His expression darkens into something unreadable. He comes up behind me, his hands circling my waist, and he pulls me against him. I start to swallow and then stop, realizing I have nothing to fear but my own lust.
He moves my hair to the side and licks up the side of my neck. “Be a good girl and when we get back, I’ll fuck that sweet pussy all night long.”
I don’t have it in me to argue. Dear God I am in so much trouble if the morning is any clue as to how the rest of the day will go.
I quickly dry my hair, dab mascara on and grab the strawberry lip gloss for my pocket. I go to head out, but make a quick turn to grab my bracelet from the dresser.
Outside the bedroom there’s a spacious living room slash dining room area with a kitchenette off to the side. That’s where I find Daemon alone with a bowl, several eggs and a pan.
“How do you like your eggs?” He doesn’t look up as he artfully cracks several open on-handedly.
“Scrambled, fried, anything but raw please.” I watch in awe as he pulls fruit, butter and what looks like cheese spread from a tiny fridge tucked under the edge of the counter.
“All that fit in there?”
“Somehow, yep.”
Ten minutes later he’s made us scrambled eggs with bell pepper, buttered toast, coffee and strawberries on the side.
“I had no idea you could cook.”
He forks in a mouthful of egg and washes it back with a couple of gulps of coffee. His Adam’s apple bobs and I’m fixated on the sight.
He catches me looking and smirks.
I drop my eyes back where they belong, on my own plate. “Where’s Warren and Erik?”
“Meetings.” His eyes come to rest on mine and he flashes me a brilliant smile. “It’s just you and me for the day.” I know the serious Daemon and even the horny Daemon but the playful version of him is just as exciting. A small thrill runs through me.
After a quick breakfast, Daemon ushers me into a heavy coat, scarf and gloves and pushes us out the door.
Window shopping isn’t my style, but we spend hours walking up and down cobblestoned streets, taking in every site to behold of this glorious city. Every once in a while, Daemon leaves me to dash off to one place or another only to return with a coffee, muffins, bread, oh my God, the bread here is off the charts. And my fave, buttery croissants.
I never pegged him as a foodie but you know what they say about judging books by their covers. He labels every ingredient of each delicious treat.
Full and a little tired, I lean into him a little more and place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” I don’t want to forget to say thank you in case I fall asleep when we get back. “Thank you for taking the time to show me so many beautiful spots. I’ve never seen any of these places in brochures.”
We dodge a pile of snow and weave around some late-evening shoppers. “That’s because these places are hidden treasure for the locals. None of the places we visited today are on a tourist map.”
“Ah,” I say. “And you know this…?”
A wistful look comes over him and I see memories cloud his dark eyes. “Because my grandmother on my mother’s side is from here. Born and raised. I spent every summer and holiday with her until she passed when I was a teenager.”
I tighten my grip on his arm and lean my head against his arm. “I’m sorry, Daemon. I guess that explains how you speak the language so fluently.”
When I first heard him I admit, I was shocked.
“Before my mother sent me away the first time, I kept to myself. Always tucked away in some library with little friends and fewer interests in activities like soccer or fishing. Regular boy things.”
“And after?”
“My mother had no interest or time to focus on me. My grandmother on the other hand taught me everything there is to know about cooking since she couldn’t run after a ball.”
“That sounds kind of nice. Why did your mother have so little time?”
“She paid more attention to her work as the CEO of a large business. Not too many people have time to raise kids when they are trying to run a business. I guess I have her to thank for me my work addiction, though.”
Hurt colors his words and I have a feeling he has rarely spoken these words allowed to another soul. How could a mother not have time for their own child? I mentally ask myself the question and instantly understand his pain. “Though not exactly the same I live with similar pain. My mother and father have little time for me since I didn’t take the path they wanted me to take.”