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I remember that little room with a grimace. The cracked linoleum floors, the oven that would either burn food or undercook it, the utter lack of counter space to prepare anything more complicated than spaghetti. Yet the Carters expected me to whip up elaborate meals for their family in that pathetic excuse for a kitchen.
The unfairness of it made me clench my jaw so tightly my teeth hurt. I had only been a teenager when I started cooking for them, overwhelmed, trying my best to please the demanding Carters. Emma and Suzanne, in particular, always found something to criticize. I can still see Suzanne’s perpetually pursed lips and furrowed brow fixed in a sneer of disdain.
Like I was single-handedly failing as a cook, a human being.
I shake my head, banishing those thoughts like it’s all an annoying cobweb. I’m not going to think about the Carters right now. Not now. Not ever.
Opening the baking cabinet, I peruse the ingredients and decide to bake a cake. I had overheard Edo mention that a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting was his favorite, so that’s what I’m going to make. As I preheat the oven and gather ingredients, the familiar smells of flour and sugar embrace me like an old friend. I miss working at the bakery—the easy camaraderie with my co-workers, the satisfaction of crafting beautiful pastries.
It had been my safe haven, a place where I was capable and confident.
Not like with Damian, where I constantly second-guess myself, my emotions a tangled, confusing knot. One moment, I am so flustered by him that I can barely breathe. The next, I want to rip his clothes off and have my way with him on the gleaming countertop…
Whoa. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling a traitorous blush heating my cheeks. I really need to get a grip. Envisioning Damian naked and splayed out amid my baking supplies is not going to help my restless mind.
But it’s hard not to think about him. He confuses me. One moment, he treats me kindly or gazes at me with a scorching intensity, making me melt with desire. The next, he is cool and distant, his walls slamming up without warning. Just like earlier, when he immediately left after sex. I just don’t know where I stand with him.
I sigh, pulling out the stand mixer with slightly more force than necessary. Maybe I’m just really bad at sex, and that’s why Damian keeps pulling away, using that bullshit reason about not being able to cuddle as an excuse. The thought makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame. Damian had awakened insatiable cravings I don’t quite understand, urges that both exhilarate and intimidate me.
As I add the softened butter and sugar to the bowl, I can’t help but wonder—is any of this normal? Or am I careening toward something darker, a side of myself I don’t fully grasp? Damian confuses me, electrifies me, makes me feel dangerous and powerful and utterly adrift all at once.
I watch the sugar and butter cream into a pale, fluffy mass, cracking eggs and adding them one at a time. I will just have to accept that when it comes to Damian, I don’t have any of the answers. All I can do is surrender to the chaos… and pray I don’t get consumed by the flames.
“What are you doing up?”
Startling, I whirl around to see a shirtless Damian standing at the doorway of the kitchen, Biscotti at his heels.
My mouth dries at the sight of him and heat floods my cheeks. My gaze rakes over Damian’s chiseled torso and powerful arms. Even in just his pajama pants, the man exudes an almost overwhelming aura of rugged masculinity. I have to grip the mixing bowl to keep from melting into a puddle right there and then.
“Alexis?” Damian asks, his voice still rough from sleep. He runs a confused eye over the array of ingredients scattered across the counter.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admit, tearing my eyes away from his bare chest with an effort. “So I thought I’d bake something. Burn off some… energy.”
I risk a glance at him from beneath my lashes. A slight smirk plays about Damian’s lips, making it clear that he knows exactly what kind of “energy” I’m referring to. He saunters closer, that predatory grace of his making my heart race.
“A cake? Didn’t peg you as the type,” he murmurs, resting a large hand on the small of my back. The simple touch is like a brand, scorching my very soul.
I swallow hard and focus on the mixing process, trying not to get too flustered. “I did most of the cooking and baking while living with the Carters. It’s soothing.”
Damian frowns at that, a muscle ticking in his powerful jaw. “How old were you when you took over the cooking and baking?” His voice is light, dangerous.
I shrug, adding the vanilla to the pale yellow batter. “Twelve? Thirteen? Middle school, at least.”
He scowls. “Those assholes worked you too hard. You were just a kid.”
“I managed.” I keep my tone light, though the memories still sting.
His grip tightens ever so slightly on my hip. “If I had people like that on my payroll, they’d be at the bottom of the river.”
A delicious shiver travels down my spine at his casual threat. I should be horrified. After all, Damian is the head of one of the most dangerous crime families in the city. Instead, hearing the hard edge in his tone just makes my insides liquify with molten want.
As if sensing the effect his words have on me, Damian’s smirk deepens. “Need any help with that cake, Alexis?”
He presses himself against my back, his sculpted chest brushing my shoulders. I can feel his hardened dick digging into my backside, stoking the simmering embers of desire banked low in my stomach.
“I–I’ve got it under control,” I manage, silently cursing the way my voice shakes.
“You sure about that?” Damian growls, nuzzling my neck with those sinful lips. “Because you seem a little… flustered to me.”
