22 Badboys fall the hardest

Date = 9 November

Place = San Francisco (Damion’s house)

POV - Damion

“So, what are we making?” She jumps onto the counter and the scent of my soap comes to me, light and familiar, and I fucking love the idea of her covered in my scent — and I love it even more that she’s covered in my shirt.

I purposely didn’t pack shirts, only pants, since my pants are too big.

I move between her legs, putting my hands on either side of the counter, boxing her in. I bend forward so we are eye to eye. Hers are dark and buzzing and skeptical as she stares at me. Then, there is the slightly unsure posture, saying she is at least a little out of her element and knows it. If she only knew how over my head I’m feeling she would probably laugh.

“So, it’s we now?” I tease, “And here I thought I am supposed to make the food so you can fall in love with me.”

“I think it’s too late,” she murmurs as if to herself, and as if she said too much, she adjusts herself with a scowl. “Let me help. What are YOU making?”