Chapter 15
I entered first since Derrick had opened the door, and as I took in the opulence of the area, I dimly felt his hand resting on my hip.
The aroma of freshly prepared food permeated the room, making the round table toward the far corner of the space stand out sharply. The smells wafting towards me made my stomach churn, but everything else captured my attention.
The room included abstract artwork that seemed to have been carefully chosen for the walls, which were painted a deep blue color. A massive glossy piano was positioned in one corner, while a sleek pair of couches and a fireplace occupied the remaining space of the room. It was evident that the place was not suited for me to have supper in—it was clearly meant to host royalty.
I made my way over to the curtains and drew them closed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was still black, with brilliant stars visible.
"What time is it?" I muttered.
"It's a little past midnight." His voice was deep and sounded as if he were preoccupied. Once again, his hand was on my hip as he led me to the food table; upon closer examination, this was even more bizarre. I was so excited about all the different flavors that my stomach was twisting.
"I wasn't sure what you would like, so I had the kitchen prepare you a bit of everything they could." I laughed, and suddenly he appeared worried.
I turned to face him, gripping his forearm. I doubted that he realized how much this gesture meant to me. I had been fed crumbs as a youngster to satisfy my hunger, but now he was feeding me as if I really meant that much to him.
"What are your favorites?" Instead, knowing that it would take me far too long to determine what I wanted, I inquired as I studied the meal with eagerness. I had never been one to eat healthily, but I had a history of overindulging in food until I felt ill.
As he proceeded to pull out my chair for me and scoop up my plate after I was situated, his eyes glistened.
"I will show you." He gently arranged the food on my plate until it was completely filled, and I couldn't help but grin. Observing him in this manner, engaging in nice actions, brought me happiness.
Giving your mate food was always a private matter in werewolf culture; it demonstrated your ability to support and care for them, and I knew he was taking delight in this, as he should have. With a flourish, he placed the platter in front of me, and I laughed once again.
At the sound, he inhaled sharply, and I froze under it.
"Fuck, ugh. This wine simply isn't cutting it for me; I wish I could bottle up your laugh and drink it instead." With a grimace, he took up the bottle of red wine and studied the label. His sincerity nearly made me choke on my breath; surely he couldn't be real?
"You're such a sweet talker; if I wasn't your mate, I would have run a mile already." He poured me a glass of wine, sneered, and took the seat across from me. He crossed his legs, covering his knee with his fists.
Was he not going to join me for dinner?
"When I say anything even remotely sweet, your cheeks flush; your body speaks truthfully when it comes to expressing your desires." I rolled my eyes at his simple statement.
Naturally, I found it endearing when he was charming. When you considered my background, the guys in the pack I grew up in had seldom said anything kind to me, other than the sighs of satisfaction they gave out when they learned I wasn't their mate.
"There it is again." He whispered, and my cheeks automatically became warmer.
I bent my head, pierced some potatoes with my fork, and took a mouthful. When the meal finally entered my system, I sighed with satisfaction, although it was unsettling to feel his stare while I was eating. The dinner was so delicious that I was having difficulty controlling my appetite.
I felt uneasy since he still hadn't moved to fill his plate.
Reaching across the table, I took up the bottle of wine and poured him a glass to go with mine. He took the bottle from my grasp and planted a kiss on the back of my hand before I could move my hand away. I was really surprised at how carelessly and effortlessly he had completed the task.
"Thank you." I removed my hand from his in a trance, my eyes widening and my cheeks flushing again as his lips curled upward at my condition.
Despite my nervousness, I was unable to take my eyes off of him.
I had just poured him a glass, which he grabbed up and swirled. He looked like the crowned Alpha that he was while he was doing it. Subsequently, he brought the glass to his mouth and gulped deeply. I squeezed my knife and fork till my knuckles became white as he groaned softly. I could no longer stand the sound, and glancing at him confirmed that he had done it deliberately.
I could tell he was paying close attention to my response since I could feel his pulse fluctuating. I thought he had stopped torturing me when he removed the glass from his mouth, but then he licked his lips, and his tongue protruded from his mouth. The force of my hold on my fork caused the metal fragment to break in half, and it clattered onto the table, almost causing me a heart attack.
"Who'd have thought that taking a sip of my wine would get my mate into such a state?" I was incensed that he had been able to manipulate me in this manner as he muttered to himself.
I felt the calmness of his speech wash over me as I squeezed my thighs together beneath the table.
Okay, this might be a two-player game.
I did not give him the pleasure of noticing his words; instead, I leaned across the table, grabbed his fork, which was still in one piece, and focused back on my meal.
"Do you play the piano?" Instead, I queried, and he furrowed his brow at such a simple inquiry. Although it seemed to him that I was shifting the topic, I knew how I might retaliate.
"I do, but I'm not very good at it." He looked at me again and gave a modest reply. I stabbed into some chicken with my fork and then looked back at him.
"Why do I find that hard to believe? You have the perfect fingers for it." Upon hearing my remark, he wrinkled his brows and raised a hand to address me. He tried to figure out what I meant by looking down at it.
"I have the fingers for it." As I watched him wind the culprits around his hand, he questioned them inquisitively.
In more ways than one, this guy was going to be my demise.
"They're long and lean; I'm sure you could easily hit the right spots—"I recognized myself. "I mean, the right notes."