Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian
Pulling myself away from the strange allure Grace is starting to have over me, I grab a couple of forks and spoons from the drawer and place one of each on the island in front of Grace, then myself. Instead of the name of the dish, one container has my name scrawled across the lid and holds my usual order inside. The scent of rich Bolognese sauce and cheese fills my nostrils, and my stomach growls in anticipation as I unfold the foil edges and peel off the lid. I’m convinced Rosa cuts extra big slices of lasagne, especially for me, because there’s no way this is a regular serving size.
I watch Grace with more subtlety this time, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. She removes the lid off her food to reveal what looks like the gnocchi pomodoro. I don’t bother grabbing plates and stay standing on the opposite side of the wide island bench, keeping a good amount of distance between us.
The dining table would be more comfortable, although I don’t know for sure because I’ve never used it. But the thought of sitting down for dinner together seems toointimate.
This feels safer.
Grace flicks her eyes to my untouched food, but she doesn’t need to know I’m waiting for her. After a moment of hesitation, she pierces a piece of gnocchi with her fork and brings it to her mouth. Her soft, rosy lips wrap around the fluffy dough, and I force my gaze to the meal in front of me.
I pile a decent forkful of lasagne into my mouth when the softest sound escapes her. I swallow the food in my mouth, forcing the too-large piece down my throat, and my gaze flicks back to her.
It wasn’t loud or exaggerated,a natural reaction I’m not sure she’s even aware of. She brings another bite to her mouth, the red sauce just barely touching her lips, and I groan internally when another sound falls from them, even softer than the last.
What other sounds does she make?
The thought hits me out of nowhere, and my mind fills with all the ways I could find out. Would her sounds be soft and timid underneath me, or would they grow in intensity as I brought her to the edge of pleasure? I’m not sure which way I’d prefer, but the thought of either has me starting to burn up inside.
Grace’s eyes open and find mine still on her. She doesn’t look away immediately like she has done ever since that damn smile, and I can’t seem to pull myself away either—images of my hands on her skin,my mouth, perforating my thoughts.
What sound would she make if I touched her like that?
Her expression shifts from one of reservation to an innocent curiosity, and it only notches up my desire, my hands aching with the sudden need to touch her. My gaze returns to the very feature that started this whole thing, and her lips part slightly under my stare. When she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, I nearly lose all my resolve and round the bench then and there so I can pull it from her clasp with my own teeth and suck it into my mouth—not letting it go until it’s nice and swollen. Then I’d do the same with her top lip, so they both sat full and red before finally drawing her tongue into my mouth until she knew nothing but my taste.
Grace shifts on the stool, and while the movement adds to the fire in my belly, it’s enough to break through the images clouding my mind, and I shake my head, dislodging the thoughts.
My pulse starts throbbing behind my eyes again. I don’t need this. I need to find the person who killed my parents, not fantasise about the girl who stalked me. That’s the only reason she‘s still here so that I get the man responsible, but now that I’ve imagined her that way, I’m not sure how to erase the image burned into my mind.
We eat the rest of our meals in silence—no lingering glances, no sweet sounds that make me think anythingbutsweet thoughts.
There are still another three unopened containers between us and the container of salad neither of us has touched, so I collect the leftovers before placing them all in the refrigerator. Bar from licking it spotless, my container is scraped clean, and I throw it straight in the bin.
“Are you done?” I ask, eyeing Grace’s half-finished meal.
She looks up, and I allow myself a moment to lose myself in those midnight blue depths before focusing on the leftover gnocchi. It doesn’t escape me that I’m the one avoiding eye contact this time.
“Y-yes, thank you.”
My brows furrow slightly, but I refrain from asking if she’s sure. A quick glance around the kitchen doesn’t show any dishes. Aside from the coffee spill that’s no longer there, it’s exactly as I left it. Maybe she cleaned up after herself like she did with the floor.
I’m not convinced, though.
I eye her food again before pulling it towards me and replacing the lid, then put it in the refrigerator with the rest of the containers. At least there’ll be enough food here until I can organise some groceries.
I close the refrigerator, but I don’t turn around.
What am I doing here?
I can dismiss tonight all I want, but deep down, I know I didn’t leave early for me, but suddenly working doesn’t sound so bad at all, no matter how exhausted I am.
I leave the kitchen without saying a word.
Taking a sip from the glass on my desk, I let the amber liquid slide down my throat. Surprisingly, I managed to get some work done despite my struggles today and the war zone my head has turned into.
My hand moves, and I’m not fully aware of what I’m doing until small thumbnails fill the screen in front of me. I take another sip, needing the burn of whiskey to keep me from losing my head.