Naomi flushed again, and it made her that much more beautiful. I’d never been so captivated by simple vitality and physical reaction, but with her, everything was an art that should be witnessed and cherished.
“I mean, uh, I just wanna be informed and all that. It’s kind of weird to me that I know so little about you guys. Or really any other magical being. You’d think we’d be a little more connected to each other, but most of us really keep to our own.”
“I’m realizing now how insular we were. Why did it never occur to me to date someone other than another vampire? And not to self-diss, but I’m over a hundred years old. You would think it would be an obvious solution.”
“Yeah, you’d think.”
I was so grateful Naomi got it. Because even though I knew other vampires who had relations with humans and other folks, it wasn’t quite the same. Those vamps always presented it as something wholly sexual or about feeding, and I wanted so much more than that from my connection with Naomi. Hell, it wouldbe fine if I never fed on her, because to me, that was the least important thing we could enjoy together.
“I realize you’re not hungry for physical food, so when would you like to eat?”
“Whenever you’re ready. More than half of my enjoyment of the meal is the company.”
Her cheeks colored slightly. “You don’t have to butter me up; I’m already cooking you dinner.”
“That sounds like the perfect time to butter you up, actually.”
“So, I’ll go with the meal?” She batted her eyes at me, and my mind flashed with the image of her spread out beneath me like she had been during her first night over. Breathless, dewy, and utter perfection.
I closed the distance between us in two quick steps, invading her space and pinning her against the back of her couch. “When I said I wanted to eat you up, I didn’t mean literally. But if you’d like to be less metaphorical, we can do that right now.”
I slid my hand down her body, hoping she understood that I wasalwaysready to eat my partner out. While I didn’t have a physical appetite, I sure did have a lustful one.
“Rowan!” she gasped, and fuck, if I could play that sound every time my confidence flagged, no one could ever make me feel bad about myself again.
“Can you blame the damned for being hungry?”
I appreciated the full-body shudder and quickening of Naomi’s pulse. God, I loved that she was okay with this part of me. In the wise words of the bard Ludacris, I liked to be a gentleman in the streets and, well, much less polite in the sheets.
As I was about to press my lips to hers, her stomach growled like it was auditioning for a comedic moment in a nineties sitcom.
“No,” Naomi moaned, her arms crossing over that cute middle of hers. “Behave yourself, stomach. I was in the middle of being sexy!”
God, wasn’t she? I needed to remember that even though my girlfriend was a latent shifter, she still needed to eat way more than a human and more often.
I definitely needed to focus on cooking lessons. Because my partner wasnevergoing to go hungry if I could help it.
“It’s okay.” I kissed the top of her head. “There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, why don’t you show me what smells so delicious?”
That settled her, and I was glad. I never wanted Naomi to feel bad for her natural, bodily reactions. Especially since they were a cheat sheet for me to learn her tells.
“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” she said as she walked into the kitchen. “I won’t be insulted. We all have taste buds for a reason.”
“I know I’ll love it.”
Naomi nodded absently. I didn’t take offense at that. She was obviously nervous, and though I hated that she was feeling that way, I found it endearing that she’d wanted to make a special dinner for me. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve it, since she was the one who’d come to my rescue, but I wasn’t going to question her.
She opened the sliding door that led to her small kitchen, and the deliciously indulgent scents quadrupled, hitting me right in the face like the world’s most delectable sledgehammer.
Abruptly, I was transported to the past. Still a young man and warrior protecting my family, warding off ne’er-do-wells and British raiders who’d abandoned all civility just because they occupied our nation. Back to a time when there would be food on the table and good conversation to be had as soon as I walked through the humble doors of the little farmhouse.
“Did… did you makeabgoosht?” I asked, more than a bit incredulous. The aromatics were carrying me through a maelstrom of nostalgia, pulling up so many memories that I’d accidentally sent to the very fringes of my recollection.
Palwasha usually cooked for the family, but for one of her birthdays, my adoptive brother and I had made that very dish for her, wanting her to know she was indeed celebrated and worth every effort. Naturally, it hadn’t been as good, but I still remembered how she wept and praised her god that she was so blessed.
Once, when I was a teen and overcome with a terrible sickness that left me bedridden for multiple weeks, she’d madeabgooshtwhen I was recovered enough to eat something other than broth.
“Yeah, I hope that’s okay. Do you not like it?”
