Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kash
Aweight has been lifted from my chest. Mila is lying in my arms and even though I just dumped all my feelings onto her—well, most of them—I’m not worried. She’s smiling at me and is letting me hold her. I don’t ever want this to end. If I have my way, which I will, it never has to.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.” She playfully smiles at me, tilting her hips toward mine.
My dick immediately hardens, but I talk myself down. I was supposed to be gentle the first time, and I definitely was not. She needs a break. Be patient, you animal, I scold myself.
After kissing her forehead, then her lips, I pull back. Her light brown eyes are focused on mine, her expression content and satisfied. “Let’s get you something to eat, then we’ll revisit that thought.” I grip her hip in my palm, lightly squeezing.
Getting out of bed, I grab fresh boxers and pull them quickly up my legs.
After rifling through my dresser for a moment, I find the light blue T-shirt I was looking for.
It seems to be lucky for us. Turning to the bed, I find Mila’s eyes trained on my body.
“See something you like, Sunshine?” I quip, flexing my arms, making my muscles more pronounced.
Shaking her head, Mila lies back, putting her arm over her eyes. “You’re impossible, Kash.”
“Impossible to resist. Impossible to ignore.” I climb back onto our bed, because it is our bed.
I will never have another soul here besides her.
“Impossible to not love.” I pull her arm away from her face.
She’s smiling and it takes my breath away.
Her hair is a mess, lips still slightly swollen from my kisses and cock, which is now hard as a rock, but it’s her eyes that give her away.
Sometimes when Mila smiles at customers, or people she’s being friendly to, her smile never reaches her eyes. It never looks forced, just not complete. The way she smiles at me is the latter. She’s got me so twisted up inside, and I don’t care who knows it.
Kissing her fingertips, I pull her to a sitting position.
As much as I hate to cover up her body, I need to feed her, and if she stays naked, it’s never going to happen.
Pulling the shirt down over her head, I thread my fingers back through hers.
“Food first. Cuddles second and sex third.” When she stands in front of me, my blue T-shirt hanging past her knees, I realize I might have to change that. “Maybe sex is second.”
Laughing, Mila steps out of my embrace and heads toward the kitchen. “Let’s go, Casanova. You can feed me first, then we’ll talk about the preferred order of operations.”
Not needing to be told twice, I follow after my girl. I head for the fridge, then cringe when I take a peek inside and see there aren’t many options. I wasn’t prepared for this. Damn it.
Joining me, Mila peers inside. “Oh, do we have bread? What about grilled cheeses?”
We. She said we.
“Done.” I grab cheese, butter, and a few add-ons from the fridge, bumping it closed with my hip. “Can you grab the bread?”
Nodding, Mila walks toward the breadbox I have sitting on the counter. As I’m heating the skillet, I feel her approach at my side.
“Is this what I think it is?” She gestures with the loaf of sourdough I bought during one of my last visits.
“That depends—what do you think it is?”
Rolling her eyes, Mila places the bread on the counter next to the other supplies. “It's my bread. The bread I make, I mean.”
“You would be correct, Sweet Girl.”
Half the loaf is already missing, making me glad that I have enough for a few sandwiches.
I’ve never given much thought to what different types of bread there are before, but I’ll happily eat this over anything at the store any day.
“I thought you just grabbed treats and stuff. I’ve never seen you get bread.
I mean, look at you.” She gestures to my naked chest.
Telling myself not to puff my chest out and preen, I opt for the humble route. “I work out so I can eat what I want. Plus, I enjoy it. Keeps me focused and quiets the noise,” I admit, cutting the bread into slices.
“That’s how I am with baking.” She leans against the counter, buttering slices as I hand them to her.
It feels so domestic, and I love it. I picture us doing this every night as we prep lunches for our future kids.
“I don’t mind handling the front occasionally, but I’m happiest in the kitchen. I let Mara handle all that.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” She hands me the bread, a confused expression marring her features.
Taking the bread from her, I plop it into the skillet, happy when it sizzles and the scent of butter hits my nostrils.
Quickly adding cheese on top, then bacon, I place another slice over them and turn to give her my full attention.
“Why are you happier in the kitchen? Aren’t you part of Twin Roasts? ”
“Well, yeah, but I don’t need to be seen. We have Mara for that.”
She doesn’t need to be seen. Is she serious? She’s all I see.
