Page 60 of Little Monster
“Nothing. She’ll be fine for one night. She’s got plenty of food and water, and I think she secretly likes having the bed to herself.”
His shoulders relax, and I turn back to the pancakes before he can see how happy his question made me. The chocolate chip pancake is done, so I sweep it out of the pan and onto a plate that’s already holding three others: one more chocolate chip and two blueberry. I put a pad of butter on each, then turn to place the plate in front of Dex. My plate is already ready, so I carry it to the island and take a seat next to him.
By the time I sit down, he’s halfway through a chocolate chip pancake.
I drizzle a small amount of maple syrup over mine, then start in on a blueberry pancake. Somehow, even with Dexwatching me the whole time, I was able to pull these off. They’re fluffy and soft and perfectly golden on the outside.
Beside me, Dex chuckles to himself, and I turn to him with a quizzical brow.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, which I find slightly infuriating. Lifting his gaze to mine, he gives me a little smirk. “Tell me, Nora Miller”—he stabs another bite of pancake while he speaks—“how many other men have you cooked pancakes for?”
“Seriously?” I’m trying not to let my lips pull into a smile, but theyreallywant to.
“Seriously.” Slipping the bite into his mouth, he chews intently, eyes still focused on me.
Silence stretches between us, and the longer I take to answer the question, the harder it gets. I don’t know why I’m hesitant. Maybe because I feel like my answer will seem like a red flag to him or something. But then again, what do I expect from him? It’s not like he’s going to ask me to be his girlfriend—the thought is almost laughable—so what does it matter?
“Come on, Monster. Tell me.”
My sigh is playfully aggravated. “None.”
His eyebrows rise. “None? Really?”
I nod, and his smile just gets bigger. Back when I was with College Boyfriend, I didn’t really cook. That’s something I picked up after I moved to LA, when the city was so loud and overwhelming that I needed a hobby I could do by myself, tucked safely away inside my house.
“I’m your first, huh?” he asks, arching a brow. His voice is lower now, and it flips a switch in me. Like striking a match, my want for him flares to life.
Turning on the stool, I narrow my eyes, take in the set of his jaw and the sandy stubble shadowing his chin. “Do you like that?” My tone matches his—low,hungry. “Do you like being my first?”
In the blink of an eye, his hands are around my waist, lifting me off my stool and onto the marble countertop. It’s cold against my bare legs, and the sensation makes me gasp.
“I wanna be your firsteverything.” His words come out in a harsh whisper, and then his mouth is on my neck, his lip ring pressing against my skin.
I tip my head back, lose myself in the feeling of his tongue gliding across my skin.
“You’re the first man who ever tasted me,” I say between heavy breaths. The memory of his mouth between my legs blossoms to life in my mind. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it—aboutyou.”
Dex groans against my neck. “My dick is so hard for you, Monster.” He grabs my hand and moves it to the bulge straining against his jeans.
Heat pools between my legs.
I scoot myself to the edge of the counter so I can wrap my thighs around him. Tightening my hold, I tug him closer, wanting to feel his arousal between my legs.
One hand slipping around the back of my head, Dex pulls me in. His lips find mine, and I let his tongue into my mouth. He tastes sweet, like chocolate and maple syrup. The plates sit behind me on the countertop, abandoned, discarded in the face oftruehunger.
Releasing my head, Dex reaches down with both hands, pulls the button of my shorts free on the first try, and yanks the fabric off, leaving me in a thong on his marble countertop.I grab the bottom of his T-shirt, and he lifts his arms so I can pull it over his head.
Unlike our first time together, when everything was slow, now our movements are hurried, as if we’ll both die of thirst if we don’t soon drown in each other.
His inked skin draws me in, makes me brush my fingertips across his chest. I trace my fingers over the sword, run them down the length of his sternum. When I get to his abdomen, his muscles tighten, and goose bumps pebble across his skin.
With a grunt, he grabs my ass and lifts me off the counter. I wrap my legs around him again, my arms encircling his neck. Our kiss deepens, and Dex lets out a low growl when I pull away just enough to drag my tongue across his lips, tasting the metal he wears.
He carries me into the living room and sets me on the back of the couch. When I look down, I see how tight his jeans have become, feel my body heat up at his eagerness to be free.
At his eagerness to have me.
