Page 67 of Gorgeous Prince
He removes them just as fast as he put them there.
“We’ll need to work on your gag reflex,” he comments, as if he were an employer giving me a yearly review. “So, I can fill your pretty little mouth with my dick and watch you choke on it.”
Lust, the need for this man, pumps through me.
Everything he does seems so erotic.
Yet effortless at the same time.
I draw in the breaths I was missing while staring at Benny.
He stares back while exhaling controlled breaths.
The room seems smaller and the air thicker while we stare each other down.
Benny’s eyes are a storm that drags me in.
I inch closer to him, as if being dragged with no control of myself.
Then, the timer goes off.
Saving me from being reckless and giving myself to him.
* * *
“This is actually pretty good,”Benny says, directing his fork toward the pasta bake on his plate before shoving another bite into his mouth.
“Actually?” I scrunch up my face. “Did you think it’d not be good?”
Thankfully, my phone’s timer pulled me out of my Benny haze earlier, and I rushed to the oven to take the pan out. Then, I attempted to bail on dinner, trying three different excuses—sudden headache, loss of appetite, and need to wash my hair.
None of them worked.
Instead, Benny walked me to a chair, shoved me into it, and told me to keep my ass there. I pouted but did as I had been told while he strolled across the kitchen. He popped open the bottle of Dom, pulled two antique champagne flutes from the cabinet—from their design, my guess was that they were his grandparents’ wedding flutes—and poured us each a bubbly glass.
He handed me one before dumping pasta onto two plates and delivering mine to me, as if he were a server.
“The uncooked pasta scared me for a minute,” he replies.
“TheI struggle with tearing leavesscared me for a minute.” I take a sip of champagne and shoot him a pointed look.
He leans back in his chair and motions toward me with his glass. “You know, I didn’t think I’d like your smart little mouth, but I have to say, it’s growing on me.”
His words cause me to massage my throat, as if I could still feel him shoving his fingers down it.
I rest my arms on the arms of the chair. “Do I get something for that?”
“What do you want?”
I jerk my head toward the sink. “I’ll start with a dishwasher.”
He shakes his head. “My father would have my ass if I made one renovation to this place. He swore to my mother that he’d never change it.”
“That’s sweet of your father.”
He scoffs. “My father is far from sweet.”
“For him to keep a promise like that to your mother is sweet—Mafia king or not.” The table grows quiet for a moment, and I lower my voice before saying, “I’m truly sorry about your mother, Benny.”