Page 48 of Use Me, Daddy

I turned to her, brushing a knuckle along her cheek. “It’s perfect,” I said sincerely, letting my gaze linger on hers. “Just like you.”

Her cheeks flamed again, and she quickly turned away, slipping off her jacket and hanging it by the door. I watched her, amused by how she was trying to hide her embarrassment.

But there was no hiding from me—not anymore.

I walked in further, letting my gaze roam over the space. I could see her personality in every corner—from the books on the shelves to the art prints on the walls, to a few old canvases propped up near a small easel, the scent of lavender lingering in the air. It was all so… her. And I liked it more than I cared to admit.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, trying to sound casual, though her voice still had that breathless edge. “I, um… I can get us something to drink.”

I smiled and shook my head, stepping closer to her.

“I’ll take care of it,” I said softly. “Why don’t you relax?”

Before she could argue, I was already moving toward her small kitchen. I found a bottle of wine on the counter—a decentItalian red, nothing too extravagant but certainly good enough to unwind with. I popped the cork with practiced ease, pouring a generous glass for her before handing it to her with a small smile.

“Here,” I said, watching the way her fingers trembled slightly as she took the glass. “Something to help you relax.”

She took a sip, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savored it. I watched her, enjoying the way her shoulders began to loosen, some of the tension finally melting away.

While she settled herself on the couch, I turned back to the kitchen, surveying her cupboards and refrigerator. It was sparse but well-stocked with essentials, and within moments, I knew exactly what I was going to make.

“Let’s see what we have here,” I said to myself, rummaging through her pantry. She shot me a curious glance from where she sat, sipping her wine, but didn’t object.

Wise, because I was already thinking about putting her back over my knee again.

I pulled out a few ingredients—a half-empty bag of potatoes, onions, garlic, and a package of ground beef. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to whip up something simple and hearty. I turned to her with a playful grin.

“Hope you’re in the mood for a little taste of my homeland,” I said. “I’m thinking a quick version ofkartoshka s myasom—potatoes with beef.”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I didn’t take you for the cooking type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, baby girl,” I replied, winking at her. She blushed again, looking down at her wineglass, but I caught the small smile she tried to hide.

As I set to work, the apartment filled with the savory scent of onions and garlic sizzling in the pan, followed by the rich aroma of searing beef. I glanced over my shoulder to see her watching me, her expression softer now, the blush still lingering on her cheeks.

“Are you really cooking in my kitchen right now?” she asked, incredulity laced with amusement.

“Is that a problem?” I teased, stirring the pan.

She took another sip of her wine, shaking her head slightly. “No… it’s just… no one’s ever done that for me before.”

I paused for a moment, letting her words sink in. The vulnerability in her voice, the way her eyes darted away as if she’d revealed too much—it stirred something in me, something possessive.

How had no man taken proper care of her before? How was that even possible?

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat and turning back to the stove, “consider this the first of many times.”

The words slipped out before I could second-guess them, and from the corner of my eye, I saw her cheeks flush again, her gaze softening. There was a part of me that should have been alarmed at how natural this felt—me, in her apartment, cooking for her like we’d done this a hundred times before.

But as I listened to the soft hum of her breathing, the crackle of the pan, and the quiet clink of her glass against the coffee table, I realized I didn’t want this feeling to end.

I decided that I wouldn’t let it.

I finished plating the food, a rich, savory mix fragrant with spices and herbs I’d found hidden in her pantry. The scent of it filled the small apartment, warm and inviting, and I turned to see Amy’s eyes widening as she caught a whiff.

I couldn’t help the satisfied grin that tugged at my lips; I’d seen that look before. I’d impressed her.

Good.

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