The Director - Renee Rose Page 0,19

side.

I get out of bed. “What are you hungry for?”

“I don’t know. Food.”

“Very helpful, Counselor. Come. I’ll take you to the kitchen.”

“Ooh, my very own escort. I guess I should be thanking you for letting me out of my cell.”

“After the water throwing incident? Yes,” I say although it’s not true. I bear no grudge over that. I threatened her. She retaliated in her small way. I like her feistiness. Now we can move forward.

If only I was sure what forward should look like.

I take her elbow and lead her to the giant kitchen, praying none of the guys are up and around because I don’t want anyone seeing her in miniscule pajamas.

“Please tell me you have more than just Russian food,” she whispers as I flick on the low lighting over the stove. It’s a dream kitchen, or so I’m told.

I don’t cook. The kitchen is adjacent to the living room, open on one side, with a breakfast bar and center island, all in pink and black granite. The appliances are stainless steel. The cupboards are solid maple with the soft-close feature and built in lighting underneath. I flip the switch to turn that on, too. If I turned on the overhead light, we’d both go blind.

The soft glow lights up Lucy’s pale skin and hair. She looks beautifully rumpled. I want to caress the hell out of that swollen belly of hers, but we’re not really on those terms at the moment.

I open the refrigerator and peer inside. “You have something against Russian food?”

“Well, your culture isn’t exactly known for its culinary finesse.”

“Be careful or you’ll get nothing but borscht and perogies for the rest of the week.”

She blinks at me, and I expect another insult, but she says, “Do you have perogies?”

I smile, indulgently. “Does that sound good to you, kitten?”

“Maybe.”

I pull out a container. “You have to at least try these. They are the best perogies I’ve ever tasted. Made by Mrs. Kuznetzov on the fourth floor.” I pop the lid and drop them onto the tray for the toaster oven. I’ve learned the outer pastry gets soggy if you try to microwave them. “Just a few minutes.” I return my attention to the refrigerator. “What else sounds good? Some berries?” I pull out a container of organic blueberries.

“Mmm. Yes.” She reaches for it and brings it to the sink, rinsing the berries under a stream of water. I watch her ass. From the back, you wouldn't know she’s pregnant. She carries in front, so it still looks like she has a waist. Her ass is fuller than it was Valentine’s day—round and fuckable. Very hot.

It’s been a couple hours, and I’m ready to tap that ass again.

All night long.

Too bad she needs her rest.

Of course, an orgasm might help her sleep.

The toaster oven dings, and I check the perogies, making sure they got warmed all the way through.

Lucy pops a few blueberries in her mouth. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Russian food?”

She nods, chewing on a plump berry.

I shake my head. “I don’t like Russian food.”

“See?” she says, then claps a hand over her mouth because it was too loud.

I smile because I love seeing her unbuttoned a little. I want more of it.

She looks at me, her eyes dipping from my face to my bare chest, over my tattoos. Her gaze continues down my abs to my boxer briefs, where my dick salutes her interest.

Her expression is hard to read, but the way her nipples tent her thin camisole, I know she likes what she sees.

“You want more?” I ask, giving my cock a rough squeeze.

She swallows, lifting her gaze once more to my face. I see indecision there. Her body wants it. Her mind rebels. She had the same dilemma at Black Light although now I think it’s more about not wanting to give anything to me than about surrendering to her desires.

I make it easier for her, stepping into her space and lightly resting my hands on her waist. I turn her around to face the counter. “I won’t even spank you this time,” I murmur.

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t refuse me, either. With her, I take it as a yes. She’s not going to ask me for it, even if she knows it’s what she wants.

I slide my hand down between her legs. “I’ll make you a bet.” I brush my lips across her neck, the silky strands of her blonde hair sliding across my stubbled face. “I’ll bet I can get you