He shakes his head.
I lift a brow. “Hungry?”
“Always.”
The word is growled with such a rich, rumbling cadence, all the blood in my body rushes between my legs, makingthatpart of me throb so deeply it’s almost too uncomfortable to sit still. Remembering what Rhordyn said about being able to smell my desire, I squeeze my thighs together and pray he’s too hungry to notice anything other than the smell of the stew.
I ladle him another scoop, almost filling the bowl to the brim. I’m about to serve myself when he reaches for the spoon. “May I?”
“Serve me?”
He nods.
Apparently all my dreams are coming true—like this is one big, pretty picture my imagination conjured up with some fancy paintbrushes.
Clearing my throat, I let him take the ladle and fill my bowl. He sets it before me—not too much, not too little. The exact amount I would have served myself.
Maybe Ididserve it?
I internally slap myself.
Stop that, Orlaith.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and he nods, picking up his spoon and skimming it across the surface of his steaming meal. Bringing it to his lips, he blows, then catches my gaze and takes the bite into his mouth.
A shiver ignites me from the inside out, and I draw a shuddered breath, watching him chew with a tender enthusiasm I never believed him capable of. His throat works as he swallows.
Holds my gaze.
I feel that look in my peaked nipples. Low in my belly, and in the warm throb between my legs that’s threatening to undo me.
“Eat, Orlaith.”
Eat. Yes. That’s what I need to do. Focus on my meal. Not his deep, chesty sound of satisfaction, like this is the first meal he’s ever consumed.
I jerk into action, scooping my own mouthful past my lips, groaning before I’ve even pulled the spoon free. Meat threads apart on my tongue, the rich, robust gravy perfectly seasoned with sage and rosemary and thyme and even a little garlic. My taste buds tingle as I chew, releasing more complexities.
I shake my head, swallowing, savoring the feel of it sliding down into me, heating my belly. “This is the best stew I’ve ever tasted,” I say, the words half laughed, half choked. I’m not sure why I feel like crying over this single bite of stew, but here we are.
I look up to see him still watching me as he scoops another heap into his mouth, chewing.
Swallowing.
Such simple things, but it makes me feel like the wealthiest woman in the world. This might just be my favorite moment ever.
He finishes his bowl well before mine and politely asks for more, which I oblige. He pours me a glass of fresh, crisp water I guzzle back, wiping my mouth with the back of my arm.
He breaks my gaze to scrape his bowl clean, rumbling around the final meaty bite, and I realize I’m smiling again. Letting this moment fill me up in so many ways, like a thief stealing things I haven’t earned.
Things I can’tafford.
Looking inside, I find that pesky vine of relief has found another weak spot to split free of my dome, now twirling up my spine on a straight-shot to my heart. I rip it out at the roots, screw it up, and stuff it down the crack. I forge another dome and slam it atop the other, shoving it so flush against my sides I’m certain nothing else will escape.
Clearing my throat, I stack our empty bowls and stand, feeling Rhordyn’s focus brush between my bare shoulder blades as I carry them to the sink. I turn the faucet, waiting for the pipes to groan into action so I can scrub the dishes clean.
He steps up beside me, nudging me out of the way just when the water dribbles free. “I’ll clean up. You climb into bed.”
Releasing a slow sigh, I spin, scanning the room ignited with the warm glow from the stove.
