I offered him the spoon.
He accepted it and scooped up a piece and smashed it into his mouth chewing and swallowing so quick I did not think he had a moment to taste it.
“It’s delicious!” he shouted. “You’re such a good cook Princess.”
“Really?” I beamed. “I’ve never even cooked before.”
“And now you’re the best cook.”
“This is true.”
“I’m going to save the rest for later.”
“But—”
“We need to have hot showers before the solar cuts out.”
“Yes!” I flung the plate out into the hall and jumped onto him, digging my nails into the flesh of his shoulders.
“Woah, what the fuck?”
I licked his cheek. “We’ll showertogether.”
41
Dolphins splashed over border tiles. Steam fogged from the hot water pouring out of the shower head. In the small bathroom I sat up on the counter watching Dig undress. Already shirtless he unlatched his belt, flinging it off his jeans, making it snap in the air.
That snap did something to my thighs.
“Princess.” He jerked his chin to me. “Take off your clothes or I’ll do it for you.”
I liked both of those options. “You can’t shower with your sunglasses on.”
He lost his smirk. I clutched his arm and tugged him to stand between my legs.
“Let me help you with that,” I said, keeping my voice light.
His chest moved up and down, he looked as if I had asked to pull a tooth from him. He remained still as I reached up, slowly, carefully, holding either end of his sunglasses and pulled them away to reveal those eyes.
He was already looking down at me.
His gaze soft, he laid his sight solely on me as if the world had slipped away and only I remained. He became a statue, a perfect sculpted figure of an old God. He seemed to be waiting. I think he was waiting for me to turn away, waiting for me to frown, waiting for me to swallow down a hard lump in my throat while I fought to urge to heave. Waiting to comment on his eyes.
I smiled instead.
His jaw hitched, unsure.
I reached up and cupped his cheek. “I’m so jealous of those long eyelashes. How do I get eyelashes like that?”
That hitching jaw eased, and his lips peeled up into a delicate smile. There were oceans in those eyes of his, calm and raging, rough and gentle. Oceans of emotions he was still trying to swim through, but I sensed he was drowning.
His lips parted. He wanted to tell me something. Anything. Yet, it seemed he did not have the suitable words. He reached up and rested his hand over mine that held his cheek, brushing his thumb over my knuckles.
“Where you come from is meaningless,” I said. “It doesn't determine who you are. You can be yourself. My grandparents and parents used their money to push thousands into prisons, my brother Magnus is…”
“A piece of shit.”
I sprung my brows high.
