24. Lucius
CHAPTER 24
LUCIUS
Fuck. Why did I say that?
Now there’s pity in her eyes—and I loathe pity. What’s worse is that I’m lying. I can picture a family pretty well—and she’s in it, but that’s crazy. The three-hour difference between California and Florida must’ve given me the worst case of jetlag in history—one that comes with delusions on top of everything else.
Or, more likely, I’m starting to forget the fartlek is not a real relationship.
I push my plate away, half the delicacies on it unfinished.
Juno regards me with confusion.
I stand up. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
Now she gapes at me like lobsters are crawling out of my eyes and puking caviar.
Which makes sense. Even I, far from an expert on manners, know that leaving her here mid-dinner is rude. But it’s better than the alternative, which would be lashing out at a woman who’s gone out of her way to be pleasant—even though that wasn’t part of our contract.
Some inner decision made, she purses her lips and pushes her own plate away. “It’s not your appetite. I think it’s the time difference. It’s not dinnertime back home.”
I’m beginning to regret my impulsivity. Damn biology and the emotions that go along with it. Now we’re committed to cutting dinner short and will both miss the lychee panna cotta that was going to be the dessert.
“Do you want me to show you your bedroom?” I ask, feeling like an idiot.
She shakes her head. “It’s two corridors down, on the left, right?”
“Left, right,” I say.
She doesn’t say anything back, not even a thanks, so I fill the silence with, “There’s a new toothbrush waiting there for you, and a tube of Sensodyne, as well as a bottle of Neutrogena shampoo and Dove body wash.”
Fuck. Why did I blurt all that?
As expected, there’s now a mutinous expression in her eyes. Before she can start with her signature snide remarks, I say, “I noticed the products you use when I peeked into your bathroom the other day. This isn’t from the dossier.”
She looks skeptical. However, all she says is, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I reply and stride into my bedroom, where I go through my evening routine before I realize how stupid that is.
We’re three hours ahead, and it’s not yet bedtime even in Florida.
Oh, well. I could use the alone time to work on Novus Rome—which now, thanks in part to Juno, has a plot of land.
At three a.m. local time—midnight at home—I strip to my boxers and head to bed.
An hour passes, but sleep doesn’t come.
I debate jerking off, as is becoming a tradition.
Something stops me. Somehow, it feels wrong to do this with Juno so close. Or maybe I just feel pathetic settling for my fist when what I really want is?—
No. I’m just hungry… for food. That’s it. I bet if I eat some lychee panna cotta, I’ll sleep like a drunk baby.
I slide my feet into slippers and march to the kitchen.
Huh.
Do I hear the sound of someone scurrying about in there? Also, what’s with that light?
I carefully step inside. The light is coming from the refrigerator, and illuminated by it is Juno. She’s wearing the sexiest, most sheer nightie I’ve ever seen and eating the panna cotta that was my goal straight out of the storage jar with her bare hands, like a starved animal.
I clear my throat. “Channeling a racoon?”
She nearly drops the precious jar, then examines me with a gasp, her gaze lingering on my naked torso. Then she licks her fingers clean, almost as an afterthought, and swallows everything with an audible gulp.
Fuck me. My biology is taking over my body completely. My nostrils flare and my legs carry me to the fridge—at the same time as my cock stirs, which means I should be anywhere but in Juno’s company.
“What are you doing here?” she whispers when I’m close enough for another kiss.
As she talks, her chest heaves, making me aware of her pebbled nipples.
Am I dreaming this? I had a wet dream just like this the other night, only she wore even less.
With effort, I suppress my lurid imaginings and nod at the jar in her hands. “I have a craving… for panna cotta.”
“Oh.” She dips her index and middle fingers into the jar again, only to then extend her hand toward me. “Want?”
Without a second of hesitation, I pounce. An eyeblink later, her fingers are in my mouth.
Juno’s eyes widen. There’s a real possibility she was joking about feeding me this way—or didn’t think the offer through.
Well, it’s too late now. I do to her fingers what I’m dying to do to her nipples… and pussy. I suck them gently, my tongue lapping every bit of deliciousness it encounters.
She drops the jar. With a dexterity I didn’t know I possessed, I catch it mid-air and set it on the nearby counter—all without letting go of her now-panna-cotta-free fingers.
She jerks her hand away from my mouth, drops her gaze to take in my raging erection, and blushes like the strawberry that was meant to be the topping for the panna cotta.
When she meets my gaze again, her face is completely red and her voice is husky as she whispers, “You’ve got dessert all over your mouth.”
I feel the truth of her statement with my tongue. Against my better judgement, a wicked grin stretches my mouth as I parrot her offer. “Want?”
Insanity is clearly contagious.
Her eyes flare, her chest heaves faster, and just when I think she’s going to run away screaming, she grabs the back of my head and pulls my mouth to hers.
My heart rate surges. The last time, the kiss was amazing, but this time, it’s maddening. My breathing turns ragged, my cock grows achingly hard, and all I want is to rip Juno’s nightie off, like a caveman.
She moans into my mouth, her breath scented with the sweetness of the panna cotta as her tongue dances with mine.
Fuuuuck.
Where’s that robot body when you need one? This biological one is out of control.
With a low growl, I grab her buttocks, lift her off her feet, and sit her on the counter, sweeping off the panna cotta and whatever else was there. Distantly, I hear the glass jar break as it hits the floor, and I pull away from the kiss, breathing hard.
She looks out of breath also, her face even more flushed. Glancing down, I see her legs spread in front of me like an offering. My heartbeat speeds up further. She’s wearing panties, but like the nightie, they are sheer.
The urge to rip fabric into shreds intensifies.
“I have a new idea for dessert,” I say hoarsely without taking my eyes off the prize.
She licks her lips. Her eyes are heavy-lidded as she nods. Taking that for permission, I grip the flimsy fabric of her panties and pull it aside, none-too-gently. It rips in my grasp. Oh, well. I guess that was meant to be.
Mouth watering, I bend over the dark patch of curls exposed to my gaze. I love that she’s all natural, like the perfect Roman goddess that she is. Reverently, I kiss her thigh. Her skin is soft and silky to the touch, and she gasps as I place another kiss higher up.
The spot I kissed pebbles with goosebumps.
I shift to move my lips higher yet—only to jolt at a strange sound by the kitchen entrance.
Then a thousand ceiling sconces light up, blinding me with sudden brightness.
What the hell?
I jerk to my feet and glare at the source of the distraction—Elijah, who’s pointing a fucking revolver at me, of all things.
An ancient-looking revolver at that—trust Elijah and his butlery sensibilities to get an antique.
At the sight of Juno and me, his eyes go wide and his face red. “I’m so sorry, sir!” He lowers the gun. “I thought you were an intruder and?—”
I’m not listening. Grabbing a stunned Juno, I set her on her feet behind me, onto one of the few areas of the floor clear of the mess I’ve made.
Making sure her body is hidden from view by mine, I round on Elijah, not bothering to hide my wrath. “A fucking gun?”
My butler looks like he wants to sink through the floor. “This is Florida, sir.”
“Sure, I must have missed it when they were handing out deadly weapons as we exited the plane. Antiques, at that.”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir.” Elijah backs away. “I’ll get the lights on the way out.”
Except Elijah is not looking where he’s going and his foot lands on a large shard of glass resting in a splatter of panna cotta. Predictably, the shard slides—like a banana peel in a fucking cartoon. As if acting out a scene from that same cartoon, Elijah flails his arms wildly before falling on his ass.
The gun slips from his grasp, hitting the floor with a clank of metal on tile.
Before I can move to help, a deafening boom assaults my eardrums—followed by an explosion of pain.