Page 77 of Sweet Torment

I catch her hand before I can stop myself, pulling it up to my mouth to press my lips against her knuckles. “They will be,” I promise, though I have no fucking clue how to make that happen.

She doesn’t argue, but her eyes hold mine for a long moment and I think maybe this is my chance…

“Eggs,” she says abruptly, breaking the spell.

“On it.”

We fall into an easy rhythm, working side by side like we used to. After she snapped at me during her heat, I’ve been trying to give her space, to dial back my tendency to hover. But I miss her. I miss how easy things used to be between us, before Whitney, before her disappearance, before all the trauma hardened us both. We’re still us underneath it all, just more complicated versions, trying to navigate around each other’s new edges.

“Let’s make the frosting,” she says, licking a smudge of batter from her thumb.

I drag my attention away and grab the mixer from the cabinet, setting it up while she measures powdered sugar. Working together, we whip up a cream cheese frosting.

“You’ve got a little...” She trails off, reaching toward my face. Her fingertip brushes my cheek, collecting a dot of frosting, then she surprises the hell out of me by popping her finger into her mouth. “Mmm. You taste good, Frederick.”

Fuck. My cock twitches in my pants. The way she says my name in that teasing tone makes me want to pin her against the counter and forget about the food.

Since we have the ingredients, we decide to make a lasagna while the cupcakes bake. We split up the tasks and she hums while she works. What was her routine like at the refuge? I’ve barely had time to ask her about when we were apart but there’s so much I want to know.

I’d give anything to pause time right now. To live in this little bubble with her where it’s just the two of us. Maybe it’s greedy, but having Bianca all to myself is going to my head. She’s dropped the attitude she has around the others and she just seems so… Bianca.

“Sauce,” she says suddenly, breaking into my thoughts. “We need sauce.”

“Cabinet next to the stove,” I tell her, watching as she crosses the kitchen.

“Shit!” she curses as she opens the jar and the sauce splatters, red droplets flying all over the white shirt she has on.

The two of us pile the lasagna ingredients in the pan with no real rhyme or reason. It’s not pretty but I’m sure it will be delicious all the same.

“This is Weller’s shirt. I need to put stain stuff on it. I’m sure he’s anal about shit like that.”

I’m pretty sure Weller wouldn’t care if she threw the damn thing in the fire, but before I can say anything, she grabs the hem and pulls it up over her head in one smooth motion.

And she’s not wearing anything underneath. Not one single thing. How did I not know this?

Holy fuck.

My brain blanks out at the sight of her. I’ve seen her naked a few times now, not that it ever gets old, but this feels different. Just the two of us, alone, her bare skin exposed to me under the kitchen lights.

“Bianca...” I try not to stare at the scars that map her body—some old, some new, all of them proving the uncomfortable reality that she was hurt. But I push it away, focusing instead on having her here. Alone. All mine. No sharing with the others. All her attention on me for once.

“See something you like?” she teases.

“Like is far too simplistic.” I close the distance between us, my hands finding her waist like they belong there. Her skin is warm under my palms and unbearably soft. I lean closer and breathe in her sweet scent that drives me wild. I trace my thumbs over her ribs, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. Her breath hitches, a small sound that goes straight to my cock.

“Every inch of you is beautiful,” I murmur against her neck, pressing my lips to the pulse point there.

“Even this?” She guides my hand to a scar on her side, a raised line about three inches long.

I bend down, pressing my lips to the damaged skin. “Especially this,” I murmur against her. I move around her body, finding each mark the world left on her, kissing each one. “You went through hell but then you came back to me.”

“Freddie...” The way she says my name, soft and breathless, has me grabbing the bowl of icing we made for the cupcakes, dipping my finger in and drawing a line from her collarbone to the curve of her breast. The white cream stands out against her skin, and I swirl it around her nipple, watching her eyes grow heavier. She shivers as I lower my head and lick the sweetness from her skin, groaning against her.

She gasps, her hands flying to my hair, holding me close. I lift her onto the counter, settling between her spread thighs, and continue my path downward. Her body heaves under my mouth, breathy little moans escaping her lips.

“God, Freddie,” she pants. “Cooking with you is my new favorite hobby.”

Mine too.