This backfires spectacularly when Asher sees my pouty lip and takes it as an invitation to suck it into his own mouth. I lean into him with a moan, feeling the light scrape of his fangsagainst my lip. My body follows as he steps away and I grin at his satisfied look.
“Alright then, chef. What’s next?” I say, my stomach not letting me forget what my priority should be right now.
Asher pauses in front of his prep station, hands on his hips as he inspects the display of foods that might as well be completely foreign to him. He snags the carton of eggs, then decisively opens it and begins to pull one out, to which I start coughing dramatically as I shake my head. Milton leaps onto the counter with a meow, then sits down right next to me, emphasizing our combined disapproval.
Asher side-eyes us, then slowly puts the egg back and moves his hand away. When I straighten and stop coughing, Asher purses his lips in annoyance and sends a glare my way.
“Fine," he says, and pulls out his phone. With only a few quick taps, he has a video playing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, straining to see what he’s watching.
“I saved some of the YouTubes to follow," he mutters, and my eyes nearly bug out of my head.
One, because he used “YouTube” in the plural which indicates he watched multiple videos in preparation for cooking for me, and two, because he used “YouTube” in the plural and that’s not a thing.
“The YouTubes?” I cackle as my eyebrows shoot up. “Stars, how freaking old are you?”
When Asher turns his eyes on me this time, I’m reminded of the predator he keeps leashed inside at all times. Milton bails, leaping off the counter and darting through the doorway.
“Keep it up, little shifter," Asher says, his voice low and lethal. “See what happens.”
I press my thighs together and bite my lip when the hint of danger sends a thrill racing down my spine. Asher freezes andturns his head the slightest bit, which makes me realize my heart rate spiked as well.
One step has him back in front of me and he tips his chin down, angling himself over me as he runs his tongue along his fangs. My breath freezes in my lungs. I slowly raise my eyes from his chest up along the line of his throat to his chin, across his lips, and finally I meet his striking blue eyes as I peek up at him through my lashes.
He raises one hand, palm skating up my arm and along the side of my throat, leaving goosebumps in its wake, only to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Then he steps back, and presses play on the video.
I squeak a protest as he pulls away, and I just know he’s smirking.
He’s such a self-satisfied prick sometimes.
With a huff, I lean back on my hands and swing my feet, the annoyance quickly draining from my body as I watch him work.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?” he asks, nose wrinkling as he pokes the lumpy mass with a spoon. “And look like that? There’s no way this is normal.”
I crack up. This is way too fun.
“Yes," I reply. “It’s perfectly normal. A few lumps are good, actually.”
Asher stares at me for a moment.
“You’re lying.”
I laugh again and shake my head, eyes wide with sincerity.
“And you… like it. You want to eat this?” His gaze darts skeptically between me and the lumpy batter, and I nod my head vigorously.
“I really, really do. Especially once you fold in those chocolate chips and grill it up. Mmmm, I can’t wait.”
Turns out, lemon chocolate chip pancakes with a raspberry compote, maple syrup, side of slightly burnt turkeybacon, and sparkling apple juice is my all time favorite meal, ever. Especially eaten in front of a roaring fire with the rain pattering lightly outside a cracked open window.
“Moon above, these are so good, I can’t stop.” I don’t contain my moan of appreciation, and I’m pretty sure Asher doesn’t mind if the heat in his eyes is any indication. I even convince him to try a couple bites, though he doesn’t seem as impressed with his cooking as I am, opting to stick with his bottle of blood instead. I’m thankful I’ve gotten used to Zuri drinking blood all the time so it doesn’t phase me anymore.
“You could open a brunch place. I’d go every day," I say around a bite of crunchy bacon. “I love brunch.”
“I know," he murmurs, and I stop chewing to look at him. “That’s why I went for breakfast foods. You’ve mentioned it a couple times.”
Gulping down my mouthful, I turn my attention to him.
