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After Drago exits, Severio leans on his hands at the counter, our moment broken. I fix a plate for Severio and myself. “Do you want to eat at the table or here?”
“Wherever is fine with me.”
“And me.”
“Kitchen table, then. Not the formal dining one.”
I set our plates on the table behind the island, sensing Severio’s mood has changed. I’m unsure what occurred between him and Drago, but Severio’s giving off those distant vibes, the ones that make me think he’s a military general.
Since he’s moved in, we’ve gotten closer; we’ve shared meals. I’ve often seen him limping and wearing sweatpants instead of suits, which has made me warm up to him, made me think of him as someone approachable. He’s not. He’s a wild beast, and as soon as he recovers, if he hasn’t already, he’ll go on his merry way.
A panther is a solitary creature, and I bet Severio misses his solitude. For some reason or other, he’s invaded my house and now my mind and body, but I’m not entirely sure he wanted to do all those things.
Or it could be I’m reading too much into everything. Possibly. Probably. Maybe he’s just hungry.
“This is delicious,” he says as he eats.
Okay, so he’s hungry.
I love how he eats. There’s so much enthusiasm for food, and it helps that he has a hearty appetite without worrying about gaining weight.
“Thank you,” I say. “Can you guess where the inspiration for the dish came from?”
He pauses chewing. “Not sure. I want to say New Orleans, but also Russia. Part of it reminds me of gumbo, but there’s this one Russian dish that tastes almost exactly like this.”
I drop my fork. “There’s no way you can know this. Are you spying in my head?”
Severio chuckles. “I have only a few loves in my life. Food is one of them.”
“One of mine too,” I say and leave it at that, but boy, oh boy, I want to know all the other things he loves.Spanking,my brain supplies. So helpful, my brain.
“Ever been to New Orleans?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“You’d like it. Has a beat to it like this island.”
“Maybe one day I’ll get to see it.”
“Maybe.” He gets up with his plate. “Want more?”
“I can’t.” I pick at my plate while that nagging feeling that something’s wrong doesn’t go away. I’m wondering if it’s something I did. Or didn't do, especially during sex.
Severio returns with another plate and digs in. This time, he’s fixed himself more salad.
“Is Drago okay?” I ask.
“He’s fine. How about you? Are you okay?”
Are you a cat?
“I’m great.”
He smirks suggestively, and it makes me blush. I look away.
“I’m departing tonight,” he says.
My breath hitches, and I grit my teeth so he can’t tell he’s hurting me. Of course he’s leaving. This is not his home, his house, his anything. So I have no idea why his words rip through me like a tidal wave. I want him to leave. Don’t I?Damn it.
