Chapter 5: The Kitchen Encounter
The silence after the bolt slid home was a physical thing, thick and humming. Eve’s nervous laugh died in her throat, swallowed by the look on Adam’s face.It was more than relief.It was devastation.
He stared at his own hands, turning them over as if seeing them for the first time—the thick fingers, the pale scars that were not quite scars, the potential for violence in their breadth. “He knows,” Adam said, the words flat.“He suspects,” Eve corrected, pushing herself off the wall. Her nightdress was twisted, her hair a wild cascade. She felt exhilarated and terrified in equal measure.“He didn’t see me. He has no proof.”
“Proof?” Adam’s head snapped up, his dark eyes piercing her. “He doesn’t need proof, Eve.He needs only a feeling.A wrongness. And I am that wrongness.” He gestured to his own chest, a rough, helpless motion.“A figure on the battlements. A second cup.A guard who sleeps in his boots.These are threads. He will pull them.”
The practical reality of his words began to douse the adrenaline still warming her blood. She crossed the small space, the stone floor cold under her bare feet, and placed her hands on his forearms.The muscle there was taut as iron. “Then we must be more careful.”
A bitter sound, almost a laugh, escaped him. “Careful.” He looked around the barren servant’s quarters, a place that had felt like a sanctuary an hour ago and now felt like a cage. “You are a princess.This is a storeroom. There is no careful path from your balcony to this door.”
She knew he was right. The thrill of the near-discovery was fading, leaving behind a cold, metallic fear. But beneath the fear, pulsing stronger, was a defiant, stubborn resolve.She had touched something real.She would not let it be taken by suspicion and protocol.
“I have to go back,” she said softly, her thumbs stroking his skin. “Before my maids come.Before anyone notices I’m gone.”
He nodded, the motion heavy with resignation. His hands came up to cradle her face, his touch impossibly gentle. “This was a mistake,” he murmured, but his eyes betrayed him, saying everything his words denied.
“Don’t,” she whispered.“Don’t say that.”
“It was selfish. I endangered you for…” He couldn’t finish.“For a moment of not being lonely,” she finished for him. She stood on her toes and kissed him, a soft, lingering promise against his lips. “It was a gift, Adam. Not a mistake.”
He held her for another long minute, his face buried in her hair, breathing her in as if memorizing the scent. Then, with a discipline that hurt to watch, he set her aside. He moved to the door, listening intently for any sound in the corridor before sliding the bolt open just enough for her to slip through.
“The west servants’ stair is clear at this hour,” he said, his voice once again the low, formal rumble of a soldier. “Go.”
She paused in the doorway, the castle’s chill air washing over her. She looked back at him, this colossal, beautiful creature standing in the gray dawn light, looking more lost than any man she had ever seen. “I’ll come back,” she said, the words a vow.
He just gave a single, slow nod, his eyes speaking volumes she could feel in her bones. Then he closed the door, and the soft click of the bolt felt like an ending.
The castle kitchen was a fortress of warmth and noise, a stark contrast to the silent, desperate quiet of the room she’d left. It was mid-morning, and the great hearth roared with several fires. The air was thick with the smell of baking bread, simmering stew, and the sharp tang of scrubbed stone.
Eve stood near a long oak table, her gown of embroidered lavender silk a jarring note of finery among the sturdy linens and wool of the kitchen staff. She was ostensibly consulting with the head cook about the evening’s menu for a minor diplomatic supper.In reality, she was waiting, her nerves stretched thin.
Her eyes kept drifting to the archway that led to the sculleries and the lower pantries. He was down there. Aldric had assigned him to inventory the salt stores—busywork, solitary, away from the main thoroughfares.A form of exile.A burst of giggling pulled her attention. Two young scullery maids, their arms flour-dusted to the elbow, were peering toward the same archway, their heads close together. One whispered something, and the other clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking.A cold knot formed in Eve’s stomach. She followed their gaze.
Adam ducked through the low archway, returning a large empty crate to its stack.He moved with that careful, lumbering grace, acutely aware of the space he occupied. He was wearing a simple linen tunic and trousers, no armor, and the casual dress made him seem even more immense, more… other. The hearth light flickered over him, illuminating the stark geography of his construction—the contrast in skin tones at his neck, the dark, precise line of stitching along his corded forearm.He turned, sensing the attention. His eyes scanned the room, passing over the giggling girls without interest, and then found Eve.He stopped. Everything in the noisy kitchen seemed to recede, the clatter of pots fading to a distant murmur.
She felt her cheeks grow warm.She hadn’t meant to stare so openly. To cover it, she gestured to a tray she had prepared earlier: a hunk of fresh, dark rye bread, a wedge of hard white cheese, a tart apple. A soldier’s breakfast, but chosen by her.She picked it up and walked toward him, feeling the eyes of the kitchen on her back. The giggling had stopped, replaced by a watchful, curious silence.
