That must be good for me.
"What's their gap? 8 years?"
A nod, "Yes. I mean, he's 26. If you think that when he turns 30, she'll be 22, it doesn't sound that bad. The problem lies with the fact that he began dating her when she was 16 and he was 24. In secret, of course. Only I knew about it. But now they are official and it's not a problem since she's an adult."
Oh, wow. That's even better. "My best friend dates someone 18 years older than her, so," I chuckled. "Their gap isn't much to me. They got together when she was 17, also secret. I was the only one who knew, and it was pretty damn shocking. I think I still feel shocked when I see them, but who am I to judge my best friend? I'm not in that position. Others already judge her enough, she doesn't need that from me. They love each other more than anything, that's what matters," despite them being father and daughter.
"Damn," he gasped. "18 years is quite the gap. My best friend's 8 gap looks like nothing near that. How did that even happen?"
"Bottled up sexual tension, none of them acted on it because it felt forbidden, but it was almost palpable. Until she got the balls to jump on him, and give him her V-card," I chuckled. "It was all or nothing. It worked."
"Bold," he chuckled. "Very bold. He was even bolder to be with her while she was underage."
"Oh, she wasn't. I mean, not legally."
He arched his eyebrows, "Was she emancipated?" A nod. "Now, that makes a difference. She was legally an adult." Yes. I need to be emancipated ASAP. "And her parents are okay with their relationship?"
I mean, she's literally with her dad, so, yeah. "Oh, yes. They definitely are," I chuckled amused by this chaos. "Her father absolutely loves her man," because uncle Krystian loves himself that much. "He's totally fine with him, because he knows how much he cares for and loves her," since he is the guy.
"Less trouble then."
I jumped from my seat and began to look around the huge perfectionist kitchen with literally every fancy machine you can imagine for cooking and baking.
"Feel at home, love," he giggled, and I couldn't help loving the sound of it. "Snoop around all you want."
"Don't regret that later," I beamed, opening the freezer, and my jaw dropped when I saw it stuffed with ice cream. Twenty-two different flavor, to be precise.
"I told you I also loved ice cream," Rafał purred, frying more than ten bacons. "I tend to have some every time I'm stressed or anxious, and I'm always either stressed or anxious."
I turned to face him, still in shock, "I do that too. Oh my God, this is crazy," I gasped and turned my eyes to the freezer again, counting all the ice creams inside. "Vanilla Chocolate. Strawberry. Mint Choco Chip. Caramel. Salted Caramel. Rum & Raisin. Pistachio. Raspberry. Coffee. Cookies & Cream," I paused and gave him a look. "Very British of you to have the ten most famous British ice cream flavors at home."
That got him giggling, "What? It tastes like childhood."
"You had Rum & Raisin ice cream when you were a kid?" I choked.
"I mean, not necessarily, but when I was a teen. The others do taste like childhood, though," idiot.
"Red, White, Blueberry ice cream?" I arched my eyebrows, "Isn't this the typical 4th of July ice cream the USA people like? Was it influence of your best friend?"
"Yes. That, Burnt Almond Fudge, Coffee & Donuts, and the Pumpkin Maple Pecan Bourbon ice cream flavors," he pointed his finger at it. "I got used to always having them at home, since he would pop up almost every day."
Cute. "Honey Pistachio. Marzipan Maraschino Cherry. Brown Butter Pecan. Strawberry Shortcake," then I saw the last ones. "Oh, you have alcoholic ice creams other than the rum and the bourbon ones."
"Of course, like you said, those are bloody delicious," more things we have alike with each other. "Gin & Tonic. Whiskey-Spiced Walnut. Red Wine. Moscato & Blackberry." I turned to him, "Let me guess, your favorite alcoholic one is the Whiskey-Spiced Walnut ice cream?"
"Bloody damn right," he winked. "What's yours, love?"
"I'm a simple minded girl, try to guess? A tip, it's not obvious, but it's not hard to guess."
He finished the bacons and turned off the cooktop, then walked towards me and towered over me, being taller than the damn fridge. "How many chances do I have?"
I pursed my lips, "Five."
After looking at the ones he has, his eyes turned to mine and he stole me a kiss, "Cookies & Cream."
What? "How?" I gasped in dismay.
"I have a feeling you are a cookies person, and you said it wasn't obvious, so I cut down the strawberry flavored ones, who would be obvious choices, as you told me you love that fruit," his smug grew wider as I got even more shocked. "Did I really get it right or are you playing with me, love?"
"You got it right," I gasped. "Strawberry Shortcake is my second favorite though."
"Precisely the one I was going to guess it before you told me it wasn't obvious," ugh, I made it easy. "You also look like you enjoy Mint Choco Chip," he narrowed his blue eyes at me.
