Our Finest Moment ✔️

17

COLTON

Liana walks into the kitchen, humming, while I'm busy staring at my phone. She opens up the fridge, and I hear her fingers tapping on the side of it, before I look up.

My huff stops in my throat as I see a bare piece of golden skin between her top and jeans, her ass being perfectly accentuated under the tight fabric. Fucking hell, I wish I never wanted her to buy her own clothes, because this is too much too soon. Her narrow waist is what catches my eye the most, though—as I both want to feed her and hold her tight when the evidence of her truth becomes so blatantly obvious to me—and I keep looking at it, as she turns towards me and the fridge shuts.

She folds her hands in front of her, and the curve of her breasts underneath the flowery pattern snag my attention.

"Thank you," she says, and as my gaze moves up to meet hers, she looks away and clears her throat. Her eyes look red, and I furrow my brows in confusion. Is she sad? "For the guitar, I mean. That was very nice."

I give her a firm nod back, before I turn back to my phone. I don't know what to say back, because it was more for my own sake than hers that I bought the thing. I look towards the oven, and then back at my phone. "I'm heating up some lasagna, if you're hungry," I tell her.

In the corner of my eye, I see her turn towards the oven to look. "It smells really good," she states.

"My mother usually leaves a few of them in my freezer when she visits," I say, even if I don't know why I'm letting her know. I begin to tell myself she should know stuff about my family if we're to be married, and my mother doesn't know that it isn't real. And she isn't going to.

Liana takes a seat on the island next to me, her gold-toned skin looking even more vibrant against the white marble countertop as she leans her forearms on it. "Is she a good cook?"

I avoid looking at her, afraid I'll get lost in her cleavage.

"Yes." My tone is probably way more clipped than necessary. I nod, and lock my phone. "She's better than any Michelin chef in the city."

It isn't a lie at all. My mother is a genius in the kitchen, and I'm not ashamed to say I think so.

But I am ashamed to say I don't know what to do with myself with Liana so close, with so much bare skin, and so tight jeans. She's still skinnier than what's probably normal for her, yet she looks...appetizing. That sounds so right and so wrong at the same time, and I get up from the barstool I've been sitting on for a while, to check on the food.

"That's very high praise," she tells me, disbelief in her tone—though I have a feeling she's teasing me. "My expectations are very high, now, Colton."

She sounds like she's scolding me when she uses my name, and I want to twist around to look at her, to tell her to say my name one more time—but I don't. I hunch down in front of the oven and peer inside. It's not quite ready yet, and I knew that, I just needed some distance.

When I straighten back up, I don't go back to my seat. Instead, I lean against the counter and cross my arms. "They should be, Liana," I say, putting pressure on her name.

Her eyes narrow at me, and just as I suspected, her cleavage looks very good in that crop top. I look away with a slight tilt of my lips, and stare at the fridge instead, pretending to think about something other than her and her lovely, bare skin. It's annoying that I physically can't, even with her sitting right there.

I hope she'll take a plate of food and go, to eat in her room. Otherwise I might have to tell her I have work to do, and go eat in my office. I don't think she's even been in that part of the house yet. Out of fear, maybe. Or pure stubbornness. The last thing is more feasible, considering the woman nearly killed herself in front of me.