Page 83 of Sin & Secrets

There’s a pause where we both seem to bask in the moment comfortably.

“Why do you call me that?” she asks suddenly.

“Angioletta?”

“Yes.”

I smile. “Do you know what it means?”

She cocks her head slightly. “I might have googled it.”

“The first time I saw you singing on the stage at theCandelabra,I knew you had to be some kind of angel,” I explain. “But then I realized that wasn’t true.”

She pulls away to look at me. “I’m insulted.”

My eyes dart hungrily to her mouth. “You were far too tempting for a little angel.”

Cas smirks as she leans forward and takes my bottom lip between her teeth.

I growl in response, pressing my hardening crotch against her so that she can feel my growing desire.

“See?” I breathe once she’s released me. “Practically sinful.”

She hums happily in response, and Jesus Christ, do I want to bend her over and replay our last adventure in this very kitchen scene by mouth watering scene.

But then her stomach rumbles.

A flush immediately rises in her cheeks. “I…”

With a chuckle, I kiss the top of her head and step away. “Keep your hand under the water. I’ll make us breakfast.”

“You,”she scoffs. “Are you sure you don’t want to call Donatella?

“I’ll have you know, I’m an exceptional cook.”

I grab four eggs from the fridge. Their familiar weight fits comfortably in one hand, and as I set up the frying pan on the stove with the other, I immediately feel myself sink into the zone.

It’s been a while since I’ve bothered with doing this, but the routine of it soothes what remains of my anxiety from earlier.

I take a metal spatula out next and wave it at Cas. “Watch,” I say as I throw an egg up into the air over the pan. It falls perfectly on top of my spatula, wedging the shell and cracking the contents into the warm surface below.

She lets out a low whistle. “I’d clap, but…” she waves her injured hand at me. “Where did you learn that?”

“I had a big house and a whole lot of downtime as a kid.” I turn away to the stove. “I figured I’d learn from my father’s numerous award-winning chefs.”

“Ah, so is it a Michelin-star secret technique?”

“The egg toss?” I say as I throw two slices of bread in the toaster.

“Bringing a gun into the kitchen.”

Damn it. I forgot about the pistol shoved into the back of my pants. I’d revealed it to her as soon as I turned my back to her.

“You can never be too careful,” I joke.

She hums non-committedly. “Is that a mafia thing?”

“It’s a…a” the sizzling eggs fill the silence for a moment, “territorial thing.”

---