She tilts her chin up, and a warm smile fills her face. “This is cute, thank you.” Then she claps her hands. “Okay, let’s get this started. I’m ready for pizza.”
“Right. First, we need to make the crust,” I state, grabbing the dough that’s been resting. “Grab that bowl of flour over there and sprinkle it on the counter. I’m going to check on the brick oven to make sure it’s set for once we’ve made some pies.”
By the time I’m back, Emma has the flour spread out, and she’s already working the dough. Her hair is up, and her face is concentrating on the task at hand.
I can do this.
I’m the one touching her. She’s not touching me. I remind myself as my body presses against her back lightly.
As long as I’m controlling the touch, it’s fine.
“Let’s do it together,” I murmur, hoping she can’t feel the pounding of my heart.
She turns slightly to the side, just enough that her profile is in view but not touching me. “Are you sure?” she asks. “I don’t…you don’t…we don’t have to-,” she sighs in frustration. “I mean, if you aren’t comfortable, we can do this-.”
“Shhh,” I hush, interrupting her, hoping to assuage her. “I’m okay- this is okay.” Then I bracket her body with mine. The tension in her shoulders eases as she places her hands gently over mine, and we stretch out the pizza dough.
We work in silence, spreading the dough into a circle. The peacefulness of this moment is not escaping me.
“Outside of cooking and gaming, what do you like to do?” she asks once I step back from her, and I already miss the feeling of her pressed against me.
I grab the bowl with the marinara sauce and the ladle before I answer. “I love computers, reading, movies, football- all sports, really,” I say as I spread the sauce over the dough.
She takes the ladle and dips it back into the bowl. “I like a little more sauce on my pizza,” she explains cheekily.
I smirk, letting her continue as I grab the toppings from the other side of the counter. As she tops the pizza with all of her favorite toppings, I finish telling her about my other interests, and then she tells me about hers. Many I already knew from my background checks, but some are surprising. She also likes to game- not nearly as much as I do, but enough that she knows some of the games I mentioned playing.
“What do you like to read?” Emma questions, dipping another strawberry into the tempered white chocolate. We’re on our last few. All of the milk chocolate ones are sitting on the cookie sheet.
I go to the oven, grab the wooden peel, and pull the pizza out while I answer. “Suspense, medieval times, and some dark romance,” I state, placing the pizza on the cool rack.
“Seriously?” she inquires, and I turn to see the amusement on her face.
“Yeah, what’s so shocking about liking suspense?’ I tease, knowing full well my love of suspense and medieval times novels is not what has her looking at me with surprise.
She rolls her eyes, “You know that’s not what I’m referring to. What’s the last dark romance book you read? You better not say something lame either because I’ll totally judge you.”
Shaking my head, I cross the room and stand behind her, my fingers sliding down her forearm and covering her hand to assist in dipping the last strawberry. The tips of our fingers sink into the warm chocolate. I lift her hand from the bowl, turning her as I bring the strawberry to my mouth, my eyes locked to hers as I open and she feeds me the chocolate-covered piece of fruit. My lips wrap around her digits, and I suck as I slowly pull them from my mouth, then chew before answering. “I’ll read anything that has the main male character hunting down the female main character because she decides to run.”
“That’s a very specific type of interest,” she whispers, attempting to back away.
I grip her waist, holding her in place. “It is,” I affirm. “It’s letting her know that running will never work-that once you’ve been claimed, there’s not a place or a length of time that can change that you’ll always be ours,” I growl the last part because I’m no longer talking about fictional men and their women.
Emma’s gray eyes pop at my words, and her chest rises and falls as her breaths quicken. “Is that so?” Her words come out as a challenge.
My hand slides up to her throat, gripping but not squeezing. “I think you already know the answer to that question,” I state, then close the distance between our lips. She opens her mouth, readily accepting me, but I freeze when she places her hands on my chest.
Emma quickly drops her hands, “Shit! I’m sorry. I got caught up in the moment,” she rushes out.
“It’s fine,” I grit out, my frustration with myself evident. I want to bring Aleksi back to life so I can use a potato peeler to skin him alive.
“Would it help if you held my hands to my side?” she offers, not knowing what a statement like that does to me. My dick grows painfully hard. It’s been too long for me to be a gentleman about this, and let’s be honest- the word gentleman doesn’t belong in the same state, much less in the same sentence, as me, but I try anyway.
“We should eat dinner,” I suggest.
She arches her brow, “Fuck dinner. I’d much rather do more of this,” she points between our mouths. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. So, what do you need, Liam?”
I must take too long to register what she’s said because she speaks again before I can get my mouth and head to catch up. “What. Do. You. Need?” She asks again, this time her words are more sensual. Their intentions are obvious- she’s no longer interested in food.
Instead of speaking, I grip her wrist and tug her in the direction of my room. It’s better to show than tell.
Pushing open my room door, I walk to the wall by my closet. I punch in the code, opening the panel.
“Rich people shit,” I hear Emma mutter.
I don’t acknowledge her statement. Instead, I pull her into the room and let the door slide closed behind us.
“Do you still want to skip dinner?” I probe, watching her take in the wall lined with various lengths and colors of jute and hemp ropes. While I’d love nothing more than to tie her up, I know she also has her own trauma from being kidnapped.
Emma turns to me, determination set in her features, “I said fuck dinner, didn’t I?”
My dick jumps at her declaration. A smile grows on my face. “Strip,” I command as I walk over to the rack of ropes, pulling off three spools.
Emma walks toward the bed, peeling off her hoodie and bra before she bends to unlace her docs and steps out of her jeans. Once undressed, she stands back to her full height, meeting my gaze with a challenge.
I’m not sure if she thinks I doubted she’d do it, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that my little dove has bigger balls than any of us.
“Lie back on the bed. I’m going to tie your arms to the post to start. I want to make sure you’re not spooked by any of this,” I instruct.
I want so badly to just lay on top of her and let her hands roam- to let her explore me freely. I’m just not there yet- I don’t know if I ever will be.
Before she follows my orders, she walks up to me, unabashedly naked, lust pooling in her depths. “Thank you for caring about my needs, but I’ll be fine. I want you to be fine,” she declares and then turns, moving for the bed.
I watch her ass bounce with each step, eager to spread her wide and bury my face between those cheeks. I grip my dick at the thought and groan when she climbs on the bed, sliding slowly to her stomach before flipping over and opening her thick thighs to give me an unobstructed view of her already glistening bare pussy.
Fuck! I nearly throw the ropes and just dive in.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.