Wicked obsession, p.10
Wicked Obsession, page 10
It takes several tries to find the right balance. I don’t want to disturb the cream too much. This has the same energy as walking in a straight line while drunk, not that I was ever drunk.
I’m not old enough to drink yet, and Victor would never let a sip of alcohol into my body. He said my body is a temple that he worships, and he does not want any desecration to mar my skin.
He’s overly dramatic at times, but I love being the love of his life. He makes me feel special and a princess with my own castle. He’s the dragon that guards me because a prince is too weak in his mind.
I’m his princess.
That thought makes me giggle as I balance the tray in my hand with that one cup of coffee to take up the whole circular space. I knock on his door and wait for his permission to enter. It comes immediately, and I twist the knob to go inside.
My lips are grinning too much when I see his handsome face peer over the screen of his computer. He cocks an eyebrow at me and notices the cup of coffee. His own lips twist into a smile.
I set the tray down, and the steam from the near boiling coffee rises up as I lean down to kiss him. He threads his fingers in my hair and slant his mouth passionately with mine. I had to tap his shoulders to let him know that my lungs are not the best. They can’t compare to his when he exercises on a daily basis, and his muscle building sessions are intense.
I watched him one day and I thought I would pass out from the weights he carried.
“Sit with me, love.” he pats his thick thigh and I shake my head, and as tempting as that offer is, I need his critics.
Any other day, I would have bulldozed my way into his lap.
That’s my seat.
“Tell me what you think.” I rock in my heels and clasp my hands behind my back and squeeze my fingers.
Nervousness blooms in my chest as I wait for his big hand to hold the cup of coffee with a pretty pigeon on it.
Art is not my forte, but I try, though they turn out to be smears of what could have been any shape. Today is my lucky day; the art stayed in place and I’m resisting to take a picture of it.
My eyes follow the cup to his lip. He takes a sip and sets it back down. His handsome face doesn’t betray his thoughts, and it’s killing me with anticipation. Green eyes staring impassively in mine, my heart slams against my ribs as I stop breathing.
This isn’t how I expected him to react.
I put my whole morning in this cup of coffee. My notes from other failed experiments are all combined into this one perfect drink, and I followed instructions to the last step through precise measurements of grounding coffee beans and the ratio between black coffee and foamed cream.
Disappointment fills my heart as it pummels down to my tummy; my lips turn into a frown as my eyes cast downwards to my shoes. Itchiness runs across my nose as tears brim on the red lines in my eyes, I lick the dryness of my bottom lip and scrape my tongue on my little canines to focus on the pain instead of the disappointment blaring its horns.
I should have done better. I did something bad again and Victor was looking forward to this. I was looking forward to his praises too, but I guess that isn’t coming any time soon.
I blame myself for being so hasty with the results, too greedy to Victor to pat my head and smile at me while he sings me praises while being so proud of me.
A girl can dream about these things.
“I’m sorry.” I choke, my quivering voice breaking.
I wallow in my misery and berate myself for being so dumb as to think that mere weeks can turn me into a professional barista.
Who am I joking?
“I haven’t said anything yet, little love.” his voice gives me hope, but I squash that down.
He’s just being nice. He wants to let me down easily, so I don’t cry in front of him.
The voice in my head scoffs, Victor likes to bully me every chance he gets.
I mumble, eyes trained on the floor. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“We have been over this,” he said, his warm hand closes around my arm and pulls to make my arms fall to my side.
“You do not get to decide what I feel,” he reprimands, yanking me down to his lap where I belong.
“But, it’s true. It’s really gross.” I huffily pout.
“Little love,” he warns with a growl in his throat.
I press a kiss to his pulse, “You get to tell me what I feel why can’t I do it?”;
“For one, you are always wrong,” he brutally strikes down my confidence.
I turn my head into his shoulder, and my throat sulkily throws a wordless protest at him.
I’m not always wrong, just most of the times.
Rolling the big diamond engagement ring in my finger, I pepper his neck with kisses to try and ask him to hurt my confidence with a little finesse and kindness.
“It’s not good,” he said.
I gasp, pulling back with my heart taking offense to his critic. I may have said that I could take his criticisms, but I really can’t. I’m too fragile to hear his harsh words, but he makes sure I know what I did wrong.
It’s never fun to listen to him breakdown the level of stupidity I had at the time of making the drinks.
I was hoping for a praise that’s between not too bad and not too good; in the middle is still better than tipping towards the negative side.
“It’s not?” I sputter.
“No,” he repeats with no remorse.
I make a pathetically hurt noise.
“Have you tasted it yourself?” he asks, and I shake my head.
I don’t like coffee; it’s too bitter. Heaven knows how Victor can drink pure black bitterness with a blank face.
“It’s the best one you’ve made, my love.”
Who drinks sugarless coffee nowadays anyway? This type of behavior is indicative of serial killers. I read that trait in an article about how to spot a psychopath when I was bored.
It was scary how Victor hit all of the marks for a future serial killer or a natural-born psychopath.
What?
It’s just now that my brain registered what he said.
“What?” my mouth drops open in shock.
He smiles, laying a heavy hand on my waist. A spark of happiness flares in his green eyes, and I hold back a squeal just in case I misheard and make a fool out of myself.
Victor doesn’t care that I look like an idiot, but I do.
“It’s delicious,” he said and my heart metaphorically leaps out of my chest as I scream in success.
I throw my arms around him and bounce jumpily on his lap while smooching his stubbly cheek with my lips.
He captures my lips and murmurs lovingly, “I’ll help you make it better next time.”
I kiss him harder, pulling back to beam brightly at him. “I love you!”
He chuckles, “I love you too, little love.”
Finale
Author’s other works!
Noir MC Series
KANE (Noir MC - Book 1)
VLAD (Noir MC - Book 2)
DEAN (Noir MC - Book 3)
Standalone
Pretty Girl
Marionette
Black Clover
Whisper My Name
Claiming Lily
Daddy King
Flawed Temptation
Follow the Author
Celia Crown, Wicked Obsession
