Bunny |18+|

Ch.38

Kiara

"This is unnecessary," I frowned, looking down at the counter before me. "We're not gonna use all of this tonight."

Several grocery bags lined up the counter, full of fresh foods ranging from the fruits and veggies to the lean meats and carbs. We had spent the whole afternoon shopping at the mall, a great majority of it wasted on listening to Domenico berate me for my reluctancy to look after myself. It was a lot—too much for one person but I kept my mouth shut like a good girl for his sake.

He was the one who paid for all this after all.

Domenico was dressed in something much more casual—a black shirt with basketball shorts that he bought from the mall for tonight. Not a sight of a suit or dress shirt, not a hint of wealthy cologne on his cuffs that soaked up the smell from his wrists. He looked calm. Loose.

I liked this version of him.

"We need to fill up your fridge, amore. Besides, I want to cook in big bulks so you have enough to last for the week," he explained, running warm water on the toughened surface of his inked hands. "No more cereal."

"You might as well be my househusband," I joked, pulling my sleeves up and washing my hands. It was quick but I managed to catch a hint of crimson on his cheeks as he turned, before he ruined it with a serious look and moved to the stove.

The sass this man has.

Domenico had a head start, taking out ingredients from the groceries before placing the leftover bags on the ground beside me once I sat down on the tiles. With that, I began to sort out my fridge, all the while he got ready to cook. Amusement rose as I watched him bend down, opening the cupboards on either side of the oven before he pulled out a cast iron skillet.

Inked, veiny arms handling food should not be a turn on for me.

"What do you feel like, bunny?" He asked, flipping the stove on with a few satisfying clicks. I hummed, taking the eggs out of its carton before placing each one in the little egg holder on one of the fridge shelves.

"I don't know, I'm not picky," I shrugged, moving into the fruits and veggies. I was grateful enough Domenico had the time to spend a few hundred dollars on food for me, so the added privilege of choosing what I wanted for dinner added to my stress levels.

"Do you like red meat?" He asked, eliciting my attention in a split second. My lips puckered, and a hum drew out.

I love meat—I think we all knew that by now.

"A rib-eye steak with roasted vegetables sounds nice," I mumbled. Domenico smiled, looking down at me with raised brows, "add some fries to that too."

Deep dimples. Stormy eyes.

"If that's what you want," he hummed, "come help me cook when you're done."

*

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Cooking with Domenico was a strange dichotomy of relaxation and stress.  He moved at a pace I couldn't seem to catch up with, and the absolute nature of his work sounded too chaotic to be within the confinements of my kitchen.