“I only receive echoes of your own pleasure,” he replies.
I nibble on my bottom lip as my gaze roves over the spread of food. So, he can physically eat, but he lacks the desire... and it is no wonder if he is incapable of even tasting it.
“Can you taste anything during the other seasons?” I ask, and again he shakes his head.
“Eating is merely fueling our bodies with necessary energy. As our nature is cold, it typically burns through energy at a much slower rate, so we merely eat when we require it.”
That sounds sad as fuck. I am not typically one to judge the way others live, but to never receive pleasure from eating... damn, it is no wonder that they look forward to their Yule feasts when they can directly enjoy what they are consuming for a change. And it provides context as to why it can be a gateway for something far more terrible.
This weighs heavily on me, but I reluctantly draw the bowl back toward me and resume eating. Somehow, I choke down a few bites of tasteless porridge before peeking at the demon’s face. I try not to be affected by his reaction, but Jak’s disappointed frown at my lack of enjoyment and disinterest in trying any of the other foods is difficult to miss. He nudges more food toward me, but I ignore it as I stand and go about my business. Even so, this matter follows me throughout the day. If is not Jak’s downcast looks of longing as he follows me through the cabin, or his lost expression as we stroll through the woods, then it is my own mind circling around the subject on repeat. Truthfully, I feel bad for him because I cannot imagine waiting for such a simple and necessary pleasure on the chancethat someone might be attracted to the cabin. All because every flavor is through a host for their feast.
And... it gives me an idea. Although there is no getting around the fact that he requires the energetic value of his feast, there is no reason at all not to make the wait more enjoyable. If I can give him this much, I would consider it a gift in exchange for everything he has given me... even if it was all a baited trap. If nothing else, he did give me honesty in the end rather than treating me like his victim. Surely that is worthy of some kind of reward.
When dinnertime comes, I approach the laden table with a small, excited bounce in my step before dropping down into my chair. Jak looks over at me quizzically, but he says nothing as he once again takes the opposite chair, and once again his plate is left empty despite the feast spread between us. I glance among the platters, looking for something tasty with which to carry out my experiment... there! A pie. A very simple but fragrant apple pie. The scent of baked apples and cinnamon teases my senses, triggering a memory of how perfect an apple pie is on a cold winter day with the hot filling and the spice of cinnamon warming me. This will do.
Grabbing two small dessert plates, I cut generous slices of the pie and plate them. My mouth is watering already and I can feel Jak’s attention trained rapturously on me. He isn’t even looking at the pie beyond a curious glance at the plates, but I am practically giddy with excitement as I set his plate in front of him. It is only then that he glances down at the pie and actually sees it as I settle back into my own chair.
“Shawna—” he sighs, but I lift a finger, silencing him.
“Just play along for a moment,” I encourage.
He regards me for a moment and issues another long-suffering sigh. Despite that, I am ridiculously grateful when he finally inclines his head in agreement. His frustration and goodhumor despite it all make him seem almost human. This is not a terrible demonic monster bent on mischief but a male tolerating whatever game his companion is determined to play. I kind of like that about a man. It’s a pity that he isn’t human. This is not exactly someone I can take home to suffer with me through one of Mom’s Christmas holidays.
For one, my mother would have a whole litter of kittens about a demon of any kind.
Drawing my plate a little closer, I pick up my fork and just barely refrain from digging in. This is supposed to be a cooperative activity after all. It won’t do any good if I jump the gun. Tearing my gaze away from the pie, I look at Jak and nod toward his fork.
“Go on, pick up your fork. We are doing this together.”
“I do not understand,” he mumbles, but he does as I ask without any further remarks and mimics my posture, his fork hovering similarly over his own slice of pie.
His expression is still a mask of confusion, and there is something endearingly innocent and lost to him at this moment that almost makes me forget that this is a male who gave me glimpses of the raw, icy darkness within him.
“Good. Okay. Follow my lead,” I remind him as my eyes drop to my pie and I sink my fork into it.
A small portion breaks off onto my fork, and I briefly look in Jak’s direction to note that he is following my every move so that we are both holding our bites balanced on our forks in the air between us. I grin, excitement filling me. I know he also feels it because I can see the little flicker of response in the cold fire within his eyes.
“Now, on three,” I instruct. “One. Two. Three.”
I take my bite at the same moment he does, and the flavors melt in my mouth. Not just apple and cinnamon but also a hint of caramel, I think. It creates a melody of flavors that makesme moan aloud. I might have been embarrassed in normal circumstances, but I don’t think Jak even heard me. A look of shock floods his face, and he sits there, his fork frozen in the air, before it rapidly shifts to a look of wonder. There is such pleasure and delight on his face that I am momentarily taken by surprise. How many adults freely show such pleasure outside of experiencing an intense orgasm? At this moment, he looks almost boyishly innocent.
“Again,” he hoarsely demands, lowering his fork again to the pie.
I scramble to catch up, but I manage to meet him bite for bite. My bites are far from graceful, especially since my attention is riveted on his face as I watch the micro-shifts in his expression. Now I see what he got out of watching me. The play of pleasure on his face is fascinating in its raw honesty. I do not think I ever showed pleasure in my food quite so shamelessly. He moans loudly at every bite and even hums in pure happiness every time the sweet treat touches his tongue. That tongue is also very distracting because it is incredibly long, and I can’t even pretend that I don’t notice its dark length extending from his mouth to lick the fork and then his plate.
A plate that he promptly pushes aside as his eyes move ravenously over the table.
“More,” he says roughly, and he points to a ham sitting nearby. “This. We shall eat this next.”
I nod and begin looking for a knife, but Jak doesn’t wait for me to find one. He rips chunks off with his claws and dumps them on our dinner plates unceremoniously. A look of eagerness lights up his face as he picks up his meat with one hand and looks at me expectantly. The chunk of meat is a bit awkward in proportion—certainly not possible for me to eat elegantly with my utensils. Shrugging, I mimic his action and pick up my own chunk of ham. His tail curls around his torso in excitement ashe watches me, and this time he is the one who counts us down. On three, we both take a bite, and the growl that he lets out does strange things to me as heat rushes in a sudden drop through my belly. I am pretty sure I just soaked my panties, but I don’t comment on it. Instead, I take another bite and keep Jak busy with eating the ham, praying that he doesn’t notice my sudden arousal.
Thankfully, the food seems to be the perfect distraction. Unfortunately, I am only human and possess a limited stomach volume, though I gamely try to keep up as we make our way through one dish after another. In the end, I eat far more than what is comfortable. Even then, I am forced to beg off when he looks back at the candied sweet potatoes and picks up the serving spoon with the obvious intent to return to them for a second helping.
“No more, Jak,” I wheeze with a laugh as I settle back into my chair and clutch my stomach. “I really cannot eat another bite.”
A look of disappointment briefly crosses his face as he looks longingly at the sweet potatoes, but he then looks at me, blinks, and gives me a sympathetic smile as he nods and returns the spoon to the dish.
“You look a bit uncomfortable,” he agrees with a chuckle. “My apologies, Shawna. I just never—” his voice breaks and he blinks rapidly, his icy blue eyes briefly becoming dewy as he draws a breath and regains control. “I have never had anyone do that for me. Thank you, Shawna, for this exceptional gift.”
