Page 54 of The Perfect Heir

“My apologies in advance, baby girl,” he murmured against my inflamed, wet flesh. “I know you’re sore, but you brought this on yourself by tempting me. I’m going to get you nice and ready with my tongue. Then, I’m going to fuck my cock into you so hard, you’re going to scream until I go deaf.” His blackened eyes bored into me. “Hear me?”

I gulped and gave him a nod as his tongue flicked against my clit a moment before he buried his golden head between my thighs.

After making me come, Tatum sponged me down in the tub, meticulously cleaning every inch of me. Of course, as he’d warned, he wasn’t able to stop from taking me again. Bending me over the sink, I took every one of his delicious thrusts as he pounded into me, just as he’d promised.

He might be right, I thought to myself. This man could succeed in giving me everything. We might be able to have it all.

Later, the same thought bounced around in my head while I sat in the little nook in Tatum’s kitchen. I was willing to cook, but he insisted on preparing breakfast.

Not only was he purposely tormenting me by walking around shirtless, but the sweats he wore rode low on his trim hips, showcasing that delicious V of his abs. I was wrapped in one of his robes with my arms around my knees, watching raptly as he bent down to pull food out of the refrigerator. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the two perfect globes of his buttocks. Jesus, his ass. Seriously, the man was beyond fit. It was sick.

He pulled out a pot and started boiling water. My toes wiggled as I watched, instinctually knowing what he was about to prepare, mamaliga cu lapte, porridge made from polenta or cornmeal. I hadn’t had it for ages, but it was perfect for a cold December morning. Unlike lumpy oatmeal, this was cooked, allowed to cool down, and then cut into pie-shaped pieces. Once done, it was served with milk poured over it.

Out the window in the nook, I glanced through the lingering fog at the cars and buses circling the statue in Columbus Circle, so many floors down below. The city didn’t look so bad from up here, I could begrudgingly admit. Even for a winter day.

Not used to staying still, I asked, “Do you want me to make coffee or something?”

Tatum shook his head. “I want you to stay just as you are, wearing my clothes and relaxing in my kitchen. Seems to be one of the few rooms in my apartment that doesn’t make you wilt. Will the mamaliga be enough for you, or should I make a spread of ham, cheese, bread, and other stuff for you?”

“Like your mother and Alex’s bunica prepare every morning? No, I don’t need that,” I replied. Those two women whipped up a feast every day with cold cuts, various spreads, and cut tomatoes, cucumbers, and green onions. And that was without including any made-to-order options I requested, like eggs. Romanians liked eggs in the morning. My father ate a soft-boiled egg every morning, without fail.

Dropping a kiss on my nose, he took out the ibric and began preparing Turkish coffee for us.

“How did you learn to cook, or is mamaliga and coffee the extent of your abilities? Not that I wouldn’t be impressed by those two things alone,” I added quickly.

“I’ve been on my own for a while. As you were so quick to mention earlier, I’m old, being over thirty,” he joked. “I can cook a few more dishes, some of them are even intricate. Alex’s mom made sure her boys knew how to cook, and since I was always over at their house, I benefited from her cooking lessons.”

My mouth dropped. “All of them can cook?”

What an anomaly. Romanian men were not known for their culinary abilities. Hell, I doubted my father knew how to boil the egg he ate every morning. I’m certain he never tried.

“Not only do they have skills, but they enjoy it.” Stopping in the middle of pouring the polenta in the boiling water, he promised, “I can do anything you want, baby. I can fuck you, feed you, take care of you so you’re healthy and fit to rule. I’ll be whatever you need. Cook. Bodyguard. Advisor. Husband. Whatever it is, I’m there for it.”

The last one made my lungs seize up. Some men talked for the sake of talking, but not Tatum. It wasn’t his simple words but the pledge behind them. If he promised something, he’d deliver. It was almost too good to be true, but my heart burst with hope. Perhaps he could be the one to support me, perhaps my dreams could come true, and we could rule together.

Perhaps.

Tatum’s phone vibrated on the counter. He picked it up, and whatever he heard made his jaw go hard. His eyes narrowed and then turned on me, softening for a moment. With a few clipped orders, he hung up and said, “One of our trucks got ambushed. Product stolen out the back in Jersey. It was right in front of a gas station, and the footage suggests it was Bratva, the bastards. Back to their old tricks now that the Lupu and the Popescus have joined forces. The unity makes them nervous.”

A surge of pride shot through me at the ease he had with me, divulging something surely only meant for clan members.

“You have to go now,” I replied firmly, pounding my fist to the table to emphasize my point. “You can’t let them get away with this. They’ve been a thorn in the sides of the Romanians for long enough. It’s only going to escalate if you don’t shut them down now.”

He stalked up to me and gave me a forceful, demanding kiss, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, giving no quarter. My hand curled around his nape, pulling him in deeper for a few moments before dragging it down and pushing at his chest.

Breaking the kiss, I said, “Go and take care of it.”

“You’re a precious treasure, you know that?” he mused reverently.

I winked and smacked him on the butt. “Oh, I know.”

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