"Alright, stop. How the hell are you guessing that?" I brought him closer and kissed him. "Can I have some?"
"Ice cream?" A nod. "As breakfast?"
"As dessert for breakfast? Please?" I bait my eyelashes, pouting my lips and he held my face softly and kissed me again, and again, and again but deeper.
"You don't need to ask me, love," he whispered on my lips, pressing his forehead on mine. "I just told you I plan on making you my wife and the mother of my children, everything that is mine will be yours. Eat as much as you want, but after breakfast."
A delicious shiver spread down my spine and I jumped away from him.
"What is it?" He blinked confused.
"I want to jump on you, idiot. Every time you say these things I want to jump on you and let you have your way with me. You can't expect me to keep my hands to myself, if you say that so close to me. We agree on pausing for breakfast, so, I'm trying to have a bit of self control," I spoke it way to fast, annoyed with myself. "Which is crazy, since I'm always extremely controlled when it comes to myself. You're messing with my mind and with my feels. Bastard."
The laughter that reverberated from his throat was so lively that I couldn't help gawking at him and watching such a pretty sight. "Okay, okay, let's finish this and eat. Then dessert for me and you."
He didn't said it, but I understood that my dessert is the ice cream, while his will be me. I'm all here for it. "Okay, now, back off. If you stay so close I'll lose my mind. I feel like undressing us every time you look at me like that."
Smiling brightly, he walked back to the island and I picked the strawberry ice cream instead of the others. Then I opened the door of the liquor fridge at the side and chose the 'Sassicaia' Tenuta San Guido, Bolgheri Sassicaia, Italy, 1998, 1.5L red wine bottle, that thankfully was cold enough. And after snooping around the cabinets, I found the milkshake glasses and picked two of bohemia crystal for us, together with two straws of his metallic dark red collection.
When I sat on my seat again, he was looking at me curiously, "What are you scheming to do, love?"
"It's called Red Wine Floats," I winked at him. "Half a glass of a wine of your choice, one or two ice cream scoops, press it down a bit with the straw, and then you have it. Easy peasy. My aunt loves these, though she does it with vanilla ice cream instead. Traditional strawberry ice cream suits red wine better in my opinion."
"Grape and strawberry suit each other over all, so it is a good match."
Rafał took the glass of the blender and put it on the side, and with the cold water and ice he picked on the fridge, he added it all in the glass, together with a bowel of sliced strawberries, a bit of lemonade, honey, and mint. Putting the glass back into the blender, he closed it and turned it all. After it was ready, he put the strawberry juice in a jar at the side and the glass in the sink with the three spoons he used.
Then he began to make some waffles, and a cream for it with sweet condensed milk and lemon. I guess he likes lemon, which is good, since I do too.
Wanting to help, I jumped from my seat and went to the sink to clean the dishes while he cooked. It's only fair. One cook and the other cleans. But as the sink is too damn tall for me, because he is a ridiculously tall person and this place was decorated to suit him, I turned around after a shorter chair for me to stand on.
And to my dismay, when he noticed it, he began laughing childishly. "Adorable," then he came to the sink, pushed a slim door on the cabinet under the sink top, and when he opened it, it was a little stair made to help on the sink. "I'm prepared," he winked. "I'm used to being the tallest everywhere, and all of my friends and family are also shorter than me. The little stair helps."
"Now, that's genius and accessible," I pushed him aside and climbed onto the last step to be comfortable with the high sink, which only made him laugh more. "Hey, stop mocking my height, asshole!"
But the idiot hugged me from behind and inhaled my scent, kissing my neck, still giggling softly, "Can't be helped. I love the fact that you are short though. You are literally my perfect type in all points possible."
"We have that in common then," I arched my ass up a bit to feel him, "because you're the personification of my type. Which is pretty crazy, since my type is based off in my favorite fictional characters," I caressed his hands on my waist.
He even suits the age gap thing. I always thought I would end up living some kind of prohibited romance, but I can let go of that for him. I can let go of many things for him, including my clothes.
"I feel honored, love," he bit my lip and twirled me around and kissed me even better than before, since with the stair I'm able to look at him in the face in a similar height. But he stopped when I was about to lace my legs around him, "Yes, this is definitely hard," he growled. "Breakfast first."
I growled, "You started it this time," and when I turned around to focus on the sink again, he gave a hard slap on my ass, so good that I moaned. "Daddy, if you keep provoking me, I'll send this breakfast to hell and jump on you."
"You love when I slap your ass, don't you, baby girl?" This man will be my doom.
"I love it way too much. It melts me and makes me want you in me, so, if you slap my ass again, make sure it's when you're free to press me on a wall and fuck me until my legs are weak. Don't slap my ass if you don't mean to get me turned on and burning like this, daddy. It's mean."
"But I want you turned on, baby girl," he winked shamelessly.