AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I bite back a moan as he rolls his hips, letting me feel how aroused he is. How effortlessly he can undo me with just a few heated words and touches. I’m so wildly outmatched… and I have never wanted to surrender more.
Giving in, I let my scraper spatula clatter to the counter and lean back against his solid form. “Maybe I could use a little help, after all.”
I can feel the ridges of his firm abs, the flexing of his powerful arms as he reaches around to grab the errant tool.
“Told you I’d lend a hand,” he rumbles in that sinfully deep voice, his warm breath caressing the sensitive skin below my ear.
I shiver, my body traitorously thrilled by his proximity. “J–just don’t mess it up. I’m an expert baker.”
Damian chuckles, the vibrations rippling through me. “Yes, I can see your skills are unmatched. I’ll try to be a worthy sous chef.”
There’s an odd lilt to his voice on those last words, something almost… wistful. I glance at him curiously, taking in the faint crease between his brows as he concentrates on blending the wet and dry ingredients.
“My mom used to call me her little sous chef,” he says quietly. “We baked all the time when I was a kid—cookies, bread, whatever. Helped her take her mind off…” He trails off, jaw tightening.
I reach over to squeeze his arm, offering silent comfort. I don’t know the whole story about his parents, but it’s clear they had been killed. Whether it was an accident or by a rival gang is a question I won’t ask today.
“My sister Alessandra loved it too,” Damian continues in a strained voice. “She was a total mess in the kitchen, flour everywhere, licking batter off the spoon before it was even baked. She used to drive my mom fucking crazy.” A sad sort of smile ghosts across his lips at the memory.
Alessandra. The name sounds familiar.
Then it hits me. He had used that name against Nat the night he had been shot. The look on Nat’s face now makes sense.
“You had another sister,” I say gently.
He nods. “She was home sick from school. Wrong place at the wrong time.”
My heart aches for him, aches for the past trauma and loss he and Nat have endured. How similar our lives are, each with our own suffering. “Damian, I’m so sorry.”
He avoids my gaze for a moment before those dark eyes meet mine. “She was only twelve. She was just a child.”
“Oh, Damian.” I stroke his stubbled cheek, wishing I can erase that haunted look from his face.
Seeming to shake off the melancholy, Damian gives me a lopsided grin, covering my hand with his much larger one. “But we can’t all be depressing fuck-ups tonight, Alexis. Do you have any good baking stories? Anything with your parents?”
“No,” I admit. I barely remember life with my mother. She died when I was so young that sometimes, I’m not sure what’s truly a memory and what’s something my brain has made up.
“My mom died when I was six. And I barely knew my dad.”
“How’d she die?” Damian asks the question gently, but my throat still tightens.
“I… I’m not sure, exactly.” I have flashes of memory—my mom and I in a closet, but then I’m all alone and the closet door opens. “I was so young. All I remember is the police finding me and taking me away.”
“And your dad?” Damian prompts. “He never tried to claim you?”
I shrug. “If he did, he didn’t try very hard. I don’t even remember what he looks like. I just remember the smell of his cologne and cigars.” I shake my head. “It’s all pretty fuzzy. No one bothered to tell me anything, and I used to get in trouble with my foster family if I asked about my mother, so I stopped asking.”
Damian frowns, drawing me into the protective circle of his arms. I go willingly, resting my head on his chest and taking comfort in his solid strength.
“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs against my hair, “I think you turned out pretty great, despite it all.”
A lump forms in my throat at the simple words of praise. I blink back the faint sting of tears, focusing instead of the steady thump of his heart under my ear. This is the side of Damian I want to see more of. I know the Mafia Don façade is just a veneer for a softer, caring Damian who knows just what to say to make me feel better.
He makes me feel like I matter in a way I haven’t truly felt in far too long.
Standing on my tiptoes, I brush my lips against the curve of his neck, needing to be closer still. “Baking’s more fun with a partner.”
Damian rumbles out a laugh, smoothing a hand down my back. “Then let’s get to it, chef. I’ll try not to lick the batter this time.”