“Explain that. Now.” I’m on the verge of doing something really stupid or really nice. Right now, I can’t tell which is going to win out.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she pins me with a look. “I’m just the baker. Mara is the brains of the operation. She handles the coffee and banking stuff; I just take care of the kitchen.”
Just the baker? Brains of the operation? What the fuck?
“Oh, Mila.” I tug her into my arms. “You do more than just bake. Any five-year-old can be a baker given some instruction and supervision, but what you do is different.”
I feel her huff against my chest, and I’m about two seconds away from putting her over the counter and spanking her ass.
Pulling back, I lean down and look directly into her light brown eyes.
They remind me of the streusel on the coffee-cake muffins she makes.
Light and like you’re home. “You take basic ingredients and turn them into something amazing, something delicious. I’ve heard people rave about your lemon bars, and God knows I get hard every time I bite into one of those brownies.
They’re soft and so damn decadent.” Brushing my lips across hers, I want to punch my fist in the air when she smiles.
“I think you’re a bit biased there, Casanova.”
Turning toward the stove to flip the grilled cheese I may have to eat because I think it’s burnt, I shrug. “Biased, right—it’s all the same really. But don’t discount what you do, Mila. Some people say I just color on others for a living.”
“That’s bullshit, Kash. You make incredible tattoos.” She scowls, crossing her arms again.
“Hmm.” I chuckle, pulling the sandwich onto a plate. Shutting off the burner, I face her. “I guess you’re a bit biased too then, eh?”
Mila takes the plate from me, then leans up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Not biased. Just right.”
Quickly grabbing her waist, I pull her against my chest and lower my head.
I steal a kiss and hold her in place as I deepen it.
I’ll never get enough of these moments. She melts into me for a beat before pulling away.
Walking toward the table, I smirk when she tosses over her shoulder, “And don’t you forget it. ”
Yes, ma’am.
Mila and I are relaxing on the couch. The rain is coming down hard outside, and it makes me thankful we’re in for the night.
My girl has her head resting on my lap, thumbing through her phone, looking at different recipes.
One of my hands grazes the soft skin of her thigh; the other plays with her hair.
I don’t know how my life can get much better than this.
Kissing the top of her head, I tug her closer to me.
“Kash?” her voice cuts through the silence.
“Mila?”
“Why don’t all the tattoos on your arms have color?” She moves her fingertip back and forth along the length of my arm, goosebumps rising in its wake.
Taking a deep breath and telling my dick not to get hard over her petting me, I think a moment. “I don’t really know. I guess I just didn’t think about adding color to them.”
“I like the ones with color,” she admits, turning her head to face me. “Especially the one on your thigh.” She blushes.
Fuck, she’s cute. Leaning down, I press my lips to hers in a swift kiss, then grab her hand. “Follow me. I have an idea.”
Grabbing some supplies from my backpack I take into the shop, I drag her back to our bedroom.
Thunder rumbles outside, and I wonder if we’ll lose power.
I think I still have the apple-scented candle in my bedroom that Emma gifted me when I moved in.
It didn’t matter that I was just switching apartments, or that at the time I was going to live alone, Emma made sure I had some pieces of home.
Lighting the candle, I grin at Mila.
“Why are you smiling?” She looks at me with a curious expression.
I quickly shrug off my shirt, then slide down my shorts, standing before her in my boxer briefs. Tugging my hair free, I shake it loose and let the strands fall and graze my shoulders. I feel Mila’s gaze roaming across my body.
When I step toward her, she takes a tentative step back.
Quirking a brow, I snake my hand out and grab her waist. As I tug her into my body, I lift Mila in my arms and take her lips with mine.
It feels like the first time every time I kiss her.
They’re soft and full, and I can’t get enough of the feel of them against mine.
The moment she groans, I slide my tongue against hers, slowly exploring her mouth.
Her fingers thread into my hair, holding me in place as she rolls her hips against mine.
Pulling back, I nip her bottom lip and toss her on the bed. Her shocked expression quickly turns into amusement. “That wasn’t very nice.” She gives me what I imagine she thinks is a stern look.
“I’m going to make it up to you,” I promise, climbing onto the bed.
“How are you going to do that?” she questions, shuffling back toward the pillows. The blue shirt rides up her thighs, and I’m dying to get back between them.
Smirking, I hold up the package I brought in with me. “I’m going to let you color in my tattoos, and then I’m going to fuck you, slow and sweet.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up, hands reaching for the pack in my hand with enthusiasm.
Fuck, I don’t deserve her. “I might have to fuck you first,” I admit and pounce on her.