Puppet Master

Chapter Twenty One

“So what am I cooking for you babe?”

They’d tumbled onto her small, cream sofa; her body sprawled across his in its post-orgasmic bliss, because of course, after her ... ahem ... ministrations, he’d brought her body, slowly and torturously to a climactic peak three times with his tongue.

Just as a thank you, apparently.

Tori glowed in her splayed position, completely naked as the day she was born but no longer affected by embarrassment or modesty. Her body belonged to Jayden, he knew it better than she did, so there didn’t seem a need.

He sat on the floor, leaning back against the smooth, cream leather underneath her legs. The solid, tanned expanse of his chest was exposed by his open shirt, and he wore only his tight black briefs on the bottom. His head lay against her ankles as he turned to speak to her, and his eyes devoured the sight of her strewn against the furniture, her body sated.

“I don’t care,” she moaned, pulling one of the cushions over her face as she made subtle noises that indicated sleep was on its way.

He kissed her calf, amused, and ran his hands across her porcelain skin in something close to awe, before jumping to his feet and making his way to the kitchen quietly, so that he wouldn’t wake her.

The incident with Sebastienne played through his head, tormenting him, as he prepared the meal he had planned.

Seb was not necessarily vindictive, but he did play dangerous games occasionally. Jayden only hoped he hadn’t now given him a weapon as well.

Because, Seb was only the tip of that iceberg, but if he shared his new discovery with the wrong person in that fucking food chain, someone was on their way to pig food.

No way would she be caught up in that shit.

                                       **********************

“Wake up angel,” he whispered into her ear, before drawing kisses along her neck, aiming further south if he was truly honest, risotto be damned, but she sat up straight as a bolt once she sniffed the air, and it almost threw him right back on his ass.

“You didn’t cook that delicious portion of Heaven I can smell in that kitchen did you, come on, tell me the truth ... Oh, I don’t care,” she groaned, reaching behind her for the old Led Zeppelin t shirt that was flung over the back of the sofa. Another part of her brother’s wardrobe that she’d pilfered. “I’m starving!”

She heard a low growl emerge from his throat as the shirt was ripped from her hands just as she was about to pop it over her head.

“What the ...?” her hands were left grasping thin air, as her mouth gaped open comically.

“This one,” he breathed, calming himself, as he passed her his own crumpled, white shirt, still warm from his body. She gave him an odd look as her fingers met his own. “I know that’s Nate’s t shirt, and the trackies are the same. I know he’s your brother, closer than me, and you love him unconditionally, but I just don’t like it. I don’t like that it’s his clothes you find comfort in, that it’s him that reminds you of home. You wear my clothes, my scent for comfort. Nobody else’s, not even Nate’s. I’m home to you, me. I can’t handle that it would be him, even if he is your brother and your blood.”

Her body shivered at his possessive tone, and she beamed back at him in stunned pride. It sounded arrogant, and oppressive, but it was also so typically, perfectly Jayden she couldn’t even find it in her to argue. “Okay,” she whispered, clearing her throat, so that her voice followed with a much stronger, almost demanding, “Feed me please?”

He swept her body up into his arms bridal style, dropping a soft kiss to her forehead. “Oh hell yes, my princess, I’ll feed you. And then there is dessert to look forward to. I’m not about to draw you a picture or anything, but I did find a nice tub of Caramel Haagen Daaz in your freezer ...” he winked at her cheekily as he set her down in one of the plush suede dining chairs and dropped his mouth to her ear, nibbling softly at the fleshy lobe, “That’s my second biggest weakness, you know.”

His voice was nothing more than a husky murmur, but it tickled along her spine as physically effective as his feather toys. “What’s your first?” she gulped, suddenly dry mouthed, before sipping on the sparkling spring water he set beside her plate.

“You are.”