Page 56 of Pomegranates and Olive

Dio mio!

12

I Never Bloody Said I Wanted An Adventure

There is no more talking as his lips crush down on mine. Again. He pushes his tongue into my mouth and grunts as mine reaches out to meet his. His urgency in his kiss is unyielding, full of passion. My fingers bend on their own, digging into his perfect chest and his muscles tense under my touch. I rub my palms over his abs, feeling every outline, every muscle, every defined line.

Wetness soaks my underwear as his hands slip under my tank. I gasp as he cups my breasts, thumbing my nipples until they pucker under his touch, circling his thumbs around each of them, making them harder and more sensitive than they have ever felt before.

My three rules have well and truly been thrown out the window!

Pushing my tank down to release my breasts, he cups them before lowering his head, clamping his lips on one nipple, biting lightly. I hiss and draw in my breath as he moves to the other nipple and sucks hard, while pinching the first. "That feels so good."

He finally releases my nipple and grabs my hand, leading it to his jeans. His cock strains against the taught material to escape. "Look what you're doing to me, Russo."

I take a deep breath and... smell smoke. Shit! Finding my voice, I croak, "The eggs."

"Fuck the eggs."

"No, seriously, the eggs!" Untangling myself I grab the pan off the stove. "This place is a fire hazard with you in the kitchen and a forest of books as kindling."

"I told you I couldn't cook."

"It's lucky you're so good-looking." I quote his mother back to him and laugh as he tries to flick me with a tea towel. "You slice some bread please and I'll cook the eggs."

"I'd rather be doing something else if you don't mind."

"I can't think of anything else on an empty stomach." I waggle my finger, and he grumbles under his breath before begrudgingly starting the task assigned to him. "Feed me and let's see where it leads."

After disposing of the burned eggs and opening all the windows to air the house out I dig through his refrigerator for ingredients. Eggs, tomatoes, green peppers, white cheese and some smelly Turkish sausage. Within minutes, I've whipped us up a pretty decent omelette while Deniz tidies the table and sets out cucumber, green and black olives, jam and butter, before topping off our coffee.

We sit down next to each other at the table, eating breakfast and chatting as though this is something we’ve been doing for years. There is none of that awkwardness that there usually is in situations like these, as we glide from one topic to another, getting to know each other. Deniz still makes suggestive sexual comments non-stop and I still argue with him about nearly everything but… and as shocking as it might sound… I think we might actually be becoming friends.

When we finish we tidy up the kitchen before moving to the overstuffed sofa where the large ginger cat opens its amber eyes, yawns and glares at me as I invade its space. I glare back and give it the finger. "Your cat doesn't like me."

"Not my cat."

"But it's in your house. Your house. Your cat."

"His name'sAslan."

"Like from Narnia?"

"Aslan means lion in Turkish.”

Deniz stands back up and walks over to the bookshelf along the far wall, pulls a book off the top shelf and hands it to me. It’s a rather battered old copy of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe. I raise my eyebrows as I open the cover and gasp. “This… is a first edition?”

“When I was at boarding school and was feeling lonely or missing my family I could always lose myself in a book. I read anything I could get my hands on. Lewis is also my favourite. I read the whole series in a week wishing there was a magical wardrobe in my room at the dorm that I could escape through so it makes sense that I called the cat Aslan, don’t you think?"

He pushes the cat onto the ground so he can sit down beside me. Aslan looks up at him with a slightly antagonistic glare and walks out the door. "Aslan is a stray that lives at the factory. I quite like him. He seems to be a very good judge of character."

I shrug at his backhanded insult. "I'm more a dog person."

"I'd be surprised if we can find anything at all that we have in common."

"Well, we both love books and Shakespeare."

"And Billy Ray Cyrus..."

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