Page 70 of Hostile Secret
There she is. Messy hair draping narrow shoulders, a flawless complexion, and plump braless tits hidden beneath silky pajamas. I knew they’d look good on her body. I could have bought her a mesh body stocking, but it wouldn’t be for sleeping in.
“Oh—you’re in here,” she murmurs quietly, faking disappointment with a dramatic sigh.
The stutter of her breath tells me otherwise.
“You feeling okay after the shot?” I ask, genuinely interested.
She folds her arms and looks about the kitchen. “I’m fine. Is Daenis in here?” Lifting to her tiptoes, she peers over the island, doing her best not to look at me.
“Yeah. She’s eating.” My voice is hoarse. I need a drink to wash this sugary shit down.
“You fed her?” Her slight frown slips into a pretty smile.
“In the absence of a dutiful owner, I did.”
India doesn’t try to hide her amusement when she pads further into the room. “Wow, Daenis. The ogre gave you breakfast.” She bends over to rub the dog's head and I find myself gawking at her ass. “It’s a miracle.”
She angles around and catches me staring, her cheeks quickly pinking. “Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your breakfast, Gio. I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes. I thought you ate in the dining room?”
I arch my eyebrow and continue to stare. Now she’s arrived, a few minutes of her time wouldn’t be enough.
“It’s the weekend.” I point out. The only reason I eat in the dining room is to spend time with her. “Grab a fork and help me finish this.” I’ve discovered I’m not into waffles.
“No, thanks.”
“There wasn’t a question mark after that, India. Sit with me.”
The uncertain scowl she fires at me is fierce. I love that inner fire. She considers me for a second; her gaze trailing over my tattoos until we’re eye to eye. “If I must.”
It’s strange how she knows her way about the kitchen now. I’ve given her freedom to roam Blackwater and she’s immersed herself in it. No one has ever had the privilege.
She plucks a fork out of the cutlery drawer and grabs two water bottles from the fridge.
“Here.” She sets one down beside the plate, climbs onto the stool next to me and stares at the cream smothered waffle.
I push it across the countertop toward her. “You can have it, unless you’d rather have a fresh one?”
“Nah, it’s okay… I’ll have something later.”
“You enjoy my dick, but you won’t share a waffle with me?” Her jaw goes lax, and I can’t help but smirk. “Turns out I don’t like waffles.” I add.
India keeps her eyes on the plate for a second and nibbles the inside of her cheek in thought. “I don’t really like them either.” She admits.
“Dré told me you love waffles.” I put the fork down, oddly happy my twin doesn’t know her that well after all.
“I used to when I was a kid. Then I got so sick of having them every day.” She pops the bottle cap and takes a drink. “Letterman would make batches of waffles for us all the time. I never had the heart to tell him I’d gone off them. But I’d never refuse them either.”
“So, what do you like?”
She shrugs. “I like having a choice. Eating the same thing every day gets boring.”
I used to think that about fucking only one woman. Now I can’t get this woman’s pussy off my mind. I’ve licked, tasted, and fingered it. And still, that’s not enough.
My eyes narrow on her hand when she grabs the canned cream. Tipping her head back, she drops her jaw and squirts a curly mass into her mouth. The filthy hum she makes is like a feral explosion going off in my chest.
Her eyes glitter. “I love this stuff.”
A blob of cream remains at the corner of her mouth. Rather than wipe it off, I roughly pinch her chin with my thumb and forefinger, slant into her, and clean up the mess using my tongue.
