Chapter 8 #3
My mind scrambled to figure out exactly what I was doing.
I had every right to throw the chopsticks at his head.
My anger was the only thing keeping me upright most days.
Yet here I stood, holding a piece of food to his mouth.
I hated that beneath all my justified rage, there was a terrible, aching need to make sure he was actually taking care of himself.
He never broke eye contact as he parted his lips and leaned in.
His teeth scraped lightly against the wood of the chopsticks as he took the bite.
The dark, consuming intensity in his gaze made my pulse hammer wildly at my throat.
He chewed slowly, the muscle in his jaw flexing, looking at me like I was the actual meal.
I swallowed hard and pulled my chopsticks back, suddenly hyper-aware of exactly what I had just done.
“I’m eating,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Happy now?”
No. Yes. I didn’t know.
“Ecstatic,” I deadpanned. “This is definitely how I planned to spend my evening. Being force-fed while forcing someone else to eat. Living the dream.”
Cipher’s laugh was unexpected. It sounded rough, like he hadn’t used it in a while.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. This whole situation was ridiculous.
I handed him his own pair of chopsticks and we ate in silence, the only sounds the occasional thunk of our utensils against containers and the soft hum of my refrigerator.
I snuck glances at him between bites. He was eating, technically, but at a glacial pace that made it obvious his attention was elsewhere.
Namely, on watching every bite that went into my mouth.
“So what’s your favorite food?” I asked, the question popping out before I could stop it. “Since you’re apparently the expert on my culinary preferences.”
Cipher didn’t hesitate. “Lemon cake.”
I blinked, chopsticks frozen halfway to my mouth. “Lemon cake?”
“That’s what I said.” He cocked his head. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, feeling a smile tug at my lips despite myself. “It just seems so... not villainous. I was expecting something more dramatic. Raw meat. The blood of your enemies.”
His mouth twitched. “Sorry to disappoint.”
I shrugged. “Lemon cake is just so normal.”
“It’s tart. Sweet. Complex.” His eyes locked with mine for a moment too long. “Underrated.”
I looked down, suddenly fascinated by the food.
I finished eating, making a show of scraping the last bits of rice from the container. The moment I set down my chopsticks, Cipher stopped eating too, confirming my suspicion that he’d only been eating to make me eat.
“I’ll clean up,” he said, already gathering containers before I could protest.
“You don’t have to—“
“I know.” He moved around my kitchen with infuriating familiarity, finding the trash can and storage containers without asking where they were.
I watched him pack away leftovers, stacking containers in my fridge. It was strange seeing him perform such mundane tasks in my space.
“If you refuse another delivery,” he said, closing the fridge door with finality, “I’ll show up again. In person.”
“I’d like to see you get past the Tower’s security to do that,” I scoffed.
“The Tower’s security is laughable to someone like me. And if Havoc has a problem with me showing up with food for you,” he continued, his voice dropping, “I’ll explain that his Keeper is starving herself rather than accepting help.”
“I’m not starving myself.”
Cipher leaned forward, his forearms braced against the counter. The movement brought him close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something expensive and subtle that made my body remember things it had no business remembering.
“Accept the deliveries from now on,” he said. “When you forget to eat, which we both know you will, just accept the fucking food.”
His eyes held mine, dark and intense. The kitchen suddenly felt too small.
“Fine,” I conceded, if only to get him to back up. “But you have to remember to eat too.”
“Deal.” He smiled. “Though I’d rather eat you.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Get out.”
He straightened, eyes still locked on mine. “As you wish.”
I followed him to the door, arms crossed tightly over my chest like they could shield me from him. He paused in the doorway, turning back to face me.
“Sweet dreams, Bishop,” he murmured. “Try not to miss me too much.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and suddenly my apartment felt cavernous. Empty in a way it hadn’t been before he arrived.
I leaned against the door, exhaling. My skin still tingled where his gaze had lingered, like he’d left invisible fingerprints all over me.
This was ridiculous. He’d brought me food, not seduced me. Yet my body buzzed with awareness, with the memory of how his eyes had darkened when he leaned close, how his voice had dropped to the tone that seemed designed specifically to make my knees weak.
I pushed away from the door, annoyed at my own reaction. This was Cipher. The man who’d betrayed me, who’d lied to me, who’d broken my heart and my trust in one spectacular implosion.
And yet…
And yet I couldn’t forget the hollow look in his eyes when I’d asked who was checking on him. Couldn’t ignore the careful way he’d packed my leftovers, ensuring I’d have food tomorrow.
Couldn’t pretend I hadn’t noticed how his fingers had lingered on the countertop when he went to leave, how his eyes had traced my face like he was memorizing it.
Like he was starving for something food couldn’t satisfy.