Must Date The Chef

|| Epilogue.

"I hate you."

Her boyfriend's brow raises, he sticks out his tongue. "You love me and I love you too."

Pauline settles in the middle of the bed with a huff, her arms cross on her chest, pushing her breasts up and her lips turn down in a frown which deepens into a scowl when he tries to bridge the gap between them. The pillow she places as a form of barrier soon disappears, he sits cross-legged in front of her, eyes gleaming with mischief as he flicks a finger over her exposed thigh. She ignores him, her head turns to the painted wall, the portrait of him in a boxing stance.

Feather touches on her exposed knees drags her out of her reverie, her gaze returns to his handsome face and the familiar feeling of warmth associated with his presence spreads through her chest. He grins, her heart swells with affection for him and her resolve weakens. Her fingers connect with his jaw, weave through his beards, she pulls his head down for a kiss and her tongue slips into his mouth, tangoes with his in a slow, sensual dance. Retracting her tongue to bite on his lower lip, a moan escapes her when he massages the mounds on her chest through the material of her red tank top.

"Paul," she mutters in a childish voice when they separate to catch their breaths. Her fingers splay on his bare chest, his hands circle her tiny wrists. "I don't want to go."

She sucks on her lower lip when he pushes her to the bed gently, her eyelids flutter, lust clouds her eyes as she stares at his full lips. Paul's head moves left and right in response to her statement, tears fill up her eyes, she sniffs and his eyelids shut briefly to allow the teary image of her tugging at his heartstrings pass. She touches his face.

"But I talked to Mmá, I told her everything."

His teeth graze her neck, nibbling on her soft flesh. "Yes but she's not a professional."

Silence prevails over them, her hand moves to his waist and he places a kiss on her jaw when she doesn't reply him and her brows crease as her eyes take on a faraway look.

"Do you know Kelechi is Mmá's boyfriend?" Letting out a small laugh, her eyes narrow at the ceiling like she can still see the image of the half-naked man with thick dreads she found in her mother's bed some weeks ago.

"That small boy. She's older than him," she scowls, he shrugs, "maybe he jazzed her."

Propping her head on the pillow, she pouts and lowers her hand to her belly. "Age is just a number," he whispers in return. A smile creeps into his voice, he continues, "Kelechi is not a small boy, you just dislike him. That man can give birth to two of you."

She smacks the back of his head, he lets out a yelp that has her eyes skimming his face for any sign of injury and the corners of her mouth twitch. His lips curl into a smile, he pecks her forehead before she can repeat the action and her body thrums in response.

"It feels wrong," she sulks, "I don't like him."

Hovering above her, his warm breath fans her face and his hand sneaks inside her top, touching the skin of her belly button. "You don't know him." Her lips pucker, she hates how logical he sounds most times. "The age difference isn't even up to a year. Give her a break na, she also deserves to be happy."

Their gazes meet with the brown colour of his eyes pulling her in like it did on the first day they met. His arms on each side of her keeps her from getting away, she is forced to agree with his logic and he pecks her cheek, going on to reward her with a smile that has her heart skipping a beat.

The whisper of her name after a brief pause causes her hands to raise to his shoulders, she heaves a sigh. Worry mars his features, his eyebrows crease and she squirms under him, trying to avoid his piercing gaze.