Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
I swallow every last drop, and when he finally pulls back and releases his hold in my hair, all he can do is stare at me. “Where the fuck did you come from?” he murmurs, his chest heaving as I lick my lips and get back to my feet.
“Come on,” I tell him, stepping around him and leaving Zeph braced against the door with his dick hanging out. “I’m starved and you promised me a home-cooked meal.”
I make my way through Caesar’s home, and after passing through the living room, I hear Zeph finally catching up behind me, his dick happily packed back inside his pants. “I know I like to talk shit, but I know damn well that I never promised you I’d make a home-cooked meal.”
I spin around, walking backward and grinning back at the devil as I continue toward the kitchen. “The fact I can still taste your cum in my mouth means that when I tell you to get in the kitchen and make Momma a sandwich, your only response should be chicken or turkey.”
Zeph gapes at me, his jaw physically loosening. “Holy fucking shit. Is that what misogynistic bullshit feels like?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Goddamn,” he says, catching up to me as we step into the kitchen before meeting my stare with a twisted smirk and a boyish sparkle in his eye that makes me want to be his best friend for the rest of our natural lives. “Chicken or turkey?”
“Geez,” I say. “A girl gets tackled and forced to her knees before she even gets a hello at the door, then all she gets is a lame sandwich? Tough break.”
Zeph laughs and shakes his head. “Alright, your majesty. What’ll it be?”
“Call me a basic bitch, but I’d kill for a spaghetti bolognese.”
“Spaghetti. Really?” he questions. “It’s three in the afternoon.”
“And?”
“And if I make you spaghetti now, you’re not going to be hungry at dinner time.”
“Well then,” I say, glancing across the kitchen to the old, vintage clock on the wall. “Then after I eat, it looks like you have roughly four hours to make sure my appetite returns in full force.”
Zeph glances at me, his gaze narrowed with a wicked curiosity. “That better not be a challenge you’re throwing down, young lady,” he says in a stupid southern accent, and honestly, all he’s missing is the cowboy hat for him to tip.
“It’s not a challenge,” I tell him. “It’s a necessary requirement.”
He laughs and shakes his head before striding toward the refrigerator. “In that case,” Zeph says, pointing toward the counter. “Plant your ass up there. You’re in charge of entertainment while I try not to burn my father’s house down.”
I shuffle up to the side of the counter before planting my palms against the cool Italian stone and hoisting my ass up onto it. “What kind of entertainment are we talking about?” I ask. “Am I setting up a camera and starting an OnlyFans, or are we googling two girls and a cup?”
Zephyr whips around, his eyes wide. “You know about two girls and a cup?”
I just grin, and his gaze becomes suspicious when he scoffs and shakes his head, getting back to what he’s doing. “You don’t know about two girls one cup.”
An hour later, I’m sitting across the dining table from Zephyr with my bowl of spaghetti bolognese completely demolished. “I’m surprised,” I tell him. “I was almost expecting that to kill me, but you can actually cook.”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “I had an interesting childhood. I learned from a young age that if I didn’t cook, I didn’t eat.”
My eyes bulge out of my head. I don’t know much about Caesar, but he doesn’t strike me as the neglectful parent, despite his willingness to cross lines. “Your dad didn’t feed you?”
“No, no. My mom,” he clarifies. “Dad wasn’t around back then. I was stuck with a mother who cared more for getting her next fix than making sure her kid was fed and bathed.”
Horror grips me. I know this shit happens all the time, but it’s so hard to wrap my head around. I come from a home with two loving parents whose top priority was making sure I had everything I could ever need. Even now, after being away at college the past four years, they call almost every day and insist on sending me care packages despite telling them that I’m a fully functioning adult who can take care of herself. The idea of growing up without that . . . shit. It’s heavy.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t imagine—”
“Don’t sweat it,” he says, getting up and taking both of our bowls back to the kitchen. “It was a long time ago, and the moment Dad could, he got me out of there, and now,” Zeph pauses and glances around at the impressive home he lives in. “It’s funny how life has a way of hitting you with that UNO reverse card.”