Page 77 of How to Claim A Shadow King

He looks at me like a man who has been banished to the dark and found the only light left on Earth. Me.

"Let me?" he asks softly.

Before I can formulate a suitably biting retort, the keep decides to intervene.

The wooden island beneath my hands shifts a fraction of an inch, and the stool beside me slides into my shins, forcing me to take a step back.

Right into him.

My back collides with the solid, burning-hot wall of his chest. I suck in a breath. The sudden full-body contact sends a shiver through me, to the core he petted only last night. Heat breaks out across my face that has nothing to do with how hard it was to light the damned oven.

Malakai doesn't step away. He closes the trap, molding his massive frame flush against mine until there is no space between us, none at all.

"Malakai," I breathe, my voice a ragged whisper.

"Focus, Aveline," he murmurs against the shell of my ear, his hot breath sending a lethal shiver down my neck.

His large, calloused hands slide down the length of my arms.

I bite back a moan, every nerve lighting on fire.

The physical weight of his touch is overwhelming, his thumbs lightly tracing the sensitive skin of my wrists before his fingers slide over mine, casing my hands entirely within his grip.

He shows me how to hold the heavy knife correctly, his knuckles pressing hard against the tops of my hands, guiding the blade again and again until the carrots are done for and the celery is the next victim.

I have to remember to breathe.

"The movement comes from the wrist." His voice is a vibrating rumble that resonates directly through my spine. I lick my lips. "A smooth, rhythmic rocking. Like this."

He presses down, and the blade glides effortlessly through the vegetable.

But I can’t think about the celery. I can’t think about Lila’s recipe.

I can’t think about anything but the feel of his body against mine.

Every time he breathes, his chest rises against my shoulder blades, the frantic, stampeding rhythm of my own heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The scent of him cloaks me entirely. The desire radiating off his skin is a physical, pulsing current, a silent request louder than any noise he’s made.

I want him to make the request out loud.

My hands tremble beneath his, the gold light of my magic sparking faintly beneath my skin, reacting to the shadows licking up his forearms.

"Are you paying attention, Aveline?" he rasps, his grip tightening on my hands, pulling me back just a fraction closer against his lap.

"I am... trying," I choke out, my breathing growing shallower, more pathetic by the second.

The need to see his face, to witness the intensity of his gaze, overrides every shred of my restraint.

Slowly, deliberately, I tilt my head back, looking up over my shoulder.

Our faces are inches apart.

Malakai’s dark eyes are completely dilated, practically black with a feral, terrifying hunger that strips away every illusion of the patient fiancé.

His jaw is tight, the coarse stubble of his sleepless nights catching the firelight, his lips parted as his chest heaves in ragged breaths against shoulders.

I like him like this.

He’s like this… for me.