Massio
My body tenses all over. I sense her before she enters the kitchen.
The short gasp she releases when she sees me makes my chest swell with pride, but I act indifferent to her reaction and continue chopping the fresh fruit with my switchblade.
Each one of us brothers owns one; Sal gifted them to us on our eighteenth birthdays, and they’ve become a signature part of our personalities.
The smoothies I prepare are part of my daily routine—one in the morning and an alternative one at night.
The fact I have access to all the kitchen facilities without Gracie coming in with one of the babies on her hip has me grinning from ear to ear.
This place is fucking perfect, and I most definitely will be taking this industrial-looking smoothie maker with me when I leave.
It churns a batch out in one go, and the fact that Ford has paid for it is even better.
Poor bastard doesn’t realize what a dipshit he is.
I just finished my evening gym routine, so I’m wearing only my black workout shorts and sneakers. My body glistens with a sheen of sweat I need to shower off, but I have plans first.
I knew she’d be down for a snack at some point, and although I expected her before now, I’m relieved it’s prior to my guest arriving. She barely ate a damn thing during dinner, and though I shouldn’t be concerned about her health, something about her has me wanting to care, and I hate it.
“You gonna stand there gawping at me all night, or are you going to grab something to eat?” Upon giving her my attention, I wish I hadn’t.
She’s standing in the doorway, wearing a tiny light-blue satin sleep dress with white frill along the top. Her tits pull at the fabric and her nipples are pebbled, so my eyes lock in on the peaked tips.
Jesus.
With my body paying attention, I’m grateful to be on the other side of the counter, where she’s unable to see my cock swelling in my shorts. Then I reposition it to rest in my waistband.
Anger shoots through me at the thought of other staff members witnessing her this way. “You need to put on more clothes,” I snipe out, though my appendage disagrees.
“So do you,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest and pushing her tits up higher. My mouth waters; she’s stunning, and I’m not even sure if she realizes it.
“I can see your nipples through the fabric.”
“I can see yours.” She nods toward my bare chest.
“You wanna suck on my nipples?” I ask, and her mouth falls open, then her cheeks flame. The doorbell rings, alerting me to my visitor, so I drop my knife onto the counter. “Didn’t think so. Cover your body up next time; otherwise, I might end up tasting yours.”
She chokes on that, and I’d love to push further, but the need to let out my frustration is more important than toying with the little brat further.
“There’s a smoothie on the counter. Help yourself.” I brush past her and stride toward the door. The look of shock on her face is hilarious, but not as fun as my next move.