Page 91 of Nightshades

“I can’t focus when you’re so close to me,” I admit, needing a certain amount of space.

My hands are full with our plates as he turns me around, caging me in by placing his arms on either side of me. Shade bends down, growling, the inky pools of his eyes somehow filled with so much lust, it’s hard for me to catch my breath.

“Being close to you is the only thing that tames me.” He leans in, his lips inches away from mine. “I’m not sure I like being tamed, Lulaaa.”

I swallow hard, gasping when I hear the creature barely contained.

“I…I…well…you…” I stutter, and his lips tick to the left to form a sly grin. “I made my favorite dinner. Bandeja Paisa.” I thrust the plate out for him to take to try to put a little space between us because I’m ready to starve, take him to bed, and let him have his wicked nightmare way with me.

Shade’s brows furrow as he looks down, the edge of the plate against his stomach. He takes a step back and, with awkward hands, he holds the dish, just…staring.

“You don’t have to eat it.” I feel ridiculous. Of course he doesn’t want it. “You don’t eat food, right? I can save it. It can be my leftovers.” I spin around, not wanting him to see the embarrassment on my face. Muttering under my breath, “Eres tan tonta.”

You’re so dumb.

Why would I cook food when he clearly only eats people’s fear and my blood?

“What did you just say?”

I spin around, shocked by how small and soft his voice is. I’ve never heard him speak like that. He’s still staring at all the food piled onto his plate.

“I called myself dumb for cooking because you don’t?—”

One moment, he is leaning against the dining room table, and in the next, he is standing in front of me, anger pinching his features while he presses his giant body against mine.

“Don’t ever speak about yourself that way or I will give you nightmares for your entire fucking life, Lulaaa,” he warns, his cock hard and pressing against me through his black jeans. “I love that you cooked for me. I was shocked.” He kisses my forehead, a tender moment I save in my mind.

Shade is far from sweet, but he has his moments.

“Why?”

He grabs his plate off the table. “The last person who cooked for me was my mother,” he admits on a deep breath, not bothering to take a seat since the chair will break under his weight. “You’re right. I don’tneedto eat food. I eatyou, instead.”

The way he is looking at me would have me melt in a puddle onto the floor if it wasn’t for me gripping the ledge of the countertop.

“But I can eat food. I just…haven’t. And I haven’t had a home-cooked meal sincethatnight.”

“That was so long ago, Shade.”

He nods, picking up the fork that is way too small for his hand. It’s awkward, and I can tell he is struggling. The metal bends from his strength, eventually snapping in half, and sends the rice splatting to his plate.

He huffs, snarling, showing those sharp fangs that I miss in my neck, my thigh, just on my body in general.

“You’re more than welcome to feed from me, Shade,” I tell him, wanting him to know there is no pressure. “Every day. All of the time. Whenever you want.”

Those tormented eyes heat when they glance down at me. “As much as I love feeding from you. Your blood, your fears, they sate me in ways food never can, but you made this for me. I want to eat it.”

I snag our plates. “Come on. Let’s go to the living room. Follow me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t question me. I’ll get my gun,” I tease with a smile.

His hard cock strains his jeans, the length traveling down his leg, and I’m able to see the thick ridge of the crown pressing against the denim.

After food, I’m going to ride him. I want to feel his piercings inside me, his lure light illuminating my womb—I want it all.

“Sit,” I order him, as I take a seat on the broken sofa.