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"Do you mind eating on the sofa?" she asks, already opening a kitchen cabinet and pulling out plates.

"Not at all," I say, which sounds uncomfortably like 'I will do anything you say,' but, at this point, it’s the truth.

I follow her to the couch, pizza box in hand, feeling completely at home. She drops onto the sofa, pulls her feet under her, and snags a slice. Cheese stretches out in a glistening string from her mouth, and she just grins around it, eyes closing in bliss. "Oh my God," she says, still chewing. "This is so good."

I take a slice, more cautiously, and watch as she absolutely demolishes hers in about four bites. Fuck. I love watching her eat. She groans, licking cheese from her lip, and I’m one hard breath away from tossing the pizza and devouring her instead. Goddamn, I’m so obsessed with this girl it’s not even funny.

I force myself to take a slow bite, but all I can focus on is Alice, curled up next to me on the couch, looking like every filthy daydream I’ve ever had and a few I’m going to invent just for her. She goes back for seconds, dropping a perfect triangle of pizza onto her plate and leveling me with a look.

“What?” she shoots, like I’ve accused her of robbing a bank.

“I love watching you eat.” I can’t help grinning.

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth. “That’s because you’re a weirdo.”

God, I love her mouth. “Nope. It’s because you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t decide if I want to feed you or fuck you.”

She chokes on her bite of pizza and covers her mouth, blue eyes huge. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, coffee girl.” I lean in, enjoying every second of her shock. “Every time you make that little sound when you’re chewing, I have to tell myself not to throw you over my shoulder and haul you to the bedroom. You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her cheeks go bright red. “You’re insane,” she mutters, but I can see the way her pulse is pounding in her throat.

“Probably.” I take a bite of my pizza. She tries to pretend she’s not flustered, but her hands are shaking as she wipes a smear of cheese off her lip. Fuck. I want to suck it off for her. I want to get on my knees and taste every inch of her, starting with that sassy mouth.

She sets her plate down and crosses her arms, blue eyes blazing as she glares at me. “Do you always come on this strong, or am I just special?”

I can’t help laughing. “You’re special, coffee girl.” I lean in, letting my thigh press against hers, loving the way her breath hitches and her pupils go wide. “I want you. And I always get what I want.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, but I can see the little tremor run through her. “Well, just so you know, I don’t make things easy for cavemen.”

“Good,” I growl, zero hesitation. Fuck. I want her exactly like this—mouthy, challenging, ready for a fight. My cock throbs behind the zipper of my jeans, and I have to force myself not to just toss her over my shoulder and claim her right now.

Instead, I lean in closer, letting my thigh press against hers, loving that little hitched breath she gives when my body crowds hers on the couch. “I don’t want easy, Alice. I want you. Every stubborn, sassy inch.”

She just glares at me, but her cheeks are pink, and she’s breathing way too quickly for her to be as unaffected as she pretends. "Okay, I have to know—why me?"

The question floors me. I want to say it’s because she’s gorgeous, or because she makes my blood pressure spike, or because her laugh is the only sound that’s ever made me forget myself. But all that comes out is, "You’re real. You don’t care about who I am, just how I act. You make me nervous. Nobody’s ever done that before."

She blinks again, and for a split second, I think she’s going to laugh, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me like she sees something she likes.

"That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me," she says softly.

We eat in silence for a while, except for her making little moans of contentment every time she takes a bite. Every noise goes straight to my cock, which is both mortifying and exhilarating. I do my best to play it cool, but I’m pretty sure she knows what she’s doing to me.

When we’re about halfway through the pizza, she wipes her hands on a napkin and stands up, stretching her arms above her head. The sweatshirt lifts just enough to show a sliver of her soft stomach, and my mouth goes dry. "Have you ever watchedTraitors?” she grabs the remote and flops back onto the couch, landing even closer than before.

I shake my head. "No. I don’t watch much TV."

“I’ll have you addicted by the end of the night.” She snorts again, then hits play. Fuck. She has no idea.

I can’t help but watch her more than the screen. The way she leans forward when the host drops a bombshell. The way her mouth drops open in shock, or how she throws her arms in the air when her favorite gets voted off.

After a few episodes, I’m invested. Not in the show, but in her. I want to memorize every expression, every laugh. I want to know what she’ll do next.

At some point, she turns and catches me watching her instead of the screen. "You’re not even paying attention," she teases.

"I’m paying attention to the important part," I say, voice low.