Page 95 of Blood Taken (Blood Mafia 2)
“No raw fish. I don’t mind grilled fish. Raw fish though, no thanks.”
A smile spreads across his face. “Duly noted.”
I take a plate and pile the food on. Once I make sure the croissant is balanced on the edge, next to the eggs, I carry it over to the counter.
“You can sit,” he says, gesturing to a chair.
“I’d rather stand by you,” I say, bumping my hip against his so he has to scoot over. “So, what’s the plan today?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. Surprisingly he’s not wearing his suit. The dark maroon shirt he has on looks wonderful with his green eyes.
“Later I have to check on some shipments for Mateo. I have the morning off though.”
Taking a bite of egg, I hum in appreciation. He watches me eat for a few minutes. Oddly enough, it’s not weird to stuff my face while he stares. He doesn’t make me feel self-conscious.
“Is that why you’re not in uniform?” I take a drink and tug on his shirt. “I like this look on you.”
He takes a step closer. “Oh yeah?”
I meet his heated gaze and take a bite of bacon. “Mmhmm.”
His fingers brush over my lower stomach. “Do you like this?” He points to my food with his other hand.
My heart flutters at his touch. “Yes,” I confess, though I’m referring to his hands on my body and not the food.
“You’re blushing.”
“Shut up.” I stare him down over the rim of my cup, when I finish the drink, I set it aside. “It’s hard not to react when you do things like that.”
“Like what?” he asks, stepping even closer and brushing his thigh against mine.
The simple contact promises so much. His desires are anything but subtle and they thread through the air, filling the space around us with a heady sense of anticipation.
I press my legs together and take a deep breath, shoving the plate away. “You know what you’re doing, Colt.”
The edge of his mouth lifts into a smug smirk. “Maybe.”
I roll my eyes. “I thought you wanted to take me to breakfast, not have sex.”
He shrugs. “Why not both?”
Shoving his chest, I let out a drawn-out sigh, pretending to be annoyed when in reality, butterflies erupt in my chest. He wraps his hands around my waist and I turn to face him, biting on my lower lip as I meet his hooded gaze.
“Are you full?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out a husky rasp.
He flashes to his bedroom and tosses me on the bed. “Good. Because you’re dessert.”
I laugh. “But you didn’t eat.”
“Semantics. Take your clothes off.”
Pouting my lower lip, I lift the edge of my shirt. “You’re so demanding.”
He kisses me. “You like it.”
There’s no helping my smile. He’s wrong. I love it.
