Chapter 6 Little Calf

• 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 stuff.”
• “Then why do you want caramelized pork?”
• “I'd love anything you cook.” He shrugged.
• Upon hearing that, my initial exasperation turned into amusement, and I let out a chuckle. With his preference in mind, I made sure to add as little sugar as possible when cooking the caramelized pork.
• However, the pork turned out to taste worse than I had imagined, and I couldn't bring myself to eat more than one helping. Meanwhile, Christopher was gobbling the food up heartily.
• For a split second, I wondered if there was something wrong with his taste buds.
• “I think I still prefer the taste of my little calf,” he told me as soon as he had wiped his mouth after dinner.
• I rolled my eyes.
• “Why didn't you eat? I thought you said you were hungry.”
• “I was too busy admiring your pretty face,” I came up with an excuse, forcing a dry smile.
• He laughed at that. “Little minx.”
• I instinctively retreated when he leaned in and tried to kiss me, but I hadn't realized that one of his hands was already holding the back of my head, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
• His flexible tongue that had the lingering taste of the caramelized pork pushed past my lips and slipped into my mouth.