Chapter 301: ~ 300
Chapter 300
~Franklin~
I was already in the kitchen by the next morning. I smiled thinking about yesterday.
I stood in the center of the kitchen, dressed only in a pair of dark grey sweatpants, leaning against the island as I savored the absolute quiet.
The night before had been a whirlwind of fierce possessiveness and intoxicating passion, a long-overdue reminder of the sexual tension between Octavia and me.
Once the sun rose, I had taken matters into my own hands. I called Olga and the rest of the household staff, officially giving them the entire day off. My grandfather was out of town on an elderly road trip, and our beautiful little girl, Lael, was still being thoroughly spoiled and pampered over at her other grandparents’ house.
It was just the two of us. Ever since we brought Lael home from the hospital, our lives had been a beautiful, chaotic cycle of diaper changes, middle-of-the-night feedings. We hadn’t had a single moment completely alone, without a baby crying or a monitor buzzing consciousness.
I smiled to myself. I wanted to surprise my wife. I wanted to treat her like the queen she was before she even opened her eyes. I was going to pull off the ultimate romantic gesture: a flawless, breakfast set up.
Surely, navigating the kitchen alone wouldn’t be that difficult.
Twenty minutes later, I realized I had never been more wrong in my entire life.
The execution of my romantic masterpiece had devolved into absolute and hilarious chaos. I had pulled up a recipe for artisanal brioche French toast and fluffy buttermilk pancakes on my phone, confident in my skills. But cooking, as it turned out, came out so bad.
"Damn it," I muttered, coughing slightly as the smoke filled the air. I lunged forward, pressing the eject button, but it was too late. The bread popped up, completely blackened and turned to a crisp, resembling two blocks of charcoal more than breakfast food.
Before I could even throw the burnt toast into the sink, the kitchen’s ceiling smoke alarm began to wail, a sharp, piercing, electronic shriek that echoed off the high ceilings.
"No, no, no," I growled, grabbing a kitchen towel and jumping up, closer to the ceiling. I began waving the towel frantically at the ceiling sensor, trying to clear the air before it triggered anything else.
In my frantic scramble, my elbow clipped the open bowl of pancake batter I had painstakingly mixed. The ceramic bowl tilted, making the thick white batter poured directly over my sweatpants, onto the floor, and splashing upward. To make matters worse, everything looked terrible.
A soft, melodic sound suddenly cut through the dying shrieks of the smoke alarm.
I froze, still standing on top of the kitchen island, towel raised mid-air. I turned my head toward the kitchen entrance.
Octavia was leaning against the doorframe. She looked utterly breathtaking. She was wearing nothing but one of my oversized white button-down corporate shirts, the fabric hanging loosely off her delicate shoulders and stopping mid-thigh, framing her long, flawless legs.
Her dark hair was beautifully messy from sleep, and her eyes were crinkled with absolute delight. She had her hands pressed over her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as she tried, and failed, to control her laughter.
"Franklin," she choked out, her voice splitting into a rich, hysterical laugh that echoed through the room. "What... what on earth happened in here?"
I let out a heavy sigh, lowering the towel as I carefully climbed down from the island. I looked down at myself. I had sticky pancake batter dripping down my sweatpants, a thick dusting of white flour smeared across my forehead, and a streak of charcoal soot decorating my sharp jawline. The kitchen looked like a war zone.
"I was trying to make you a romantic breakfast in bed," I grumbled, though a helpless, boyish smile began to tug at the corners of my lips as I walked toward her. "I gave the staff the day off so we could be alone. But apparently, the kitchen is my enemy."
Octavia couldn’t take it anymore. She burst into more laughter, stepping into the kitchen and wrapping her arms around my waist, unbothered by the flour and batter coating my skin.
"Oh, my poor husband. Defeated by a piece of toast." She reached up, using the pad of her thumb to gently wipe a streak of flour from my cheek, her eyes soft and overflowing with affection. "It is the sweetest, most disastrous thing anyone has ever done for me."
"Don’t mock the chef, sweetheart," I teased, wrapping my large, messy hands around her hips, pulling her close against my chest. "I had a vision."
"Well, your vision is currently smoking up the ceiling," she giggled, kissing the tip of my chin. "Go wash your face and sit down. Let a professional handle this."
I watched in pure admiration as Octavia completely took control of the room. She m cleared away the ruined toast, wiped down the counter, and within ten minutes, she had a fresh bowl of batter mixed.
Watching her move around the kitchen in my oversized shirt, the hem swishing against her thighs with every step, was a form of torture I gladly endured.
She poured the batter into a clean pan, flipping perfect, golden-brown pancakes with an effortless grace that made me incredibly jealous of a piece of cookware.
She slid the fluffy stack onto a single large plate, drizzling a rich, thick stream of dark chocolate syrup over the top, and brought it over to the kitchen bar stools where I was waiting.
We didn’t bother going to the grand dining room. We sat side-by-side on the high bar stools, sharing the single plate, using our forks to steal bites from one another. We ate, we laughed about the bachelorette party madness from the night before, and we kept leaning in to steal soft, sweet kisses between bites.
Octavia swallowed a bite of her pancake, a small drop of the rich chocolate syrup lingering right at the corner of her soft, pouty bottom lip.
My gaze darkened instantly, the playful atmosphere in the kitchen shifting into something entirely heavy and thick with sudden desire. I didn’t reach for a napkin. Instead, I leaned in close, my large hand sliding into the silk of her hair at the back of her neck, gently tilting her head back.
I leaned down and slowly, deliberately licked the sweet chocolate syrup right from the corner of her mouth, my tongue brushing against her sensitive skin.
Octavia let out a soft, ragged gasp, her fingers instantly gripping my bare shoulders as her eyes fluttered shut.
I pulled back just an inch, my dark eyes locking onto hers, my gaze dropping to the way my oversized shirt was rising up her thighs. A wicked, deeply seductive smirk played on my lips as I leaned down, my voice dropping into a low, husky growl against her ear.
"How about another morning round, sweetheart?"