Chapter 88
Kara
"You've seen me naked before, Baby." He steps closer, and I catch the full force of his gunpowder-and-leather scent. My knees actually wobble. "Just last night, in fact. Multiple times. In multiple positions."
My face is on fire. My whole body is on fire. I'm pretty sure I'm going to spontaneously combust right here in this kitchen.
"That was—that was different!" I stammer.
"How?" He's close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. They're sparkling with mischief and heat and something that makes my wolf want to roll over and show him our belly. "Because it was dark? Because we were all too busy fucking each other's brains out to care?"
"Blake Sterling, I swear to God—"
He laughs, and the sound makes my traitorous wolf want to tackle him to the floor right here in the kitchen and—
No. Bad wolf. Down, girl.
"Okay, okay." He raises his hands in surrender, but he's still grinning like the devil. "What do you need, beautiful?"
I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his abs flex with the movement. And the way his cock is—
Focus, Kara. Jesus Christ.
"Could you... make me breakfast? Please?"
His expression softens instantly, all the teasing melting into something tender. "Of course. What do you want?"
"Chocolate chip pancakes?" I ask hopefully. "With those crispy hash browns you made that one time?"
"Done." He moves past me into the kitchen, and I finally breathe again. "Go sit down. Let your mate take care of you."
Your mate.
The words settle in my chest like warm honey. Sweet and sticky and impossible to ignore.
I perch on one of the bar stools, watching as he moves confidently around the kitchen. Despite being completely naked—which I'm trying very hard not to fixate on and failing miserably—he looks completely at ease. Like cooking breakfast in the nude is just another Tuesday for him.
Knowing Blake, it probably is.
Then I notice the chef's hat.
A ridiculously tall white chef's toque sits on the counter, and as I watch in disbelief, Blake picks it up and puts it on his head with all the ceremony of a king donning his crown.
The contrast is... actually kind of hilarious.
Naked Alpha werewolf. Wearing nothing but a chef's hat. Cooking me pancakes.
I can't help it—I start laughing. Real, genuine laughter that bubbles up from my chest and spills out before I can stop it.
Blake glances over his shoulder, his dimples deepening. "What? You don't like my look?"
"You look ridiculous," I manage between giggles.
"Ridiculously sexy, you mean." He waggles his eyebrows, and I laugh harder. "Come on, Baby. Tell me this isn't the hottest thing you've ever seen."
"It's definitely... something," I wheeze.
This—this is what I never expected. Not the grand gestures or expensive gifts or even the mind-blowing sex. But these small moments of pure, uncomplicated joy. Blake being a complete dork in the kitchen, making me laugh, making me breakfast while wearing nothing but a hat and his confidence.
It's absurd and perfect and I'm terrified of how much I like it.
Of how much I like him.
All three of them, really. Even after everything. Even after the years of torture and fear and—
They're different now, my wolf insists. Can't you feel it through the bond? They love us. Really, truly love us.
And fuck me, I think she might be right.
Blake starts mixing batter, and I watch his hands move—those same hands that pinned my wrists last night, that made me scream their names, that held me so gently afterward like I was something precious. Now carefully measuring flour and cracking eggs like it's the most important task in the world.
"Thank you," I say softly.
He pauses, glancing at me with those intense blue eyes. "For breakfast?"
"For... everything." I gesture vaguely, not sure how to put it into words. "For being ridiculous and sweet and—and for not making me do this myself."
Something fierce and protective flashes in his eyes. He sets down the mixing bowl and crosses to me in three strides, framing my face with flour-dusted hands.
"Baby, you're never cooking another meal in this house unless you want to. That's a promise." His voice is rough with emotion. "You're done being a servant. Done being treated like you're less than. You're our Luna, our mate, our everything. And I'm going to spend every day proving that to you."
Through the bond, I feel his conviction. His determination to erase every bad memory, every moment I spent being treated like garbage.
My chest tightens with emotion I'm not ready to name. With something that feels dangerously close to—
No. Not going there. Not yet.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice thick.
He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, right where Cole marked me last night. "Okay."
Then he's back at the stove, and I'm left trying not to cry into my empty plate like an idiot.
"So." Blake flips a pancake with unnecessary flourish, making it spin in the air before landing perfectly in the pan. Show-off. "Should I wake up those lazy assholes, or do you want to keep me all to yourself for a while?"
I consider it. The idea of having Blake to myself, of just this quiet moment between us, is tempting. Peaceful, even.
But—
"Maybe let them sleep a little longer?" I suggest. "They looked exhausted."
His grin turns absolutely sinful. "Yeah, well. Someone wore us all out last night." He winks. "Not that I'm complaining. Watching you take all three of us was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"Blake!" My face flames.
"What? It's true." He plates the first batch of pancakes with a chef's precision. "You were incredible, Baby. So strong and brave and sexy as hell."
I bury my burning face in my hands. "Oh my God, can we not?"
"Fine, fine." But I can hear the laughter in his voice. "But just so you know? I'm definitely thinking about it. In graphic detail. Right now."
"You're impossible."
"You love it."
The worst part? He's not wrong.
The pancakes are perfect. Golden brown, studded with melting chocolate chips, fluffy and warm and smelling like heaven. Blake stacks them high on my plate, adds the crispy hash browns, fresh fruit, and a steaming mug of hazelnut hot chocolate.
It's my absolute favorite breakfast, and he remembers. He fucking remembers.
"You're really..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"Really what?" He sits across from me with his own plate piled even higher, his chef's hat slightly askew.
"Really good to me now." The words come out small. Uncertain. "It's... weird."
Blake's expression grows serious. He leans forward, capturing my gaze with an intensity that steals my breath.