The Ache Between Us

Chapter Twenty - Rafael

"It's not a game, Iris. Admit what you already know is true, and I'll fuck your ache away. I'll make it so good for you, baby. Just say the words I wanna hear."

She tilted her chin in defiance. "My body is mine, Rafael. I'm tired of men trying to control me."

I sighed exasperatedly. "I'm not trying to control you, Iris. I'm not like your father or your shitty ex-husband. If you thought I was like them, you would have never come to me from the beginning. You trust me because you know me. Your body knows me. It knows its master.

When I tell you that you belong to me, I'm speaking sexually, intimately, but you're so fucking stubborn thinking I want to own you outside of the bedroom. I don't. You're a free soul, and I'd never want to clip your wings, baby. I want to help you soar even higher, and if you can't see that, then I'm sorry."

"Now, do you want pancakes or french toast?" I asked, changing the subject.

She looked at me as if trying to soak in my words, but I could tell she was still angry from me cock-blocking her orgasm, and the fact that I wouldn't touch her. Not until she admitted who she was to me, not until she dropped that fucking guard she always brought up whenever we were intimate.

I wanted all of her. Not tiny little pieces that she offered whenever she deemed fit. I wanted to consume her, swallow her whole, and in order for me to do that–Iris needed to give herself to me without an ounce of doubt.

Her dark brows furrowed, and jungle eyes flickered down to the salute my cock was giving her, and I watched her chew on her bottom lip, contemplating. The attraction between us was undeniable, incomprehensible, and the longer she denied it, the harder I'd fuck her in the end.

She knew this, and I wanted to see how long she'd fight me. Fighting with her always got me hot, so I didn't mind her little temper tantrum. Her body knew it was mine. It was time for the rest of her to get the message.

"Pancakes." She grumbled.

I stood up, grabbed my empty cup, and headed towards my kitchen. I could hear the padding of her feet behind me, but she didn't come inside the kitchen. Instead, she chose to sit on the stool to watch me.

I gathered up all of the ingredients along with my glass bowl, measuring cups, and whisk. I melted the butter first and allowed it to cool down before whipping the eggs in a separate bowl, so the pancakes came out fluffy.

Next, I measured the flour, the baking powder, and sugar with a dash of cinnamon and a pinch of salt. I mixed it with the whisk before pouring the butter and buttermilk into the egg mixture. Without overmixing it, I poured the wet batter into the dry before I could forget.

I grabbed the vanilla extract from the fridge and poured in some before heating the pan and greasing it with butter. I poured and flipped until two stacks of fluffy, buttery pancakes were on the plates.

I grabbed the fruit salad I made yesterday from the fridge and placed it behind me where she was sitting. I set the two plates down and grabbed the syrup bottle as well. I made two cups of coffee and went and took the seat next to her.

"Dig in, chiquita."

I watched her reach for the syrup and drench the pancakes before licking her lips and digging in. "I hate you." She said once she swallowed her bite.

"They're good, huh?"

"So, do you cook pancakes for all of your other lady friends?" She asked without looking at me.

"I didn't live with any of the women I dated. If they were to sleep over at my place, I'd have Isabelle cook them a meal. Isabelle's my maid." I clarified, then added, "I'd usually be gone before they woke up, and if I weren't. I'd eat with them but not cook for them."