Love Coming from the Least Expected

Chapter 6

Love Coming from the Least Expected Chapter 6

In a playful mood, I held his face in my hands and made him look
up at me. “Who do you think is prettier? Lyle‟s „dinner‟ or me?”
“You,” he answered instantly with an innocent smile on his face.
If I weren‟t familiar with his personality, I might have mistaken
him for a pure, excitable virgin.
To be completely honest, my heart did race at his sweet words.
But I also knew that anything a man said was not to be trusted,
especially not when he wanted to get you in his bed.
“You say that as if you‟ve slept with her too.”
“You say that as if I‟ve never slept with her before.”
I was rendered speechless. “But why?”
Instead of replying, he hoisted me off the floor and carried me all
the way to the living room couch.
“Hey!” I panicked, struggling to close my legs firmly and get
away from him.
As if having expected my reaction, he wasted no time squeezing
in between my legs and hooking them around his waist.
If Lyle saw us in such a compromising position, he might just
explode with rage.
That idea cheered me up greatly.

Christopher started to undo my shirt. “I know you‟ve been
thinking of me. I kept sneezing all day.”
“You must have caught a cold,” I retorted, trying to pull his hands
away.
Taking advantage of my brief distraction, he gave up trying to
take my shirt off and skipped right to slipping his hands under my
shirt.
“Liar.”
I couldn‟t deny that.
He took my silence as an affirmative answer, chuckling before
pressing his warm lips to mine. Trapped under the heavy weight
of his body combined with his fierce kisses, I could barely breathe
properly.
“W-Wait…” I stammered out in between kisses. “I‟m hungry… I
want to have dinner first—”
“I‟ll make sure to stuff you full.”
“I‟m being serious.”
“I‟m hungry too, little calf,” he replied with a sincere look. “Let
me drink from you, please?”
Little calf?
I caved and lay there motionless, letting him do whatever he
wanted to me.
Seemingly content with my response, he grinned up at me
sweetly.
After he was done, I shoved him off of me to get up and cook
dinner. As if knowing that I would make caramelized pork, he
nuzzled his face into my neck. “I want caramelized pork.”
If I was a “little calf,” then he had to be the castle‟s spoilt cat.
He watched as I moved around the kitchen, instantly approaching
me and wrapping his arms around me from behind as soon as I
had settled down in one spot.
“Are you going to use sugar?” he asked, his chin resting atop my
head.
“Yes. Why?”
I was cooking caramelized pork; of course, I was going to use
sugar. He replied casually, “Nothing. I just don‟t like eating sweet
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