Chapter 13 #2
His thumb grazed my chin, inching closer to my lower lip, so close it made me forget how to breathe.
“Then tell me why were you searching for a creature with no shadow?”
My breath caught. “How...” I stopped, then remembered the mess I’d made in my room. He must’ve seen it when he was tidying. “To know what I’m living with.”
“I’m human,” he said.
I scoffed. “Right. And I love that you’re staying with me.”
His mouth curved slightly. Almost a smile.
He tilted his head, and with another inch of closeness to my lips, he murmured, “I love the sound of that.”
And his eyes dropped to my mouth.
I stopped breathing.
Couldn’t move, couldn’t look away.
I was trapped in that gaze, torn between the shape of his lips and the way his eyes darkened while watching mine. It was as though he was memorising the fullness, the curves, and the shyness I couldn’t hide. Seconds stretched into a quiet agony as he kept staring unabashedly without a word.
“Stop tidying up my room for me,” I blurted, reaching for anything to disrupt the rising heat between us. “I can do that myself.”
But he didn’t even blink, didn’t twitch. His gaze was still locked on my lips, heavy and possessive, like he hadn’t heard a single word. Or maybe he had and just didn’t care.
My mouth gave the dry sensation of thirst. I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to lick my lips, to run my tongue slowly across the bottom one just to soothe the burn. But the itch was maddening.
All of the sudden, his fingers dropped from my jaw. They glided down in an unhurried manner, one that was scorching.
His palm settled on the side of my neck, wide and warm, his thumb brushing the edge of my throat. And for a heartbeat, the weight and heat of his palm was still.
Then the pressure began. It was a soft squeeze, barely anything at first…then another second, and it grew tighter. Hotter. Like he was testing how much of my pulse he could claim.
I gasped silently.
And the sound, the shape of it, shamed me. Because it wasn’t fear in my voice.
The burn travelled down my spine in a molten ripple. A heat that didn’t stop at my chest. No. It curled deeper, sank lower. My stomach twisted, clenching hard as my thighs pulled tight. The fire made a cruel, aching stop in my core.
My stomach turned.
No. Never. I shouldn’t feel that.
I raised my hands and shoved him away.
Or at least I tried to.
My palms hit his chest, but the movement was…empty. Because it wasn’t my force that caused him to step back. It was his own, as if he had already decided the moment was over.
He moved back exactly one step and stopped, gaze unreadable, his hand falling calmly to his side like he hadn’t just scorched my skin and rewritten every line of decency in my mind.
“You’re hungry. Come and sit,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a mockery.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
He cocked his head slightly, and for a second I thought he might let it go. But he said, “It wasn’t a question.”
Then he turned and walked away.
I stood there, my jaw clenched, throat dry. The scent of the food hit me again, making my stomach growl. I swallowed, tucking my hair behind my ear like it would somehow restore dignity, and before I could stop myself, my feet betrayed me.
They followed him.
He went behind the counter, wordless again, resuming whatever he’d been doing with plates and food.
I took the seat opposite him. Sat right in front of the spot where he’d set one of the plates down. Where the steam curled into the air and drifted towards me, carrying with it something so warm, so savoury, it hit a nerve.
My stomach growled again. Louder.
I sat straighter, defensively, trying to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“Why do you think I’d eat your food?” I asked. “Because I’m hungry doesn’t mean I’m desperate. I don’t even know what you are.”
“Human,” he said, barely glancing at me.
I scoffed. “One with no shadow.”
“Unfortunately.”
“How is that even possible?”
He turned fully this time, picked up one of the plates, and scooped something from the stove onto it, steam rising in ribbons. He brought it to me and set it down gently.
The scent of it wafted up again, spicy, smoky and buttery. My stomach twisted, roaring inside me like a beast unleashed.
“One question a day, yeah?”
I blinked. “What?”
He looked me straight in the eye. “A question per day. You get to ask me one. In return, you don’t ever panic like that again.”
