123
The sun bled lazily into the villa through wide open windows, drenching the marble floors and elegant hallways in gold. Outside, the garden rustled with a quiet breeze, but inside the house, everything felt hushed, intimate, cozy.
Yalda stretched beneath the linen sheets, savoring the warmth left behind by Ioannis. The room still smelled faintly of his cologne; clean, warm, and heady with something that always made her breath catch.
It was a rare day: no business meetings, no phone calls or obligations. Just her and him, wrapped in an uninterrupted stretch of hours. It felt indulgent, like sipping something expensive you weren’t sure you deserved.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen, where the morning sunlight hit the countertops like molten light. Loki trotted behind her, tail swishing as he sniffed at the basket of fresh bread on the counter.
Ioannis appeared not long after, tousled and shirtless, with a sleepy sort of charm in his expression. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as he watched her curiously.
“Planning a rebellion?” he asked, smirking.
She turned, grinning. “No. I was thinking of cooking.”
“You? Cooking?”
“I’ve been learning,” she said proudly. “Alina's been teaching me. I thought I could try something small. You know, show off.”
He walked over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m game. I trust you. And my stomach does too....for now.”
She laughed, swatting his chest lightly before pulling open the fridge. She already knew where things were, knew the routine. Olive oil, eggs, herbs, and something that looked like it could become pasta with enough effort and hope.
He settled at the edge of the kitchen island, watching her with interest as she moved with a mixture of confidence and carefulness. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, one strand perpetually slipping out to curl against her cheek; she was beautiful like this, just moving around his house, cooking for them.
She reached for a pot, drizzled oil into it, tossed in garlic with a soft sizzle.
“You look like a domestic goddess,” he murmured, chin in his hand.
“More like a hopeful amateur,” she muttered, biting her lip as she nearly over-salted the water, Alina had said the water should be salty as the sea, not kill everyone with salt. She tossed in the pasta, stirring quickly.
“I like this,” he said. “You. In my kitchen. Barefoot, determined, looking like you’re about to take over the world.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled, cheeks tinged pink. She had never been one to blush much, but she had been doing that lately around him. “Don’t romanticize it too much. It might turn out terrible.”
“But it’s you,” he said, voice low and sincere. “So it’s already perfect.”
Her chest warmed. She turned back to the stove, trying to focus on not burning the sauce.
When she plated the food, a modest dish of pasta with a creamy mushroom sauce and seared shrimp, she tried not to fidget as he took the first bite.
He chewed, then looked up at her slowly.
“Well?” she asked.
He swallowed, then smiled. “It’s edible. Actually… not bad at all. A little salty.”
She groaned. “Damn it.”
“But I love it,” he said. “Because you made it. And you made it for me.”
That made her heart flutter, stupid and fast. They ate in silence after that, and when they were done, he reached over, tugged her by the wrist until she was between his legs. His hands rested on her hips, fingers warm against the fabric of her dress.
“You keep doing this,” he murmured.
“Doing what?”
“Getting under my skin.”
He kissed her, slow and deep, tasting of wine and something softer. His hand slid up the curve of her spine, pulling her flush against him. She gasped softly when he lifted her up onto the kitchen island.
“Wait, here?” she whispered, even as her body responded, heat blooming low in her belly.
“Right here,” he said, trailing kisses down her neck. “Alina’s not here. It’s our day. I want you right here where you fed me. Feels poetic.”
“Or filthy.”
“Both.”
His mouth covered hers again, more demanding now, tongue teasing, coaxing her open as his hands slipped beneath her dress. The cool stone of the island beneath her thighs made her shiver as he pushed the fabric up, revealing more and more of her bare skin.
She wasn’t wearing panties. The moment he discovered that, he groaned into her mouth.
“You planned this,” he muttered, biting gently at her lower lip.
“I didn’t,” she gasped. “But I’m not sorry.”
He kissed her again, slow and wet and possessive, before sinking to his knees, hands gripping her thighs as he leaned in between them. Her breath caught as his tongue slid over her slick folds, slow and hot and unrelenting.
She braced her hands on the counter behind her, head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut.
“Ioannis…” she moaned, hed fingers tightened around the edge of the marble as he devoured her like a man starved.
He didn’t stop until she was trembling, until her thighs were shaking around his head and her cries filled the kitchen like music. Only then did he stand, mouth glistening, eyes dark with hunger.
He unzipped his trousers, freeing himself, and guided her back to lie flat on the cool counter. Then he sank into her in one deep thrust.
She gasped, legs wrapping around his waist as he began to move, slow and deep at first, then harder, his hips snapping against hers with the sound of skin on skin echoing through the high ceilings.
She arched beneath him, nails clawing lightly at his back as he fucked her, his mouth finding her neck, her collarbone, her breast.
“God, you feel like heaven,” he groaned, rutting into her as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
Her release came fast, too fast, tearing through her in waves as she cried out his name, her body clenched around him. He followed moments later with a guttural moan, collapsing against her with a shudder.
They lay there for a while, tangled and breathless.
Finally, he pulled back, still panting, and chuckled.
“What’s funny?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
He grinned. “I just imagined Alina coming in and seeing this. She’d have a heart attack.”
“She’d skin me alive,” Yalda said, laughing.
Alina had taken her as a disciple, she'd be awfully disappointed to find her sullying the sacred grounds of the kitchen like this.
He kissed her forehead. “Worth it.”
She
smiled and curled into his chest, the moment was etched in gold and sunshine, and a little bit of scandal.
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