Page 22 of Villain's Prey

“I don’t understand.” He leans down, his mouth a breath away from mine.

“Because I fucking love it.” He kisses me, not giving me a chance to respond. But I don’t think he’s only talking about our kisses.

I’m rather fond of his too.

15

SERGEI

Kissing her makes the dispute with my brother fade at an alarming rate. It’s been like this from the moment we first touched–she seems to make everything else disappear. And by everything, I meaneverything. Her mouth is more addictive than heroin, a better high than ketamine. I want to drown in it, in the way she tastes, the way her tongue is shy at first, then bold.

I press her to the wall, her body soft and warm. I can’t get enough.

Then her stomach growls.

I pull back. “Shit. You’re probably starving.”

“I’m all right,” she says breathlessly.

“Come on.” I take her hand and lead her from the bedroom. A very interested Trash follows, his tail twitching as he jumps ahead of us.

“You can cook?” she asks as I open the refrigerator.

“Not much,” I admit.

“Well, you’re in luck.” She scoots up next to me. “I can take it from here.”

I look down at her. “You’re going to cook for me?”

She shrugs. “I might as well. You didn’t hand me over to your brother. I suppose that’s worth a bit of ‘thank you’ food.”

I grit my teeth. “He’s lucky I didn’t break his fucking nose.”

“So are you two on good terms or bad terms?” she asks. “I can’t tell.”

I walk around the island and sit down, never taking my gaze from her. She’s swimming in my shirt, and I can’t even see the boxers on her. But she still looks fucking amazing. How is that? I don’t know. But I can’t stop watching her as she lays out a few items then walks into the pantry.

“Sal is …” I don’t exactly know how to explain him.

“Complicated?” She returns with a small jar of cinnamon, an unopened bag of brown sugar, and half a loaf of bread.

“You could say that. He’s my younger brother. Always trying to prove himself. Typical little brother shit.”

“Plates?” she asks.

I point to the cabinet. “There.”

“Pans?”

“Under the stovetop, but I don’t have a lot to choose from so—”

“This is perfect.” She grabs a stainless steel pan that’s likely never been used. “My family can be complicated too.”

I have no clue what she’s cooking up, but I’m enjoying every move she makes. “I thought the Fernandinos were perfect in every way.” I snort.

She gives me a sharp look over her shoulder. “You’ve been laboring under a misconception.I’mthe only perfect one,” she says airily.

A laugh barrels out of me. God, I love her smart mouth.

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