Aria's POV
I followed the scent down the hallway to my kitchen, my stomach growling loudly enough to embarrass me.
And then I stopped dead in the doorway.
Damian stood at my stove, his back to me, wearing nothing but a white apron tied around his waist and a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants.
The apron strings cut across his bare back, highlighting every muscle as he moved—his shoulders impossibly broad and defined, his spine a perfect line down to the dimples just above his waistband.
The sweats hung so low on his hips I could see the sharp V of muscle disappearing below the fabric. His ass looked obscene in those pants.
He flipped a pancake with one hand, completely at ease, humming something under his breath.
This was the same man who'd pinned me against the bathr
