Isabella Hawthorne
Small smiles kept blooming on my lips as Damien and I walked side-by-side down the grand hallway.
The walk was mostly in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rhythmic click of our shoes against the polished marble floor. Every now and then, though, my mind would inevitably dart back to the scene – the flash of Damien's bare manhood. I pushed the memory away, the heat in my cheeks returning just as we reached the ornately carved double doors of the pantry.
Damien stopped in front of the doors and pushed them open. "Here we are, Isabella," he announced. "What tickles your fancy today?"
Chocolate dipped radishes. It was the most ungodly craving I'd ever had, fueled by my strange pregnancy nausea. But the thought of Damien raising an eyebrow in confusion quickl
