I place a sour stew of meat and different vegetables in front of Calais. We are the only ones at the table. He is as dirty as I am since we looked for the ingredients in the kitchen and even went as far as picking from the farm behind the mansion.
"I can't believe a single meal can take this long to prepare," he comments.
I sit beside him and lean my head against my palm. "You will appreciate your cooks more after this," I say.
"I didn't know my Lyrica would teach me about appreciation."
"I can teach you a lot more," I jest, liking his tone of ownership of me.
He takes a spoonful of the soup and sips. I smile. He seems delighted.
"You liked it," I note.
"Surprisingly, yes," he admits.
I lean my cheeks towards him. "Now, where's my prize?" I ask, pointing at my cheeks.
"We made this together."
"I did the majority of work, though," I insist.
He gives me a chaste kiss on my cheeks, and I grin at him. "Are you sure that's the only thing you want as a prize?" he asks.
I make a pretend-surprised face and cover my mouth. "Why? You want to give me more?"
He grins, faces me, and lifts me from my chair to make me sit on his lap. "Are you still going to be cheeky with me?" he asks, his lips brushing over my lips.
I inhale and I can't help but focus on his face. Whenever I am in his arms like this, he knows that I can't. My mind always goes blank, and all I wanted is for him to kiss me, and for me to respond to his kisses.
Correctly guessing it, he kisses the side of my neck, the same place where he put a mark on me.
"Hmmm, we need to put another mark here," he says, tapping the other side of my neck.
I nod and he starts sucking on my skin. But instead, of being shy about our position, I reach up to his head and massage it again, thinking if I will get the same reaction as yesterday. When he starts to moan, I know it is working.
From my neck, his kisses transfer to my mouth. I accept him as eagerly as I could, my fingers daintily exploring his cheeks and jaws—sometimes rubbing my fingers against his stubble.
He groans against my mouth again, while his hand slides inside my skirt. I smile and he sucks my lower lip, as if it is a tasty treat that he never wants to let go.
Feeling my desire for him heighten, I pull back and lay my palm flat against his chest. "If you don't stop kissing me, the food will get cold," I say, touching my forehead to him.
"What? You can resist me now?" he whispers.
"Seems like I can. I think we should advance forward," I jest.
It did not gain a smile from him, though. Instead, he touches the back of my neck and pulls me in. He puts his tongue into my mouth and I gasp. Our tongues and breaths tangle into each other. It is a passionate kiss, and it takes my all to still be aware of my surroundings.
I pull him closer, pressing my body against him. I want to feel him more. I want to touch him more. And so I lean closer, deepening our kiss.
Suddenly, realization hits me. I pull back, catching my breath. I smile at his confused expression while I stroke his lips—which is a bit red from the intensity of our kiss.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Nothing," I answer. "I am just so happy. Somehow, I feel like we are newlyweds."
Ah! It seems like I will get addicted to his kisses, to him. I am so happy in his embrace that I feel like crying.
"You are chosen to live this life.
A life hated by all.
In exchange,
Luck and gifts, you will have it all.
Everything you desire and put your mind on.
But that one craving you will never own.
As fate and the gods will collude to derail your goal."
I frown, the phrase running in my head, as if a warning. However, I whisk the thoughts away. Besides, if I can be happy like this, maybe I am already victorious against that prophecy? Maybe I have broken it already.
Right now, I am not craving anything but happiness and contentment, and Calais is giving that to me, even if I know that I will never fully own his heart.
Calais smiles. "Now, the food has really turned cold."
I press a quick kiss on his lips and get up from his lap. I sit in my designated chair and start to taste the food. Really, nothing beats the taste of a meal that we worked hard to make.