Page 71 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“What about the things we can do that aren’t sex? Things I can do. Why won’t you let me touch you?”

He gave a frustrated growl, backing up several steps. “Because if you so much as lay a finger on my cock, Eleanor, then I’m going to bend you over the side of this pool and fuck your fucking brains out.”

I swallowed. That’s…exactly what I wanted. And maybe I didn’t mind the possessive aspects that might come hand-in-hand with it. But I wasn’t sure I could open myself up to the relationship that might follow. The heartbreak that would assuredly come. Clearly, he didn’t want to either—or was afraid to, because of his tendencies.

Fuck, I was so confused.

“Come on. Let’s just…swim. Enjoy our wine.”

I hesitated, waiting for the ball to drop. He didn’t say anything else, so I did instead. “Do you regret it?”

“Regret what I just did to you?” he asked. I lifted an eyebrow, challenging him. “Not at all, sugar. I’m quite pleased with myself for that.”

I huffed, then slipped off the edge and into the water. “Fine. Let’s swim.” And that’s exactly what we did.

24

Bastian pulled himself out of bed and spent a few minutes charging up his metals, dumping as much as he could into them before going about his morning routine. Entering the kitchen, he set about pulling things from the fridge and cupboards. He stared at the ingredients, trying to decide what to cook. Eleanor had been upset last night, angry that he’d been selfish. He’d given her the truth. If he slept with her, there’d be no going back.

Unlike the majority of women in his past, for which casual had always been an effortless thing, there was nothing casually effortless about Eleanor. She demanded his attention, pulled at a primal part of his brain that filled him with need, a desire to protect, to claim, even own. In mere days of knowing her, she brought out the worst of his goblin side and the best of his fae side. Of course the one species he'd avoided for centuries had to be the one that fucked with his head.

Waffles—he’d make waffles.

He pulled out the waffle iron and got to work. They’d eaten all the bacon. Breakfast sausage would be good. He glanced in the fridge, contemplating. His mind went back to Eleanor, to what she’d said about conjuring missing ingredients with his abilities. A package of breakfast sausage appeared, wrapped in plastic wrap. He siphoned ten bucks—likely more than what it cost—and put it in the cash register at his local grocery, which probably wasn’t even open yet. He glanced at the clock, approaching 6:00am.

His phone went off with an incoming text. He frowned as he read it, sent an answering reply, then got to work. He would’ve made Eleanor breakfast no matter what had happened the night before, but his guilt drove him to make it extra special. It’s exactly how he’d felt the other morning, too. Seemed to be an ongoing theme.

How many more guilty breakfasts would he feel obligated to cook? Not that he didn’t enjoy it. He loved cooking. Loved even more seeing her obvious pleasure at eating the food he created. So, fuck it. If he had to make her apology breakfasts for the duration of her stay here, so be it.

Shuffling around in the cabinets, he picked out his favorite dark chocolate coffee, the one she’d had the first morning. It would pair perfectly with the flavors of their breakfast. He got it going.

He was pulling the first waffle out of the iron when the sound of a bedroom door opened, footsteps padding down the hallway. His senses came alert. Her smell hit him first, soft and floral, with hints of the vanilla moisturizer she used, and something else he hadn’t been able to place. A lingering undertone of…coffee, perhaps? Whatever it was, drove him wild, and might possibly be the reason he felt more attracted to her than expected.

Speaking of coffee, he kept his back turned and grabbed a mug, preparing it exactly how she liked.

“Morning,” she grumbled.

His eyes snapped in her direction at the sound of her sleepy voice. Heat instantly shot through him. “Nice shirt,” he said over his shoulder to hide the things it did to him, seeing her in it.

“Oh? This old thing? Some goblin guy gave it to me the other day.”

He chuckled, not bothering to hide his smile. She must have laundered it the other day and worn it to bed. Fuck, that made him feel even guiltier for last night.

“Apology waffles?” Eleanor asked, lifting an eyebrow before pulling up a chair at the island.

“Something like that,” he grumbled, caught red-handed.

He set her coffee before her.

“For me?” Her face lit up, the sight of which made his stomach swoop. She took a sip and hummed in pleasure as a small smile formed on her lips around the rim of the mug. “It’s so good.”

He returned to his task, quietly working for a few minutes before he set a plate in front of her. Waffles, topped with powdered sugar and strawberries, syrup, and a side of sausage. Her eyes went round. “Wow, apology accepted,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet his. “You’re not looking for a permanent roommate are you? Vivi would totally understand. She’s a sucker for food too.”

Heat swelled between them, mostly because of her expression. He cleared his throat, then turned away to build himself a plate, avoiding her question—it’d been rhetorical anyway, right? They hadn’t touched after last night, after the tension had grown between them. They’d simply swam around, finished the bottle of wine, then gone to bed. He hated that she had shut him out, without so much as a peck on the lips when they parted ways, especially when he couldn’t get rid of the lingering taste of her in his mouth.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? They could use the tension to build a wall between them, to set boundaries. There need not be anything else physical. There was a job to be done, and as soon as he did something about that scumbag Luke, she was free to return home.

His chest tightened. Why did he hate the sound of that? Why did he feel a rising panic at the thought of her leaving? Was it already too late? Had his goblin already added another treasure to his hoard?