The Siren's Song

Chapter 88- building needs and curiousities

JIN POV:

I'm surprised to feel hands brush to cover my eyes, to feel a line of warmth as a body steps up behind me as I stare at the empty kitchen, expecting to be baking alone.

But the feel of those soft, small hands moving to cover my sight, the familiar mixture of light scents from the products she used come to teasingly greet me. Her silence alerts me of her presence, silent when the large kitchen is filled with chatter and sounds of bustling.

"Flower what are you doing here?" I ask, hands rising to gently grip her wrists, pressing my lips to her palms before I'm turning to face her, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, to see the way her hair is tumbling down across her shoulders, seeing the way her eyes are bright and shining as she looks at me.

Just looking at her like this, pressed close and leaning against me easily has my heart racing, has my eyes drawn to her, find it hard to tear my gaze away, find myself not wanting to.

She looks relaxed and at ease, looks soft and swallowed up in a large thin jumper, such a far and stark cry from when she'd been up on stage, when her figure and gaze and moves had demanded attention, had been a heady, dangerous combination. When those same eyes, those same expressive eyes, had been hungry, demanding and sensual. Had silently beckoned and commanded, had lured and tugged at those wants and desires.

So far from how she looks now, how those same expressive eyes display contentedness and affection.

"I couldn't miss my baking date." She replies easily.

She says it so easily, she makes my heart clench just as easily, gives our lessons such importance, such a sweet label.

"Dates? These don't count...I don't get to woo and charm my pretty flower. Not in a kitchen...well not one that isn't mine." I reply, voice light and teasing.

Her face takes on a thoughtful expression before she shrugs.

"They're dates to me. Because I'm with you, because I'm having fun. And because you follow textbook procedure by kissing me before I leave." She says, but rather than be jokey, her tone is serious and tender, soft but assured.

My lips quirk up.

"Well then flower, allow me to begin this date with the finest outfit for you~" I say, arms retreating from her waist to step away, seeing her move in the corner of my eyes to lean against the counter and when I return with her apron, the matching one to mine, I thread it over her head, smiling as my hands settle on her hips to twist her around, tying the strings into a cute bow.

And when I spin her around, some of her hair flutters, some strands still under the strap of the apron. My hand moves to carefully free the strands of her hair, fingers stilling when they brush against skin and not the soft fabric of her jumper.

My hand stops because it grazes the warm curve of her shoulder, before moving to skim and flit over her shoulder when she gasps when my fingers settle, my eyes flying to hers.

But the reason becomes clear.

The reason becomes clear when her hair is moved out the way, when her hands move to tie it back and fall to her side to reveal the exposed curve of her shoulder where the jumper slipped off, where there was a very clear red mark decorating her skin.

And when I lean in, head bent towards the sight, it becomes very clear what sort of mark it is, what sort of pressure's been used to leave the large splodge of colour to smatter across her soft skin.

And I can't help but rub my fingers experimentally over the mark, fingers pressing down, heat curling around my gut when it elicits a muffled gasp from her, hand sliding away because regrettably we weren't somewhere private, somewhere away from everyone else.