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Dropping what he’s holding on to the top of the dresser, he turns toward me, his eyes angry and intent. “We’re going to have breakfast,” he announces.
“I’m really not?—”
“I promise you’re going to like it,” he interrupts, crawling up the bed, parting my legs as he settles into the gap between them.
His lips find mine, and he kisses me desperately, nipping at my lower lip, then sucking it into his mouth as he appeases his need for control. “Let’s get rid of this shirt,” he says, peeling the fabric up my body and pulling it free of my head before he flings it to the side.
His gaze rakes over my naked body, heat flashing through his eyes before he presses a soft kiss to the small swell of my breasts. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Have I told you that? Every fucking inch of you.”
Jumping off the bed, he steps over to the dresser, and I watch as he peruses whatever he has up there before grabbing some stuff and turning back to me, his eyes sparkling with intensity. There’s a bowl overflowing with bottles, jars, and food clutched to his chest.
“What are you doing? What’s in the bowl?” I ask, pushing myself farther up the bed and pulling my knees up to my chest, like they can somehow shield me from him and whatever he has in mind.
“We’re going to play, Princess, that’s all,” he says softly, crawling back onto the bed and sitting in front of me, placing the bowl beside him.
“Play?”
“I’m hoping we can make some good food memories for you.”
Hope swells in my chest and then shatters when my gaze falls on the contents of the bowl.
“Just focus on me, ignore what’s in the bowl, all you have to do is look at me,” he orders, pulling my hands from where they’re wrapped around my knees.
He smiles, and a layer of tension melts from my shoulders.
“That’s it, baby, it’s just you and me, there’s nothing and no one that can hurt you when it’s just us,” he coos, cupping my cheek and stroking his fingers softly over my skin.
“Kiss me,” I beg, needing him to ground me and to stop my mother’s voice from invading this moment.
“Always,” he whispers, a second before his lips find mine.
He kisses me as if I’m made from the most delicate glass, like I could shatter at any moment. Wanting more, I wrap my arms around his neck and press myself against him, silently begging him to take over, to take control. Instead, he pulls away, never deepening the kiss, and leaves me breathless and panting.
“I’m not made of glass; just because I’m fucked up doesn’t mean you have to treat me like I’m breakable,” I snarl, suddenly angry.
His palm snaps out, and his fingers collar my neck, not hurting me, just holding me firmly and comfortingly. “Not breakable, Penelope, just precious.”
My lips fall open, and tears fill my eyes. He thinks I’m precious. That must be a lie, my only value was the inheritance, but that’s gone. I don’t have anything else to offer him.
Opening my mouth to protest, he silences me with a finger, wiping something smooth and cool across my bottom lip.
“What—?”
“Shh,” he says, leaning forward and sucking my lip into his mouth. “Mmm, chocolate,” he purrs.
“Chocolate?” I ask, instinctively licking my lower lip and tasting the remnants still on my skin.
His mouth finds my nipple, licking at it, before something cold and wet replaces his hot tongue. Glancing down, I find him circling my pebbled nipple with a strawberry, the juice leaking and drawing a pink path along my skin.
His eyes find mine, and he takes another bite of the fruit, leaning down to lick the juice from my breast. He teases me again, drawing a heart shape around my nipple, before biting the strawberry and licking the juice off me.
Heat pools in my stomach as he sucks and licks at my sensitive tip, and I arch my back, pushing my breast toward his hot mouth and silently begging for more. He doesn’t oblige, instead, he takes the final bite of the strawberry, chewing and swallowing before pressing his lips to mine, the sweet taste of strawberry filling my mouth.
When he pulls back, I try to follow him, but he evades me, dipping his finger back into the jar of chocolate spread and coating my bottom lip with it again. My tongue dips out before I even process what I’m doing, and my eyes widen in panic, but he kisses me, making me forget everything except the taste of his tongue and the feel of his lips.
“You taste fucking delicious,” he coos when he pulls away again. “Hmm, what’s next?”
I flinch when he slides a chunk of cold melon across my skin, drawing a line of juice down between my breasts and over my stomach. His tongue follows the path, licking the sticky liquid from me, before he pops the whole chunk of melon into his mouth and chews it.
