𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 117

Chapter 117

The sound of the knife slicing through fresh mushrooms, the chaffing of the blade on the wooden cutting board, filled the kitchen.

"Only one meal was required, you know."

Azriel turned into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants that were meant for bedwear. If she hadn't shoved them in his chest that morning, many hours ago, he probably would have elected to not wear anything at all. The thought had her smiling. "I like cooking. I always helped Mother," she said, using the blunt side of the knife to push the mushrooms to one edge. "Can't say I'm all that caught up on the spices and the techniques, but I liked... the feeling of it. I'm glad I can start cooking you meals now."

As she spoke, he moved around the kitchen until he stood behind her. Large, tanned arms snaked around her midsection, a chin hooking over her shoulder. Dark hair tickled her cheek. One hand reached beyond her towards the small bowl she had left aside filled with a gravy sauce. She watched as his hand lifted back towards him, keen to see whether he liked it or not. But—

But he wiped his finger down her cheek.

Arwen squealed and lurched away, but his other arm kept her trapped between him and the bench. She made way to clean it off with a rag, but a tongue beat her to it. The hot wetness stroked from her jaw to her cheekbone. Azriel laughed in her ear as she gagged and twisted her face. "You are disgusting."

After sucking his finger clean, he flicked her nose. "I was contemplating whether you would enjoy being eaten off of. I am thinking perhaps not but there are far more suitable foods. Jams, for instance."

Her palms lay flat against the cold, marble bench—a stark contrast to the heat against all other parts of her. "No, no foods. I don't even like food on the bed."

"Fair enough." He kissed the slope of her bare shoulder. "Would you like me to help with dinner?"

They had been locked away in the town house for three days now and every moment had been spent entangled in some way. It was not something they had spoken of aloud, but Arwen knew that her forms of affection were different from his, yet he was the one who clung to her now. The one who followed her and held her even when she was busy.

"If I let you help," she murmured in a soft purr, looking at him over her shoulder. "Dinner will never be ready." Especially if he continued with the way he pressed against her. His sly smile grew. "But you can—"

A sudden knock cut her off. It was a softer knock, calm and paced. They both looked towards the main hall. Until now, they hadn't been disturbed. Rhysand hadn't even checked in through her mind (which was a bit insulting). They figured that since neither of them had immediate work, the others would either guess on account of their absence, or they would answer the question when it came.

"Mor?" Arwen guessed.

Azriel squinted and shook his head. Straightened, a part of his warmth disappeared but he kept his arms around her. "Cassian," he said. His shadows encircled his arms, more stretching out past their feet towards the hall, no doubt whispering what they saw into his ear.

The knock was unusual for Cassian.

"Can you answer it?" she asked.

His hands tightened on her, fingers making individual indents into her skin. "Arwen, I shouldn't be around anyone else right now. Especially not a male."

And she certainly didn't want to see what would happen if he was around Cassian. While she liked to think that his new attachment to her was out of pure affection, and perhaps most of it was, it was also in possessiveness. A possessiveness that would diminish over the coming days, but one that he wasn't used to and didn't know how to curb.