Chapter 25 Perfect Little Angel
Perfect Little Angel
Isla
Being back at Roman's felt right. Just like when we first met, it was easy, and I loved living here.
I loved living with him. A few times I tried to convince myself it was wrong and unorthodox.
But nothing in our relationship was straightforward.
I played with him a bit, not showing him the full extent of my satisfaction.
It was inching closer to dinner time, and I somehow had the day off, so I decided to surprise Roman and make a Russian dish.
With him, I was happy, and the truth was that I hadn’t been happy in a very long time.
I was free to be silly and knew that if I messed this up, we would both just laugh about it.
I decided to make dumplings, or pelmeni, since it seemed easy enough.
So many countries had their variations of dumplings, and even if it was a failure, it would probably still taste decent.
With security in tow, I headed to the grocery store to pick up all the ingredients, having perused the recipe online.
I tried my best to fold the dumplings the way the lady on the YouTube video did it, but mine still looked a little wonky. The filling—the easy part—was done, and I was working on my second batch of dough when I heard the front door unlock, all of me bursting with anticipation of seeing Roman.
With floury hands, I ran up to the door and jumped onto him, kissing his delicious lips, which were stretched out in a huge smile. Fuck, I loved when he picked me up. He was so big and strong, and having his arms support me was heaven on earth.
"Hi!" I sang between greedy kisses. I couldn't get enough of him.
"Hi! What—what is happening here?" He looked over me and my white, floury hands.
"Come, I'll show you!" He carried me into the kitchen, me still kissing him in between giggles. I filled my lungs with his intoxicating smell, enjoying his hands on me.
My feet touched the kitchen floor, and he looked down at the counter and the messy kitchen, which was a stark contrast to his usually sterile culinary environment. I waited for him to say something.
"Are you making...dumplings?!" he asked, absolutely astounded.
"I think they're called pelmeni, Roman," I said sarcastically, as if teaching him the word.
His eyes and smile wide, he exclaimed, "You're making Russian food?! What! I haven't had homemade pelmeni in decades!" The sight was hilarious. He looked like a fucking murderer but acted like a little kid on Christmas morning.
"Well, you did say you were Russian, so I thought, you know, maybe I can make someth—" But my sentence was interrupted when his lips pressed into mine, his hands on my cheeks.
Damn, I nearly fell over. His hunger matched mine, and I drowned in him, his lips marking mine like fire. I wrapped my arms around his neck, getting flour all over him and celebrating the fact that he was mine.
“I love when you—” His tongue plunged inside my mouth, my tippy toes tingling, “—cook anything for me.” He breathed out, barely able to finish the sentence. “Wait. Don’t make any more. I’ll shower and change, and I’ll be back in five minutes.”
The butterflies in my stomach after our every interaction were more like violent bats.
Trying to catch my breath, I finished the dough just in time to see him come back changed, all homey and sexy as fuck in his usual gray sweatpants and black t-shirt.
Roman always looked extremely put together when leaving the house, but I thanked God for his gray sweatpants.
"Okay! I'm ready to work!" He grabbed a handful of flour and sat down at the kitchen island, waiting for me to give him dough and filling.
"I thought you said you don't know how to and hate cooking?!" I asked, in clear disbelief that he was ready to make dumplings. His radiant smile and pure joy were undeniable.
"I do hate it, and I can't cook, but I definitely know how to make dumplings!
" He spoke with such enthusiasm; it didn’t jive with his personality.
Clearly, I hit the jackpot. "Well, I don't know how to make the dough or filling; I just know how to fold them and boil them.
" He clarified and was already rolling out a perfectly round piece of dough that I’d struggled with.
I watched him work like he was a goddamn professional chef and fill and fold the dumplings quickly and efficiently. He placed them on a floured cutting board and settled into a fast pace.
"You're a mystery, Roman. How do you know how to do this?" I asked while working on my own stuff. He didn't say anything for a good ten seconds, concentrating on pinching the dough with his tattooed fingers, but then—
"My mom,” he responded gently.
I nodded, hoping he would tell me more, but he stayed quiet, so I probed again. "She was a master pelmeni chef?"
He chuckled at my words and then gave more details.
