Page 37 of The Hellkeeper

“Privacy,” I say simply, pulling out her chair. “I don’t like sharing.”

She rolls her eyes but sits, eyeing me as I take my place across from her.

I rest my chin on my palm, studying her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she mutters.

“Like what?”

“Like…” She gestures vaguely. “That.”

“I enjoy looking at you.”

“You enjoy making me uncomfortable.”

“Yes,” I admit easily. “But mostly, I enjoy you.”

Her mouth falls open, caught off guard by my honesty.

“I don’t just crave your body, little flower,” I confess. “I crave your voice. Your thoughts. Your ideas. Your presence.”

“Is it too late for you to set your eyes on someone else?”

“Too late.” My right eye twitches. “I’m thoroughly ruined for anyone else. The thought of anyone else is enough to piss me off, so don’t bring it up again, little flower.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows.

She’s starting to realize, isn’t she?

That I’m not just obsessed with her.

I’m consumed.

I don’t even let her glance at the menu, I don’t want her burdened by choices, by something as insignificant as deciding between plates. So I order everything.

The waiter stares at me like I have two heads, but I barely register him. My eyes are locked on her. She’s fidgeting with her napkin. I pry it from her hands, threading my fingers through hers.

She doesn’t pull away. That’s enough to make my pulse hammer against my ribs, to make something sick and satisfied coil deep in my gut.

I have her.

Not fully. Not yet.

But soon.

When the food arrives, it floods the table, plate after plate set down between us. She shakes her head at the obscene amount of food.

“You’re insane,” she mutters.

“I’m what you made me.”

She’s unable to hide the way her lips twitch.

I pick up a fork and stab into a piece of seared steak. “Open your mouth.”

“I can feed myself.”

“Oh, but you won’t.”

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