. “Are you sure you’re not a secret Dom?”

He laughs. “I’m sure. Why?”

“Because you’re so fucking good at it. You’re a natural.”

His cheeks flush a lovely shade of red. “I was teasing.”

“In a commanding ‘you’re being naughty tone’. It was hot.”

“I’ll take my top off if it makes you happy, pretty boy.” He’s using that sexy-as-fuck tone again. It is a Dom voice, whether he knows it or not.

I whimper. “Yes, please.” ‘Sir’ is on the tip of my tongue. I bite it back.

He takes his top off and tosses it onto a chair. “Better?”

“Much.” I fan myself. “Your food will be about twenty minutes. Uh, a bit less than that now.”

“Thanks. It’s smelling delicious already. Who taught you how to cook?”

“My parents. It was never a case of Mum cooking while Dad went to work. They both work. Both do their fair share of the chores. Some of my happiest memories are of the three of us baking together on the weekends, right from when I was young and had to stand on a step stool to reach.”

“I bet you were a cute kid. I can imagine you standing on a stool, licking cake batter off your fingers.”

“You think I wiped the bowl clean with my fingers?”

Kyle snorts. “Doesn’t every kid?”

“Probably.”

“You have the most beautiful smile.” He closes the distance between us in a few short strides and cups my cheek.

My tummy flutters. “Who taught you to cook?”

“Mostly my mum. She tends to chase Dad out of the kitchen if he tries to help. She claims he’d burn toast. Maybe that’s true. She insisted I had to be able to cook myself at least four healthy meals before I moved out. I can make more than that now, mostly thanks to cookbooks.” He gestures to a shelf, which has a dozen different books on it.

I smile without meaning to.

“What?”

“Your collection of cookbooks reminded me of something Mum did when I was about five.”

“Tell me.”

“She decided they needed to introduce me to my birth culture, starting with food. She bought half a dozen Korean cookbooks but struggled to get all the ingredients. Especially the spices. She tried so hard, but the end results were a disaster. We ended up putting the food in the bin and going to a Korean restaurant instead.”

Kyle leads me to the sofa. “What was it like, growing up in a Western family?” He winces. “Sorry, that’s probably totally inappropriate.”

“It’s fine. My parents were amazing, but they tried too hard to introduce me to my birth culture. They thought it was important. I found it weird.”

“In what way?”

“It wasn’t their culture to teach me about. They wanted me to be proud I was Korean, but that was hard when kids at school were teasing me because I looked different. When they were constantly asking me where I was from and not accepting England as an answer or telling me to go home.”

Sadness wells in Kyle’s eyes. He clenches his hands. “I’m sorry.”