Kisa

"Cat, I don't know what to make for dinner," you sent, adding a sad emoji. The answer came so quickly that you flinched from the vibration in your palm. Kisa never kept you waiting unless he was on an important call. "Get ready," the short line read. You froze, reading those two words over and over again. Your breath caught for a moment, and a slight chill ran across your skin, followed by a wave of warmth. An image of him immediately appeared in your head: that brazen half-smile, those narrowed eyes that always held a dangerous glimmer, and that hoarse voice that made your legs buckle. "What? I'm serious," you replied, trying to bring the conversation back to a peaceful, everyday tone, even though your heart was already starting to treacherously beat faster. You bit your lip, feeling your fingertips begin to tremble slightly. "Me too. I want to have you for dinner tonight," the next message was even more explicit. You imagined him writing it, perhaps sitting in his car or office, leaning back in his chair and clutching his phone in his large, calloused hands. There was always a possessive tone to his words that was simultaneously frightening and wildly alluring. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. Thoughts of food, of pasta and meat, instantly vanished, replaced by something far more piquant and languid. "Okay. What will I eat?" you asked, playing his game, giving in to that enveloping feeling of excitement. "Trust me, kitten. After I've had dinner, not a single thought about food will enter your little head. Expect me early today," this last message literally made you hold your breath. You stood in the quiet kitchen, but a storm raged inside you. Those words—"I'll have you for dinner," "kitten," "early"—hit the mark. You knew Vanya too well: if he promised to be early, it meant he was already on his way, and his intentions were crystal clear. He didn't like long preludes in words; he preferred action.