Page 28 of The Dark Obsession

The food, the clothes, even cutting the damn zip ties last night.

That’s more care than I’ve received from anyone. And I absolutely refuse to think about how depressing that statement is.

Anyway, the point is that I don’t know whether I’m imagining things or Tyson isn’t the heartless man he appears to be at first sight.

“Enough of that.” He grabs me by my hips and I yelp in surprise at his large, rough hands palming the spot where my sweatshirt has ridden up as he plants me on the counter with ease. “You still haven’t told me what you want to eat.”

“You can cook?” My voice turns breathless since he hasn’t let go of me yet.

“Sure, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.” Tyson’s expression darkens for a split second, but whateverflashed through his gaze is gone in an instant, covered by an impenetrable mask.

“Shoot, I’m yours to command.” He orders as a swarm of butterflies erupts in the pits of my stomach.

“Ehm… okay, what about grilled veggies?”

“That’s what you always eat. Change it up, little one.” His hands on my waist flex, making my breath stutter.

“There’s nothing wrong with… having a routine.” I fire back, a little offended that he called me out on something any other stranger shouldn’t know about me.

“I’m not your mother, I won’t judge your choices.” He says in a calm tone. Maybe a little too calm because I don’t miss the murderous glint in his eyes.

“Alright…” I say slowly, stunned at how easily he can see through me. “How about the tofu, I’ve never really tried many recipes with it.”

Watching Tyson move around the kitchen is an experience on its own.

His broad frame effortlessly leaning over the stove while he keeps adding different spices to the sizzling pan.

Pulling one knee against my chest, I prop my chip up, content to just watch him from afar.

Also because he refused to let me help and from the looks of it, he doesn’t need it.

“Why is there no dining table?” I eye the bar stools on the far side of the island.

“It’s more casual this way.” He shrugs. “And you never eat at a table anyway.”

That’s true. I always ate sitting by the counter or on the couch if my mom wasn’t home.

It’s weird how he knows all my habits, catering to them at every turn. I’d never expect him or anyone for that matter to go out of their way for me. Definitely not to this extent.

But I’d be lying to myself if I denied the warmth spreading through my chest at his every small gesture.

At last, we settle on the buttery soft couch with me huddling in the corner of the giant sectional just like last night, or more like this morning.

Has it really only been a day? Not even that.

It kind of feels like an eternity already.

Tyson sets the warm plate with a deliciously smelling grilled tofu with white rice, broccoli and some fancy sauce in my lap before seating himself right next to me, our thighs touching.

When I go to pull away, he swings his arm around the back of the sofa, keeping me rooted in place.

Snatching the fork from my hand, the man scoops up a bit of everything before blowing on the steaming food. My eyes widening at the way his full lips nearly touch it.

He brings the fork up to my mouth, something in his dark gaze making me incapable of protesting as I obediently wrap my mouth around the utensil.

I have to suppress a groan as the flavors explode on my tongue. It tastes like nothing I’ve tried before.

Tyson keeps watching my face while feeding me a few more bites that I readily accept, too lost in his black eyes to think better of it.

---