The kitchen of the mansion was a warm, inviting space, its sleek marble counters gleaming under the soft glow of pendant lights. The faint strains of pop music drifted in from the main hall, mingling with the sizzle of a pan and the rich aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air.
Elizabeth stood at the stove, wearing a sleek, black apron that hugged her curves, the thin straps doing little to cover her bare thighs or the deep cleavage revealed by her low-cut silk gown beneath. Her dark hair was loosely tied back, a few strands falling over her shoulder as she stirred a simmering pot, her movements confident and practiced.
I leaned against the wall, my arms folded across my chest, watching her with a mix of admiration and curiosity, my body still buzzing from our earlier encounter.
"Come here, Ezra," Elizabeth called casually, her voice light as she lifted a wooden spoon from the pot, a small dollop of creamy sauce glistening on it. "Taste this and tell me how it is."
