Novel & Cerita This Kitchen Is Not The Same Without You

I bit out, thrusting deeper, faster, until the rhythm broke and her body seized around me, coming hard, raw, her cries muffled in the sheets. I followed seconds later, spilling into her with a low, savage groan, gripping her hips like I’d lose my mind if I let go. And maybe I would. She collapsed against the mattress, trembling, her body pliant and spent beneath me. I leaned over her, pressing my mouth to her shoulder as I whispered: “They’ll never take you from me.” The kitchen wasn’t made for living. It was made to be photographed—glass, steel, minimal perfection. I never used it. Until now.

"I'm fine, thanks. How was work, have you eaten yet?" "Work was fine and I haven't eaten but I am not hungry." I pointed out, I am not really in the mood. "Although if you want to eat or cook, there is a kitchen here, I just don't use it." I stood up and opened the door leading to the kitchen. I have never used it and there is no foodstuffs there, I only come here to have sex because I don't want to debauch my home. So there has never really been a reason to use the kitchen...

After an endless journey through the expansive corridors, we finally reached the kitchen. As I stepped inside, I was instantly captivated. The kitchen was a masterpiece, with high ceilings and gleaming marble countertops reflecting the light streaming through the oversized windows. Stainless steel appliances shone like jewels, and the large island in the center was adorned with a colorful array of fresh fruits. I was momentarily speechless, taking in the vibrant colors and the elegant design that felt more like a work of art than a place to cook. "Like what you see, gorgeous?" Cain's voice broke through my reverie, tinged with a playful teasing that burned my cheeks.

“Eat this before your brain short-circuits. Your sister’s gonna be fine. I promise. My brothers were worse than those three.” “Ain’t that the truth,” Rosa chuckles. “A bunch of hooligans and devils.” “And Kiara and I survived,” Mel adds, casually, then immediately falters. Her face goes still. The name hangs in the air like a crack in glass. She smiles, but it lingers with an ache. We all feel it. The missing person in this kitchen. The gap where a voice should be. A joke. A breath. A heartbeat. The kitchen falls quiet. A hush drapes over it like a heavy, invisible shawl. Even the bread seems to wilt under the weight of that name.

"Please, I don't have any food at home to make things, and I know your kitchen is stocked up." "I'll have someone." "No, I want to do it," I insist. "I'll starve out of protest." "Curse you and your rock-solid backbone," he mumbles, and I grin, walking through the massive corridors and foyer to his kitchen. I didn't get a good look at it the last time we were here. The kitchen wasn't really for guests, so I only glanced in while someone made our lunch. It's stunning, all white countertops, bright light fixtures, neutral backsplashes, farmhouse sinks, and stainless steel. I love it.

On a night like tonight we could move out there and enjoy the night air. His kitchen is larger than the one Kimbra and I had. His is remodeled, as the building is too old for the stainless-steel appliances and white and gray decor. The way it is designed, there isn’t room for a table, but instead, there’s a breakfast bar with three tall stools.

He followed me down the hallway and into the least used room in my apartment. “She’s a complete rainbow,” I agreed. “And I would like to apologize for her…uh, rudeness. She’s really sweet when she’s not herself.” My kitchen was a lot different from Ms. Lee’s kitchen next door. The design I went for when this place was renovated was chic and classy, so there’s a lot of shiny marble and expensive wood. The kitchen counter that doubled as a bar, where Jester was currently leaning against, was bare of anything except a bowl of fruit. The kitchen table opposite had real flowers (chrysanthemums, I think they’re called) that Bea changed every two days depending on her mood. The sink and other surfa

I state "At least feel like I'm in control of my life." "You shouldn't have signed that contract then. Your life is in my hands quite literally, adjust to the changes and stop whining." Roman struts to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. I follow him, taking my position by the large kitchen island. I take a few seconds to admire the mixing of light woods, natural stones, open shelving and cream linens amid soaring ceilings of the kitchen. I run my hands over the smooth white marble counter. This kitchen is beautiful, way too beautiful. He takes out two Amex cards, placing them on the counter, one is in black and the other gold.

“You could have told her you were already on the property." “And ruin the drama of a grand entrance?" I laughed. “Of course. How inconsiderate of me." He grinned, and the heaviness in my chest subsided. The final stop was the kitchen, which might have been my favorite. It maintained the same dark aesthetic. “I could live in this kitchen," I confessed, and his response gave me pause. “You could," he replied. “It is technically mine." My heart repeated that stupid little stutter before I whispered to myself, “There it is again. That confusing talk."

Kane's POV I had the kitchen designed in much the same way as the one upstairs, but this one is bigger, with massive double-door stainless steel fridges, two ovens, stoves, every gadget imaginable, and a beautiful pantry with all the ingredients my heart could desire in it. Right in the middle of the kitchen is a large island with a black granite top and barstools around it. It’s my hope that there will come a time that we’ll be able to sit here as a family together while I cook supper and catch up with my pups’ days.