“Are you in pain?” I ask, raising my fingers to her spine.
“No,” she lies, and I click my tongue, frustrated with her stubbornness for the millionth time since we’ve known each other.
“Come here,” I say while reaching out to snake my fingers around her arm. Chiara leans toward me until I have access to her shoulders and back. I start kneading at her tense muscles. “You need to tell me when you’re in pain, little demon, otherwise I can’t help you,” I remind her while she lets out a relieved hum.
“I don’t need your help all the time,” she replies right as I find a spot that makes her let out a moan. I stop everything. “Sorry,” she mumbles, but I hit the same spot again, earning me another humming sound.
“I’m not.”
I massage her back for a few minutes longer before squeezing her shoulders. She tells me she will take a quick shower, and I give her one small nod before stepping into the kitchen and gathering all the ingredients I think she might need. Then, I prepare Benz’s dinner, a little jealous of her because she followed Chiara into the bathroom and is probably lying in front of the glass shower door right now.
Chiara joins me in the kitchen half an hour later, and I hand her the baked goodies I picked up before I came home. Her face lights up at the sight, turning her cheeks a wonderful pink. She takes one and breaks off a piece, shoving it into her mouth a moment later. I urge her to take her antibiotics since she’s eating something, and, once she’s done, we get to cooking.
We bump into each other so many times, I can’t help but laugh at the third time, wrapping her into my arms and placing my cheek on her head. Chiara’s arms slide across my back, holding me close to her for a single moment and then going back to cooking. I turn on some music too, watching her closely at the same time for any signs of overexertion. There are none. She takes it slow and lets me knead the dough. She starts laughing at me because I’m “doing it so wrong, it’s making Nonnas all over the world cry”. I join her amusement before trying to figure out a way to do it better while Chiara watches me with an amused smile.
I’ve never had so much fun cooking in my entire life.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
chiara
Ifeel a lot better. A little tingle in my throat is the only reminder of how sick I was for almost two weeks. Leonard slept in his own bed last night, and I hate myself for waking up and reaching for him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I distract myself by picking up the book I’m currently reading—a romance novel about two friends falling in love that Leonard got me yesterday all because I mentioned it on the flight home—and head into the kitchen. We’re supposed to fly to Italy tomorrow morning, and we both still have to pack our things.
My heart sinks into my stomach when I see him standing at the coffee machine with a book in his hand, waiting for the beep to let him know his cup is done. His torso is naked and fully on display for me, tattoos all over his chest and back. My mouth starts to water at the sight of his muscular backside and the view of him completely immersed in the story he’s reading. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, and when I make out the name of the book, I start to blush. It’s one of the smuttier books he’s gotten me, one not meant to be read as much for the plot as it is for the sex.
“Enjoying it?” I ask, and Leonard looks up at me, eyes filled with lust.
“Very much,” he replies and places his forearms on the kitchen island, his hands clinging to the book as he studies my face with desire. “You’ve read this?” he asks, and I nod, both of us ignoring the beeping of the coffee machine. “You liked it?” Another blush covers my face.
“Yes,” I manage to croak out. I’m not embarrassed about enjoying it, but my body is on fire from the intensity of his gaze, my clit swelling uncomfortably.
“Do you understand how difficult it is for me not to picture you when I read this?” I furrow my brows, my heart racing. “It’s impossible, Chiara. It’s impossible not to imagine me doing all of these things to you, and it’s driving me wild.” I swallow hard at his words.
“What’s stopping you?” I ask, and he stands up, placing the book on the marble and closing the distance between us.
“Everything. And nothing at the same time because I’m finished, Chiara.” His hands, gentle and careful, grab my arms and then slide up to cup my neck.
“Finished with what?” I say, my voice trembling. Leonard gives me a small smile.
“I’m finished convincing myself that we don’t like each other,” he replies before dropping his forehead to mine and sucking in a sharp breath. “I’m finished convincing myself I don’t want to know what you taste like when it is all I think about,” he admits, and I bring my hands up to his naked stomach. His skin is hot and his abs are hard, only making my head spin more.
“But I hate you,” I try to remind myself, even if it’s a lie, because we’re about to cross a line we will never come back from.
“Don’t lie to me before I kiss you. I don’t want to taste it on my tongue,” he says, his hands dropping to my waist as his mouth hovers so closely over mine, I can smell the scent of his toothpaste.
“It’s not a lie,” I whisper, letting out a gasp when he lifts me onto his kitchen counter and slightly presses my legs apart to stand between them.
“If you don’t like me, why are your hands on the waistband of my pants? Why don’t you tell me to stop? Why do you want me to kiss you?” he asks. Those are all great questions that have one simple answer.
I crave him.
“If you kiss me, you won’t be able to take it back,” I remind him, and he lets out a small chuckle, his fingers slipping into my hair.
“Good,” he replies, pressing a kiss to my cheek and making his way toward my mouth. “I need a taste, Chiara, just a little one. Please,” he begs, and I lift my hands to the sides of his face, placing my mouth on his.
Everything inside of me explodes into a million fireworks. His lips wrap around mine so perfectly, I melt into him, my chest pressing flush against his. He groans into my mouth as his arms wrap around me and his hands move to the small of my back to push me further against him. Pleasure consumes my cells, ripping them apart and putting them back together again in the best way possible. His tongue presses against my lips, and I open them for him, letting it sink into my mouth. A moan slips past my lips as the overwhelming feelings pulsing through my veins intensify.
Happiness. Pleasure. Excitement. Enthusiasm. Determination. Joy.
