Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
After he gets his fill of me, I’ll be right back to my little life. I only wish his wasn’t so glamorous in comparison to mine. It’ll be hard to go back to my usual shabby surroundings, even if that’s where I belong.
“Where’s my coat?” I ask briskly. Royal must have put it away while I was drooling over the complete set of All-Clad pots and pans. He disappears into a room off the kitchen, and returns with my thin coat.
“Why do you need this?” he asks. His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. “Are you cold?”
“No.” I dig in my pocket and find the torn scrap of paper I tucked there what feels like a lifetime ago. “I’m making this.” I lay the recipe flat on the marble island. “I need Strega.”
Royal finds a bottle in a liquor cabinet. When he sets it down, there’s a look on his face that’s close to triumph. He’s brought two shot glasses and he fills one to the brim.
He sips a little off the top before putting it to my lips. “Taste.” The digestive burns down my throat, leaving an herbal taste in my mouth and a glowing warmth in my stomach.
I sputter a little but find the breath to say, “Good.”
He shoots the rest of the glass and dips his head to mine. “Just a little taste,” he breathes against my lips. This time, I watch his face as he kisses me. His eyes are closed, long lashes fanning over his dark cheeks. His lips are sipping, pulling on mine, persuading them to open. His tongue touches mine. A little jolt of electricity goes through me.
“It's okay, principessa.” His thumb strokes my cheek, soothing me. “You're such an innocent, little one.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’ve got you fooled, then.”
He chuckles and leans in for another taste, but I stop him with a firm hand. “Not until I’m done baking.”
He could easily overpower me, but he lets me push him back. He leans against a cabinet with his arms folded, and watches me. He’s lost his cufflinks but he’s still in his dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. I’m tempted to put him to work chopping almonds or measuring cocoa but he’s so pretty standing there.
“So how long have you lived here?” I ask when I’ve mostly finished making the batter. All that’s left is rolling the cookies into shape.
“My father bought this place some time ago. It’s close to our territory.”
“So you grew up here?”
“I grew up in the Old Country, raised by my aunt. Italian was my first language. You can tell, by the way I talk.”
“Not your accent,” I say, dividing the dough in half. It’s easier to talk to someone so beautiful when my hands are occupied with my favorite thing. “But yes, from the way you sometimes construct your sentences. And, of course, you speak Italian.”
“You recognize the language?”
“Mr. Rossi says things in Italian all the time.”
Royal reaches for a newly shaped cookie and I swat his hand. “There’s raw egg in the dough.”
A smile plays over his lips but he allows me to fend him off. He does move around the island to stand directly behind me. I’m short and petite enough he can rest his arms on the counter on either side of me. Neither his fine black slacks or the voluminous dressing robe I’m wearing disguise the hard probe of his cock.
Is that a rolling pin in your pocket? I’m half tempted to ask, but I keep making cookies. I’ve made another six strazzate when a light finger comes to play with one of the curls at the nape of my neck. I ignore it, and the way his cock is firmly pressed against my bottom. It’s almost a game.
“So your father lives here?” I ask.
“No. Not anymore. No one but me.” Royal keeps toying with my hair. It feels like he’s smoothing out a curl, and letting it spring back into place.
I want to ask more, but his touch is making my hands shake. Under the robe, my bare pussy is dripping. I squeeze my thighs together, but it doesn’t help.
The last row of cookies is turning out to be kind of a mess.
“My father didn’t approve of me,” Royal says out of nowhere.
“Why not?”
“He thought I was weak. Unworthy. He didn’t understand the way my mind worked. But mia zia saw something in me.”
I’m done making the rows of strazzate. I dip my fingers in a warm bowl of water, rinsing them.
Royal’s warm breath puffs against my nape. “Turns out my father was wrong, and she was right. I’m very close to fulfilling my destiny. I see the pieces of the puzzle, laid out before me.” He splays his hands on the counter as if showing me a picture in the sugar-dusted marble. “That’s how my mind works. The puzzle is almost complete. I just need one more piece.”