Page 47 of Under a Wicked Moon
“Chamomile or lavender would be great. Definitely no green tea.”
He rummaged through a few cabinets, emerging with a teabag. “No clue what kind it is. Not labeled.” He sniffed. “Smells herbal.” After filling a kettle, he set it on the stove to boil.
“All tea smells herbal.” She bit back a giggle. “It’s fine. What are you cooking?”
He turned his back to her to stir a mixture on the stove. “Waffles.”
Roughly, she mouthed the word,“Waffles?”
“I remembered someone having a request. I’m cooking waffles that’ll make you orgasm with one bite. My plan had been to deliver them to your room in the morning, but now that you’re here…”
“Are you issuing a challenge? Orgasm with one bite?”
The left side of his mouth lifted the slightest bit. “It’s a promise.”
Her breathing hitched at the thought of anything involving an orgasm with him. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Waffles or orgasms?” He glanced over his shoulder, a dare in his eyes. “Are you afraid?”
“Maybe. No. I don’t know.”
“Where’s the girl who told me she’d choke me with my own dick if I got near her?” He cracked two eggs into the bowl.
Scared. That’s where she was. Terrified of waffles. Panicked that if he so much as touched her, she’d beg him to do anything and everything with her. Or if he didn’t touch her, she might throw herself at him, especially after orgasmic waffles. She imagined them right here on the counter or the floor or anywhere. Horror filled her at the thought that maybe she’d been ordered to seduce him. Could she trust what she felt were her own genuine feelings, or were they something someone else told her to do?
Be the badass. This is my life. Not the humans who imprisoned me. Not the asshole lycan who made me love him and then destroyed my family.
“Fine. But fair warning, I’m pretty much naked under the blanket. And I don’t like bananas.”
“No problem. Not a big fan of bananas with waffles, myself. How about strawberries?” He washed one and put it in his mouth, slowly biting into it as if it held liquid ambrosia. He groaned.
An answering wave of longing shot straight to her center. This wasn’t painful like when she’d been in heat, but the kind of sensation that signaled her body was preparing itself to seduce or be seduced.
“Want one? They’re off-season and a bit tart, but after weeks of drinking that swill…” He waved an unblemished fruit in the air.
She moistened her lips. “Sure.”
He washed it and handed it across the island.
Gripping it by the green stem, she put it in her mouth. The gritty outside teased her tongue. One bite and the explosion of sweet and slightly sour saturated her senses. She moaned out pleasure. “Incredible. I forgot the taste of fresh fruit.”
When he didn’t comment, she glanced toward him.
Egg dripped from the motionless whisk onto the counter. His pupils were so dilated that all blue-green color had almost disappeared. After several seconds, he released a shaky breath.
Her heart pounded in her ears. The blanket draped around her teased the tips of her breasts to the point it almost hurt. As if sensing the detour of her thoughts to her breasts, his interest dropped to them.
The kettle on the stove whistled, breaking the tension mounting between them. He poured hot water into a mug, draped the string of a teabag over the rim, and handed it to her.
“Waffles,” he said as if trying to refocus. As he mixed eggs again, he asked, “What’s bothering you?”
“What isn’t?” she muttered, but thought,You.
“Touché.” His lips twisted up in a rare, pure, partial smile, something she’d realized didn’t come often, but when it did, it was spectacular. “Really, though. What’s got you wanderingthrough this place dressed in a flannel blanket?”
“Strawberries. Memory gaps. Inability to sleep in a bed. The fact I’m a trigger away from being a zombie soldier. Being used as bait. Pick your favorite.”
“Strawberries, huh? Were you stressed about fruit before you came down here or after?”
