8. Dante
Dante
Every bite makes her eyes flutter closed. Every swallow comes with a soft hum of pleasure that goes straight to my cock.
I shift my weight, adjust my stance, take a long pull of coffee, and try to will my dick to deflate.
At least the island hides me from the waist down, because watching her eat breakfast is pure porn.
Her tongue darts out to catch a drop of syrup on her bottom lip.
Fuuuck.
I'm a sick bastard for finding this erotic, but here we are.
She takes another bite, slower this time, savoring it, and a moan escapes her lips.
I'd give anything—anything—to make her moan like that with my tongue between her thighs.
I’m a fucking degenerate.
I force myself to think about something else. Anything else. Like how she eavesdropped and hid behind a potted tree.
The image makes me smile.
There's defiance in her. A spark her father didn't manage to beat out of her completely. Good. I like that. I like it a lot.
That bastard controlled her so thoroughly she couldn't even choose her own breakfast food, but she’s still got some grit.
She finishes the last bite and sets down her fork, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you. That was…so delicious.”
"You're welcome."
Her gaze drops to her empty plate, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her nightgown.
"What other foods do you like?" I ask, leaning forward slightly.
She thinks for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration like I've asked her to solve a complex equation.
Then her face lights up. Actually lights up. Eyes bright, mouth curving into a big smile.
"Twinkies.”
"Twinkies." I laugh. Actually laugh, the sound surprising even me.
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"Nothing. Just...Twinkies." I shake my head, still grinning like an idiot.
"Yes." She's practically glowing now. "They’re these little yellow cakes with the cream inside."
“I know what Twinkies are.”
"I haven't had one in years."
Years.
Because her piece-of-shit father decided they weren’t on the approved food list.
Fuck him.
"I don't have any here, but I'll get some."
I’ll have an entire tractor-trailer filled with Twinkies pull up to the house if she wants.
"You don't have to—"
“I’ll get some.” My tone brooks no argument. “In fact…let’s go grocery shopping. You can pick out whatever you want. No restrictions.”
She hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Really?"
"Really."
A knock at the front door interrupts us.
Perfect timing.
I cross to the entryway and open the door to find a courier holding several shopping bags.
I take the bags, tip the guy, and return to the kitchen where Polina is watching me with curiosity.
"What's that?"
I set the bags on the counter. "Clothes. For you. Just a few things to tide you over. Later, you can pick out the rest of your wardrobe yourself."
Her jaw drops. "You bought me clothes?"
"I had my assistant order a few basics."
She reaches into the nearest bag, pulling out a soft gray sweater, dark jeans, simple cotton underwear.
Just...normal clothes.
Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "Thank you."
"Go change," I tell her, my voice more commanding than I intend. "Then we'll go shopping for loads of junk food.”
She nods, gathering the bags in her arms, and disappears upstairs.
I watch her go, that perfect heart-shaped ass swaying beneath the silk nightgown.
Patience, I tell myself.
She's been through hell. She needs time. Space. Safety.
But god, I want her.
I want to strip that nightgown off her body and worship every inch of her skin. I want to hear her moan my name the way she moaned over those pancakes. I want to bury myself so deep inside her she’ll never not feel me.
I'm so fucked.