Davina

Chapter Eighteen

I bite back a laugh, "Ground beef."

He glares at me with his head still tilted down.

"Get it?" I ask. "Ground beef?"

He nods, "Yeah, yeah I get it."

I place my hands on my hips and look around the kitchen. "Alright, well, I'm gonna go back to my spaghetti-making."

"Nope. No, you don't know how to cook."

"Which is why I'm following instructions," I point to the TV.

"You don't know how to follow instructions either." He shrugs of his jacket and places it on one of the kitchen stools, rubbing his hands together.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna show you how to make real pasta."

"Oh?" My eyebrows raise.

"Turn off the fucking TV."

------------

"Holy shit, this is fucking amazing."

"I told you," Eric smirks, wiping his hands on a paper towel before tossing it in a bin. I never noticed how well-built he was until now, now that the only thing covering his upper body is a white, fitted dress shirt.

"Way better than what mine potentially could've been," I shake my head, discarding my thoughts.

"I know."

I glare at him. "You were supposed to say, 'Oh, I'm sure it wouldn't have been so bad.'"

He raises a brow. "You want me to lie?"

"Whatever," I shake my head.

I continue eating as Eric sips a glass of whiskey across from me. Eventually I've emptied the plate, and there isn't any spaghetti left.

"Wash it," Eric says, the lip of his glass in between the two of his, eyes boring into mine.

I narrow my eyes. "Think I'll just use the dishwasher." I leave my seat with my plate in my hand and the fork on top, walking around the side of the island until I get to the dishwasher.

My back faces Eric as I bend down to open the door of the machine, taking my time to place the plate and fork inside. As I'm placing the fork in, I hear a glass make contact with the marble counter behind me. I immediately get the feeling that someone is behind me, and I look forward at the window across the room at my reflection to see that I'm not wrong.

A pair of hands are placed on my body, one hand around my throat, the other around my waist. The hands are large, and their grips are tight but not hurtful. Aside from the coldness of the silver rings on Eric's fingers, his skin is warm.

I slowly straighten out my body, placing one of my hands on the counter to my left and one flat on my right thigh. I look to the side and see the bottom of Eric's jaw in the corner of my eye. I can feel the heat of his breath on my ear sending butterflies through my entire body. "Eric," I say quietly.

"Mm?" he hums. I close my eyes as his lips make contact with the skin on my neck. He uses his thumb to tilt my head up while his fingers are still around my throat, giving him access to place more of the gentle kisses he's giving me.

He turns me around and our bodies press flush against each other, and his musky, vanilla scent becomes stronger. He uses his foot to close the door of the machine before placing his leg between both of mine, bending it slightly so his thigh is directly under my most intimate part.

I feel a familiar ring-covered hand slip under my shirt but not too high up. Eric begins playing with the seam between his fingers, tugging at it slightly. "Can I?" he quietly asks, looking down at me.