"I don't know about master, but making dumplings was always a whole family affair. Because there’s so much prep and you have to make hundreds, you usually do it all together.
And then when you're done, someone is cleaning up, and someone else is boiling the dumplings or setting the table or getting stuff like sour cream and freshly ground pepper. It's a job for a whole crew of people."
I listened intently and passed him more dough, hoping he would continue revealing more about his past. It dawned on me how little I knew about him. But I did know a very gruesome fact—someone killed his sister, and he was angry enough to burn that person.
"My mom used to do this thing where she would add a whole garlic clove to one of the dumplings. It looks just like all the other ones, but eventually, someone gets that one, and they’re the lucky person,” he added, his wistful smile a little heartbreaking.
"Yeah? Did you ever get it?"
"No! I never, ever got one! My sister got it a few times, though.
" He trailed off, suddenly the smile fading from his face. Not courageous enough to ask further about his past, I didn’t pose any more questions, and neither Roman nor I mentioned anything family-related for the rest of the forty minutes it took us to finish up.
Once finished, Roman placed a big pot of boiling water on the stove, and we both started cleaning up.
"Oh my God.” He opened the fridge door to put something away.
“You even got sour cream. God damn, Isla.
You're a perfect little angel.” He turned toward me, all of him so big in front of me.
“Such a good girl. Moya devochka." He leaned in, giving me a most tender kiss.
“Moya…” His whisper fanned my bottom lip, igniting sparks in my chest.
Suddenly, his hips made forceful contact with mine, and he pushed me back into the kitchen island, his ocean blue eyes on mine and his lips breaking out in a mischievous smirk.
"My perfect little Angel...who is going to bend over for me and let me taste that delicious pussy...that I can't get enough of." His sentence sounded like a threat, his deep voice reverberating through me and sending a wild wave of need.
I wanted to make it more fun.
"Mm. You’ll have to…catch me first.” I played, escaping his grasp and taking quick steps away from him, seeing his eyes widen at my actions.
Pure joy and elation ran through my body from every second I spent with him. I darted across the dining room and into the living room as Roman followed me closely, his eyes darkening from how fast I was able to get away from him.
My naked feet padded on the hardwood floor, and I was about to jump over the back of the couch when his large arm wrapped around my waist, the pursuit ending abruptly. Within a second, I was pressed against his chest, and his fingers were making quick work of pulling my t-shirt over my head.
I gasped at suddenly being half naked, but he gave me no chance to understand what was happening when he bent me over the back of the couch, rendering me helpless and in exactly the position he had taunted me with.
Immediately, he tugged the shorts off my legs and towered right behind me, my body molding into the couch. Those strong tattooed fingers slid up my back and onto my neck, and he held me down with delectable force. I was fully at his mercy.
I hated to admit that I loved being this helpless. He could do whatever he wanted, and I would let him, happy to take it. I would enjoy it. He was dominance and lust and everything I had ever fantasized about.
"Such a fucking tease, baby. Always such a tease." His deep voice breathed into my ear. "You know what happens to girls like that?" All of me shivered at his words while his finger ran the length of my pussy, feeling how wet I was.
"Their boyfriends make them come?" My snarky tone elicited a dark chuckle from him, riveting my imagination further.
Without any warning, he thrust in hard, stars bursting in my eyes. I yelped from the unexpected intrusion, but that only spurred him on, and he slammed into me again, the lewd noise of his hips slapping against my naked ass filling up the room.
My mind went all fuzzy. He fucked me harder with every passing second, and all my blood rushed into my head, turning off all logical thought. I didn’t want any logical thoughts; I just wanted this feeling of submission.
God, yes, just like this, bent over the couch and belonging to him, my cheek was squished against the cushion while my boyfriend fucked me.
I tried to say something, but it all came out incoherent as his big, beautiful cock stretched me to the limit and his harsh and rough movements sent waves of euphoria through me.
The entire apartment filled up with the sounds of his groans and my muffled moaning. In a second, he pulled out of me, and instead, his hot tongue trailed a long lick on my pussy.
The change in pace and sensation rendered all my limbs weak. I stayed slumped over the couch, moaning his name and praying to God with every flick of his tongue on my clit.