Page 33 of One Love

“Oh, Little Demon, did you just laugh?” His fingers pop out his buds before he places them carefully on the bar and picks up his black-rimmed glasses.

Shit, I’ve never seen him wearing those and for some ridiculous reason, I’m suddenly aware that I’m naked and turned on.

A small growl escapes me as I rip the sheets off my bed and bounce off the mattress, stand, then cover myself like I’m Caesar and this is Rome.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Geek Squad. You caught me off guard with all that ass play going on.”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps grinning as he brings a piece of bacon to his mouth and snaps it in two with his teeth.

Flipping him off, I head straight for the bathroom, pee, then wash my hands before checking myself out in the mirror.

Damn. My hair looks like it went four rounds with Mike Tyson before giving up the fight, and while I love a good, rough fuck, I’m not usually a fan of the whole markings on the skin thing. Yet, the barely-visible cut from my knife is still there and taunting me.

Hmm, interesting. Of course, I don’t bother to tame my hair or try to wipe away what little mascara has darkened beneath my eyes because what he sees is what he gets and if he’s disappointed, then he clearly knows where the door is since he so blatantly used it last night without my permission.

Not gonna lie, walking back out only amplifies just how hungry I am. Plus, the closer I get to the stove, the more my stomach reminds me that I worked off every last calorie from Fizz’s tacos last night fucking my stalker-slash-twerk meister.

My gaze lands first on the skillet, where scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausages are all sizzling to perfection, before spotting a box of weird Danish-looking things.

“What’s that?” I point to said pastries, noticing some are filled with blueberry by the violet coloring and others are red, so either strawberry or raspberries, if I had to guess. The yellow filling one makes my mouth water and I decide I don’t even fucking care what it is, I’m tasting it.

“Kolache; they’re Czech pastries. Blueberry.” He points to the violet one, then points to the red one. “Cherry…and that one ismy favorite. Lemon curd.” As he speaks, he picks up the pastry and brings it to my already open mouth.

The tangy smell of lemon is the first clue that this may become my favorite food ever. The second is the sweet and sour explosion on my tongue. I was expecting the dough to be flaky like a Danish but instead, it’s dense and a little on the sweet side.

Holy mother of fuck, I’m in love.

“Good, right?”

My eyes are closed in ecstasy so I can’t see his expression when he speaks, but I’m willing to guess that he’s grinning like a fool because not only did he make me laugh, but he also made me moan and his cock wasn’t even involved.

“Jesus, did you make those?”

He tries to take the pastry away but I growl at him. With a chuckle, he keeps it at my mouth and waits for me to take another huge chunk of my new obsession.

“Nah, I went out to Brooklyn this morning to pick them up. Ordered them yesterday so they’d be ready by nine o’clock.”

I stop mid-chew at his admission.

“A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” My words are barely comprehensible with the mouthful of pastry sticking to my palate and tongue and even my teeth, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“I prefer the word preemptive.” Gliding the tip of his nose along the column of my neck, he whispers as his mouth stops at the shell of my ear, “Told you, food is my love language.”

Right.Leaning back, I narrow my gaze at him before taking another bite and shuffling along to the coffee pot. Dmitry takes out two plates—which is the exact total number of plates in this apartment—two forks and one glass, placing it all on the bar and serving our hot food like he’s been doing this his entire life.

“I only found one glass and…can I say that Marco needs to start paying you better than this? Jesus, Jordyn, I had tobuy basic condiments like ketchup and mustard. Who lives like that?”

I roll my eyes at his teasing tone but don’t give him the information he’s clearly fishing for. We fucked, we didn’t get married.

“I have two of everything in case something breaks. Case in point, I broke a glass, still have another. I have everything I need here.” I bring a forkful of eggs to my mouth and nearly orgasm at the spices he used on them.

“So what happens when you have company?” Watching me, he speaks around a sausage, biting half of it off and grinning like a kid. It’s a little endearing and I don’t want to like it. But goddammit, he made me breakfast.

I shrug at his question and decide that I’ll give him this little tidbit, even though I know for a fact he’s going to think he’s special. “I don’t bring anyone here so it’s a moot point.”

“Hmm, so I’m special.” Predictable.

“No, you just showed up and refused to leave like one of those alley cats that decides your house is now theirs. Technically, you weren’t invited.” I narrow one eye at him, daring him to contradict me.

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