Devon watches me as I work, his blue eyes floating from the meat to me, seemingly particularly taken by the tattoo sleeve running up my left arm.
I turn to the side to hide my smile, pleased he’s looking, that he’s really seeing me. Not sure why. Didn’t care so much whenthe accountant looked me over. Just wanted to shove my cock into that guy’s hole.
But the pleasure turns to a dull ache as I finish dressing the quail and truly take him in. Yes, I’d seen he was thin and haggard earlier but not how thin, how emaciated he truly is.
If he ever came across a pack of Carrionites, he’d never stand a chance.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Dunno.”
I angle my head toward him, his eyes still glued to the food. “A few days? A few weeks?”
He shrugs. “Lost count.”
As the quail cooks with some potatoes, I take a seat at the table. “You lost count?”
Devon’s eyes narrow. “Ate bits of food. Just not an actual meal. Not a fucking chef like you.”
I reach behind me and pull the Sig from my waistband and put it on the table. His eyes widen. “Not gonna shoot you. Though, pull your knife on me again and maybe I will.”
He just rolls his eyes. “Old man, if I take my knife out again you won’t see it coming. And you’ll hit the floor before you even have a chance to reach behind your back.”
Cocky little shit.
When the quail’s done, I holster the gun and get up then plate it and place it before Devon. He grabs it, going on to inhale every morsel. “Slow the fuck down before you choke.”
He snarls and keeps eating.
“Devon, eat slowly, dammit. Make sure you don’t swallow any bones.” I place a glass of water next to him, which he gulps desperately between mouthfuls.
Giving up, I drop into my seat and eat, keeping an eye on him. When he’s done I catch him eyeing my plate. With a sigh, I slide it over to join his empty one. He demolishes whatever’s left.
“How long you been by yourself?”
Devon shrugs. “Long time.”
I cross my arms over my chest, leaning back in the chair. Hate these short ass answers he gives. I sigh and rub my temples.
Connection isn’t just physical, it’s social. It’s having a conversation. And most of the time I have no one to talk to let alone touch.
Something flickers across Devon’s face and his features soften the tiniest bit. He swallows whatever he was chewing and huffs. “Since I was about twelve.”
“Fuckin’ hell.” If he’s lasted this long, I’m the one who underestimated him. No way he would’ve survived all these years without being somewhat dangerous and resourceful.
“What’s it to ya?” He shoves the last pieces of meat into his mouth.
And there’s the attitude again.
I get up from my chair and make my way over to his side of the table, gripping his nape. “Just wanted to get to know you a bit.”
He flinches but doesn’t pull away, pulse fluttering under my palm like the wings of an ensnared bird. “Don’t see you with anyone, old man.”
“Alone just like you. But not for as long,” I say, steering us toward the bedroom.
At the bedroom door, he pauses, a hint of nerves showing through the attitude. “Let’s just get this over with.”
I press against his back, desire mounting, and nip his ear. “Eager to have me tame that feisty mouth?”