I frowned, confused by the terms. Why did he care if I panicked? Why did he want to limit my questions?
But I wasn’t stupid. If he wanted rules, I could find ways around them. I adjusted in my seat and cleared my throat. “So my question for today is—”
“You’ve asked,” he interrupted. “In fact, I answered two. What do I want from you, and what am I.”
“That was before you set the rule,” I snapped.
He turned away again, picking up another plate. “Then ask your next question tomorrow.”
God, he was insufferable.
I rolled my eyes and picked up the fork. Then dropped it because taking a bite would mean I trusted him.
But that scent…
It was intoxicating.
“Stop being difficult,” he said, voice dipped lower than usual, the edge of a command now stretching beneath it.
He placed the second plate in front of me, the portions generous and the presentation almost intimate in how much attention it had clearly been given.
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the counter.
My gaze lifted to him slowly, climbing his forearms resting on the counter, sleeves rolled down to hide what I assumed would be veins and muscles that would feel sinful to trace with fingers. I dragged my eyes higher—to his neck, taut and corded, where a vein ran down the side.
And then his face.
Beautiful.
His hair fell slightly over his eyes, and he didn’t move it. Just let it hang there while his eyes locked onto mine with unshakable intensity.
Then his eyes flicked briefly to the food. And back to me.
Eat.
I swallowed and lifted the fork again, almost obeying without a thought. I scooped up a piece of soft meat glazed in some dark and shimmering sauce, judging it with a hard gaze.
But before I could lift it to my mouth, he leaned down, and I froze.
He didn’t break eye contact, didn’t hesitate. His face neared mine, his mouth parting slightly, not for a kiss, but for the food.
My food.
His lips opened over the fork slowly. And I watched, utterly helpless, as he wrapped them around the bite I’d prepared for myself.
And I—
My entire body went still.
The way his lips sealed around the fork.
The faint sound of him sucking in the flavour as he pulled back.
The slow draw of his throat when he swallowed.
The way his tongue ran over his lower lip after—it was so erotic that I felt it right between my thighs, like he was cleaning the taste of me off his mouth even though I wasn’t the one he was eating.
It’s insane. Foreplay coded.
I forgot how to hold the fork.
My hand just stayed there, suspended in the air like a fool, every muscle numb except the ones clenching in places I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Even my ovaries felt that.
Shit.
Was there a perfect way to chew meat? Because he was doing it while staring at me like he could see every one of my unguarded thoughts.
He swallowed again and finally spoke. “No poison,” he said. “Eat now, Sanora. I’m feeding you if I repeat myself.”
That snapped me out of it. Barely.
I blinked and looked down at the plate.
My stomach gave another vicious growl, and I dipped the fork into the food, bringing it to my mouth.
The second it touched my tongue, I stopped breathing.
The flavours danced across my tongue, like nothing I’d tasted in years.
The meat was tender and marinated in something smoky, slightly sweet, and spiced just enough to make my throat tingle.
The vegetables were soft but not mushy, each one the perfect blend of herbs that made me feel like I was eating straight from a sunlit, magical garden.
I let out a low breath, unable to help the way my eyes fluttered for a second.
Gods.
I could cry.
I chewed, swallowed and then immediately went back for another bite. This time faster.
Had he used magic?
No one made food like this. Not without trickery. Not without enchanting the damn plate. It was better than my mother’s. Better than anything I’d had in any restaurant, anywhere, ever. And that fact alone disturbed me. Because he wasn’t even sweating. It was just so good.
With every bite, my awe grew. My stomach kept begging for more, growling even as I fed it.
“Damn,” I breathed, almost moaning, catching myself before the sound slipped too deep.
His lips twitched.
“I take it you approve.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t because my mouth was too full—and so was my pride, choking on the realisation that he had gotten under my skin, past my walls, right through the thing I thought I could at least control: my body.
I didn’t know how I was going to face him after this vulnerability, but damn if I cared.