Chapter 5 Dungeons and Delicacies #2
~
Wynn
When I enter the dungeon, my muscles are tight and tense like I’m expecting a prison riot.
Yet everything is calm when I step inside. Marlow sprawls out on the stone slab, his arms propped up behind his head. The stone can’t be comfortable, but he looks almost peaceful. His eyes are closed, and the little gargoyle snoozes on his chest.
They're not adorable. They're absolutely not.
I edge toward the corner where the empty plate and silverware sit. Trying not to disturb them, I pick everything up and turn, inching away…
“Wait,” he says.
I freeze. Damn. “What do you want now?”
“Saved you a cookie.”
He only ate one, leaving an extra. He holds it out toward me when I turn around.
“No thanks.”
“It’ll go to waste if you don’t eat it,” he reasons.
“A cookie won’t convince me that anything you’re saying is true.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just a cookie, Wynn.”
Something shifts inside me—some strange reaction as I realize this is the first time he’s said my name. Since focusing on what this reaction is or what it means will surely lead to madness, I cross the space between us and reach for the cookie.
Marlow lifts the gargoyle off his chest with both hands, cradling the tiny creature as he sits up. He transfers Iggy to the slab in a practiced movement, something he's done countless times.
“You don’t like snickerdoodles?” I wonder.
“They're fine. Figure you like them more.”
“They're fine.” Certainly not my favorite or anything... Except they totally are. The excitement of the new prisoner means I’ve been scurrying to my family’s place for supplies and then rushing out again. I never even grabbed a cookie for myself.
Marlow saving a treat for me doesn’t change my opinion. It's an obvious ploy. The cookie sits in his palm, tempting me to make a move.
He sighs and sticks his hand out past the bars. “Like I said, it’s just a cookie.”
When I take the cookie, the same stupid spark ignites as soon as our hands brush. I ignore it steadfastly, holding my breath. So focused on not looking at him while we're this close, I miss what's coming until it's too late.
His hand turns, capturing my wrist, his touch like a burn. His thumb presses against my pulse point where my heartbeat instantly doubles its pace. With a swift tug, he pulls me forward until my chest bumps against the cold iron bars.
Every muscle tenses, body poised to counter an attack. While I may not be the best fighter, the Iron Pack drilled defensive maneuvers into me before I could tie my shoes. But an attack never comes—not in the traditional way.
Instead, it's an attack on decency, sanity, and my good judgment. Marlow leans forward, closing the final inches between us, and his mouth finds mine.
No training drill ever prepared me for this.
My whole body lights up as our lips connect. The world narrows to the sensation of his mouth against mine, the rasp of his stubble against my chin, the warmth of his skin against my own. We both freeze as the sensation overwhelms us.
Then our lips are moving, coming together easily, and it takes my breath away.
No wonder he’s a demon. Those lips are sinful.
Damning me to crave more and more. With each press of his lips, my body betrays me, burning for more, aching to say yes to a thousand forbidden things.
I'm pressing into the bars like I want to climb between them and into his arms and he's pressing right back, desperate to keep me there.
He grabs my shirt in his fist, bunching the fabric in his grip to anchor me against him.
But leaving is the last thing on my mind. I stay right here, kissing him, even as my lungs protest and scream for air. I resist as long as possible because I'm past the point of no return and might as well enjoy it.
This may be the only kiss we ever get.
He tastes like cinnamon and spice. If snickerdoodles weren’t my favorite dessert before, they definitely are now.
When I finally pull away, panting hard, I expect to find his usual smirk or some cocky comment waiting for me.
Instead, he's breathing just as raggedly, his eyes locked on me with a hunger that makes my stomach flip.
Like I'm something far sweeter than any cookie and he's starving for another taste.
“That, uh…” My voice sounds rough and I clear my throat. “You shouldn’t have… why…?”
“See, it's proof.” Marlow's low rumble sounds heated and triumphant, and a shudder passes over me.
“No, nope,” I say. “I have terrible taste, but no, my mate is not a wanted criminal.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, it's true.”
“Or you're desperate and saying whatever you have to.”
“That's one possibility,” he agrees. “But what if I'm desperate, doing whatever it takes to survive, and also your mate?”
Not possible. One kiss hardly proves anything, no matter how much it scrambled my brain and made me hot all over.
He's just trying to mess with me, doing something I can't refute, thinking he can put me under his spell. And if he kisses like that, I can’t blame him for trying.
Not a bad strategy. That kiss might be the deadliest weapon in his arsenal.
He’s chaos and trouble and everything I should avoid, but right now, he’s all I crave.
“You’re lying.” I shake my head and realize we’re still so close. Without the bars in the way, our bodies would collide, falling into each other and—nope, don’t go there. I take a few gigantic steps backwards. “Maybe you’re a good kisser. So what? That doesn’t change anything. We aren’t mates.”
“Well, if you let the authorities take me, you’ll never know for sure,” he says. “Are you really gonna let an innocent man rot in prison when he might be the love of your life?”