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“Fuck!” I growl, stomping the wall.
This time a crack appears beneath.
I ignore it and wash and rinse everything off before I step out with a half-hard dick. I swiftly wrap a towel around my waist and get out of the shower, hungry, confused, enraged.
And with an appetite that could fuel a steed.
She’s still toiling around in the kitchen, grabbing pots and pans, when she glances at me. Just one simple glance. And it’s almost like she just ripped off my towel.
Fuck me.
I grumble again and go into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
Am I imagining things, or is she … is she …?
Falling.
As hard as I am.
My cock instantly bounces up and down at the thought, but I have to will it to go down. She couldn’t possibly fall for a beast like me. I am the one who’s keeping her a prisoner.
But she could’ve run.
I shake my head and force the thoughts from my mind, heading straight for the closet. But nothing inside will fit me. Everything is too tiny, and every shirt I pull over my head rips apart at the seam.
“Fuck!” I can’t contain my anger anymore.
And if I can’t fucking wear any of these things, I won’t wear anything at all.
Fuck this.
I grab the biggest linen pants I can find and stuff my legs inside, stretching the fabric to the limit as it coils low around my hips.
It’ll have to fucking do.
I’m not wasting another second on this.
With a heavy frown on my face, I throw open the door and step outside again, peering at the kitchen to see what she’s up to.
Only to be met by the biggest eyes I have ever seen, along with a jaw that’s almost on the floor.
And my boner just got twice the size again.
April
I check the kitchen cupboards to see if they left something. Some plain spaghetti nearing the expiration date sits in the corner with a can of sauce that’s still good. My mouth already begins to water from the thought of eating actual food instead of foraged herbs and mushrooms.
I turn on the gas underneath the stove, which luckily isn’t empty yet. I’ve already placed some pots on top when Soren came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel.
And I don’t know if the thought of food or the thought of him just made my mouth water.
Suddenly, the door to the bedroom opens again, and he steps out in even less fabric than before.
I didn’t think it was humanly possible to look that attractive, but apparently, I was wrong.
Dead-wrong.
Because the mere sight of him standing there, barefooted, wearing nothing but a thin mesh of linen strapped around his hip bones, showing that V-line along with those rippling muscles, sets off something inside me that I can only describe as a blazing fire met by a tsunami of wetness.
Especially when I notice the half-hard dick swaying back and forth as he walks.
Good God.
If there is perfection, this is it.
He cocks his head at me, a smirk appearing on his face, but it’s enough to make me pick up my jaw and swallow hard.
I swiftly look away, hiding my red cheeks by focusing on the pots and pans in front of me. But all I can think about is how I want him to be the lid to my pan.
Fuck.
I’ve really lost it, haven’t I?
I can hear the chair being scooted back. He’s probably sat down at the table, watching me this very moment. I can feel his stare penetrating my back, and it’s making it hard to breathe.
I close my eyes and sigh to myself.
Stop. Focus. Don’t let him intimidate you with good looks.
“What are you doing?” he suddenly asks as I put up a pot of water.
“What does it look like?” I quip.
“Hey.” His low voice immediately makes me look at him. “Don’t get sassy on me.”
He sits there in one of the wooden chairs with his legs spread, looking dominant as fuck, but I know he can’t handle another fight right now.
“I’m cooking us some food,” I add, emptying the can into the pan. “So just sit and wait.”
“I’m not hungry,” he replies, cocking his head.
“Yeah, well, you need food to sustain that body of yours.” I point at his chest, which is still covered in claw marks. “So just sit and wait for dinner.”
“April …”
His low voice brings goose bumps to my body even though I try to ignore it while stirring this pot.
“April.”
He’s never called me by my name like that.
Like he wants to call me over.
Like he wants to set me down on the table and eat me instead.
I turn around, clutching the stove like it’s my only lifeline. His eyes swipe over my body slowly, his Adam’s apple moving up and down, and I suddenly lose my balance against the stove.
