Page 250 of Legacy
A real one.
“Deal.”
***
She’s perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging lazily, toes pointed just a little. Black leggings hug her thighs, and that shirt, the soft, stretched one slipping off one shoulder—teases the line of her collarbone like it’s a secret meant only for me.
Her hair’s a little messy.
Her lips are kiss-bitten.
And her skin… flushed from where my mouth wandered earlier, still wearing the echo of my devotion.
If I wasn’t already wrecked for her, this would’ve done it.
The food’s done—garlic butter steak tips, rosemary potatoes roasted till their edges crisp, and cherry tomatoes that burst with heat and sweetness the second they’re touched. I plated it all perfectly for her.
But I don’t carry it to the table.
I walk to her.
Slide between her legs and settle there, like I never want to leave.
She looks up at me with that tilted smirk and a lifted brow. “We’re eating here?”
“Of course,” I say, lifting a steak tip from the plate with my fingers, the juices still glistening. “Where else would we eat when you’re sitting right where you belong?”
She snorts, biting back a grin. “So I’m the dining table now?”
“No,” I murmur, voice dropping low as I hold the bite just shy of her mouth. “You’re the whole fucking feast.”
She rolls her eyes, but they sparkle, and when she leans forward, lips brushing over my fingers as she takes the bite, air leaves my lungs.
Her tongue flicks out to catch a drop of juice on her lip, and I nearly lose it.
Fuck.
She chews slowly, thoughtfully, a low sound humming in her throat as her eyes flutter closed. She swallows, and it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You trying to seduce me with food now?” she asks, voice warm, teasing.
I grin.
“Trying? I thought I already had.”
I reach for a potato wedge, still steaming, blow gently once, then offer it up. She leans in again, more languid this time, taking it between her teeth like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
Another hum, even softer.
That sound could bring me to my knees.
“You keep doing that,” I mutter, voice strained with restraint, “and I’m going to forget we’re supposed to be discussing war.”
She smirks, eyes dark with amusement. “I thought we were supposed to be discussing dinner plans.”
“We are,” I say, leaning in until her breath mingles with mine, the scent of rosemary and wine-laced air curling between us. I brush my nose along her jaw, slow, reverent.
“This is what I wanted, Scarlet.”
