Stella, feeling her movements restricted, finally managed to speak. “Can’t you just let me go? Wait in the living room. It’ll only be a minute.”
“No,” Weston replied, tightening his hold on her.
His lips, once gentle, began to wander. What started as light kisses on her cheeks gradually shifted to the delicate skin of her ears. Slowly, as if unable to control himself, his lips moved lower. Stella felt the heat of his touch, and a tingling sensation spread across her skin.
She grimaced, instinctively trying to pull away. But Weston’s grip on her waist only tightened, pulling her closer. “Don’t move,” he murmured in a hoarse voice near her ear.
The way he held her left her feeling every shift of his body, his touch all too overwhelming. Stella’s breath hitched, and she held the spatula tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning white. “Stop fooling around. It’ll be ready soon. Just wait a little longer.”
“No,” he responded, his voice low and husky. “I’m very hungry now.” The word hungry was emphasized, and Stella couldn’t help but understand what he meant, though she pretended not to.
“We can’t eat yet. Can you please wait?” she replied, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.
Weston pinched her ear teasingly, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Okay. I’ll wait then. Don’t disappoint me.”
Stella knew exactly what he meant, but she said nothing further, returning her attention to the stove, her fingers working diligently.
She spent the next half hour preparing the meal, each dish requiring time and effort. Weston patiently waited, though the minutes stretched on.
When Stella finally emerged from the kitchen, she wore the familiar apron, her hair tied back neatly with a few strands framing her face. The soft light of the room highlighted her delicate features as she moved around, and Weston found himself mesmerized, ignoring the loud chatter of the television.
As Stella placed the dishes on the table, Weston quickly crossed the room, striding toward her.
She turned to remove her apron, but before she could do so, Weston reached out, taking her wrists in his hands. His Adam’s apple moved as he spoke. “Let me do it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
Stella hesitated, then released the apron so he could take over. His fingers found the strings at her waist, gently working at the bow, not in a hurry. His touch grazed her waist through her sweater, and she couldn’t help but feel a wave of ticklish sensations. Reflexively, she pulled back slightly.
Weston chuckled, continuing his task, taking his time to undo the apron. Stella lowered her head, trying to remove it herself, but before she could, Weston’s hand rested gently on her neck, his touch firm.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice steady, as if savoring the moment.
Sighing, Stella resigned herself to his pace. “Fine. You do it, then.”
With one hand still on her waist, Weston’s fingers worked the strap behind her neck, helping her remove the apron with a deliberate slowness that made her feel helpless.
Stella raised an eyebrow. “Is this really necessary? The food will get cold if we wait any longer.”
Weston smirked, his hands still on her waist as he looked down at her. “Who says we’re eating it?”
Before she could respond, he swiftly pinned her against the wall, hanging up the apron with one hand. She had no chance to duck out of his way.
His gaze locked onto hers as he tilted her chin upward. “Isn’t she right in front of me?” His voice was low, but firm, and before she could answer, he kissed her—slowly, deeply. His lips traced hers with a depth that left her breathless, as though the rest of the world had disappeared, and she was the only thing that mattered.
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