Page 34 of One Love

“I dunno. Your exact words were…” He looks up to the ceiling like he’s searching his brain for the memory before snapping his fingers and grinning again. “Fine. You can stay.”

Pointing my fork at him, I speak slowly so he can understand me. “Keep it up and you won’t be finishing that meal.”

Still looking like he’s on cloud nine, Dmitry cleans off his plate and serves me more coffee, filling the lone glass with orange juice.

With only one glass, the ass makes a show of drinking out of mine, his eyes fixed on me and a smile so wide it causes his scar to crinkle.

“So what are the glasses for?” I use my fork again, making circles in the air at his whole hot-geek look going on.

“To see?” Christ, this man.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Cocking my head to the side, I give him my best glare, the one that makes grown men kneel at my feet and beg for mercy.

“Fuck, yes. Is your pussy wet for me?” What? Is he insane?

When I rub my naked thighs together, I frown.

“I wish I could say this was a ploy to get you all hot and bothered for me but they really are prescription.” He pops a stray piece of bacon in his mouth, his eyes never veering away from me.

“So why’s this the first time I’m seeing them?” I sip at my coffee and take in just how fucking hot he really is. It’s not necessarily the light-green eyes or the strong, Roman nose, or those fucking talented lips. As my eyes roam his features, I decide it’s all of it. The combination of it all, including his scar and quirky personality, makes him all kinds of irresistible.

“Contacts.” His answer halts my inspection of him, my gaze narrowing on his mirth-filled eyes.

“I’m guessing you planned to stay the night and brought all you needed with you?”

Dmitry reaches out and taps me on the tip of my nose and I swear to fuck, if I weren’t chewing on a cherry kolache, I would have bitten his finger right the fuck off. “Bingo.”

“Take your shit back with you. This is a one off so don’t get used to it.” Fuck, tart cherries on the sweet dough are just as delicious as the lemon, which reminds me. “How’d you find this place?”

Dmitry shrugs. “I make it a point to know the location of all the good Czech bakeries.”

“Because…?” Do I have to spell it all out for him?

Leaning in, he crosses his arms on the counter and grins. “Because, silly, my parents are Czech. It’s my heritage. Never lived there but I still have dual citizenship.” Interesting. I’ll have to get back to that.

“Now, if we’re playing twenty questions, I believe you still haven’t answered mine. Is your pussy wet for me?” Dmitry goes from playful to lusty in two point four seconds, his eyes boring into my chest. When I look down, I roll my eyes.

“Fine. My pussy is wet for you and yes, my nipples are hard. What can I say? I’m a woman with needs and last night you gave me what I wanted.” I speak in a bored tone, like we’re talking about the Dow Jones and how stable it’s been as of late.

Dmitry stands, one hand on his belt buckle as he pops it open and slides the leather, slowly, from the throngs of his jeans.

“What you wanted.” He repeats my words like he’s testing them on his tongue, measuring their worth. “Let’s see if I can give you exactly what you need.” At his tone, my thighs clench and my pussy is immediately ready for him. Fuck, how does he do this?

Fingers fisting my hair, he pulls me back into his chest and plants a kiss on my lips, no tongue, as he reaches out for something. I can’t see a damn thing in this position—no doubt a calculated move—but as soon as he lets me go, I notice the ketchup and mustard sitting right next to my plate where my uneaten sausage lies.

“You know, in certain cultures, it’s rude to not finish your plate.” I don’t respond to his little role playing, curious where he wants to take this. “In fact, working for the Italian mob, you should know that.” My gaze follows his every move as he flicks at my sheet, letting it fall like he was personally offended by it, then picks up the ketchup bottle, opens it, and lines it up with my nipples.

He wouldn’t…

Oh, but he would.

A streak of red hits the right tit, immediately creating goosebumps from the cold. He repeats his action with the mustard, leaving twin lines on each nipple.

“Not to mention, I cooked you breakfast, and in my country, it’s frowned upon to not finish your meal.” His voice is soothing, like he’s reading a bedtime story, when he picks up the sausage and dips it into the ketchup, then the mustard, before bringing it to my mouth. “Open.”

Obeying doesn’t come naturally to me but I do it anyway because I’m fucking turned on for some crazy reason. I bite, chew, then swallow.

“Hmm, I like feeding you, it makes me hard.” He’s not kidding, it’s right there, just above my ass.

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