“For your labors,” she said, her voice mercifully steady. She set the tray down on a cleared corner of a worktable.
He looked from the food to her face, a flicker of confusion in his deep-set eyes. “Princess, this is not—”
“It’s nothing,” she interrupted, too quickly. “You must eat.” Her eyes, against her will, traveled down the length of him again.The tunic was tight across his chest, pulling at the seams. She could see the powerful line of his throat, the pulse beating there. A strange, heavy ache bloomed low in her belly, hot and insistent. It was the same feeling from the night before, the one that had made her push him onto the bed, but distilled now, sharpened by fear and daylight.
One of the scullery maids let out another poorly suppressed laugh.
Eve flushed deeply, realizing how transparent she must be. Adam noticed the girls this time, then looked back at Eve, and his confusion cleared, replaced by a pained understanding.He saw her embarrassment. He saw the source of it.
To break the awful tension, she snatched the bread from the tray and held it out to him.“Here.”
He hesitated, then reached for it. His fingers, rough and broad, brushed against hers.The contact was a shock. A spark seemed to jump from his skin to hers, jolting up her arm. She sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze flying to his.His eyes had gone dark, the pupils swallowing the deep brown.He felt it too. That electric, terrifying connection.
She pulled her hand back as if burned, the bread now in his grasp.“I should… the supper menu,” she stammered, taking a step back. “Carry on.”
She turned and walked away, her spine rigid, feeling his gaze on her like a weight. She didn’t stop until she was through the kitchen doors and into the cooler, quieter hall beyond.She leaned against the stone wall, pressing her chilled hands to her hot cheeks.
Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs.The feel of his touch still tingled on her skin. The memory of his body against hers in the gray dawn was suddenly overwhelming, a physical imprint. She could still smell the faint, clean scent of straw and him on her nightdress.
This was impossible.It was reckless.It was treasonous in every way that mattered.And yet.
She pushed off the wall and straightened her gown.She would go to her solar and review trade agreements. She would behave as a princess should.
But first, she allowed herself one last glance through the small, high window that looked back into the kitchen. He was standing where she’d left him, the bread forgotten in his hand. He was staring at the archway she’d disappeared through, his expression one of raw, unguarded yearning. Then, slowly, he brought the piece of bread to his mouth and took a bite, his movements deliberate, primal.A man savoring a sacrament.
Eve turned and walked quickly down the hall, the unfamiliar ache inside her settling into a resolve as hard and unyielding as castle stone.They were threads, he had said. She would not let them be pulled. She would weave them herself, into something entirely new.
She would weave them herself, into something entirely new. The resolution held for the length of the corridor, then frayed with every step. By the time she reached the sanctuary of her solar, the image of him at the table—the raw, simple act of eating—had burned itself onto the back of her eyes.She could not focus on the trade agreements.The parchment words blurred into nonsense. Her skin felt too tight, hypersensitive, as if remembering the scrape of wool blankets and the overwhelming heat of him.
She took unusually long with her bath that evening, scrubbing until her skin was pink, as if she could cleanse the memory of his hands, his mouth, the filthy, beautiful sounds he’d drawn from her.Her maid commented on her quietness. Eve pleaded a headache and dismissed her early, the lie ash in her mouth. She stood on her balcony, the cold night air doing nothing to douse the fever within. She looked down, not at the courtyard, but at the dark, specific patch of wall where the servant’s stair door was hidden. She wanted, with a craving that felt like sickness, to go to him.But she couldn’t.Not tonight. The guilt was a cold stone in her gut. He was so profoundly innocent in so many ways, a being of pure experience, his emotions untainted by courtly games or calculated sin.And she was… what? A princess obsessed. Fantasizing about the rough texture of his stitches under her tongue, the massive width of his shoulders pinning her down, the explicit, sweat-slicked mechanics of how their bodies fit together.Her thoughts were a corrupting force. He deserved something purer than her hungry, clandestine lust.She avoided the kitchen the next day. She sent a page with a vague message about required tutelage in statecraft. She buried herself in ledgers and official correspondence, a self-imposed exile. Each time she thought of his confusion, the potential hurt in his eyes, a sharp pain lanced through her chest.It was better this way.Safer for him.
Night fell again, a deep velvet blue.She’d had her dinner brought alone. She sat by her fire, a book open but unread on her lap, and listened to the castle settle. The guard change bells rang.The distant murmur of the night watch passed her door. She was adrift in her own longing, a prisoner in her gilded rooms.
The soft click from her balcony doors was not the wind.
She froze, the blood draining from her face then rushing back in a hot flood.She hadn’t heard a scrape, a footfall.Nothing. He was just suddenly there, a silhouette darker than the night, filling the French window entrance. He stepped inside, closing the doors behind him without a sound. The firelight reached for him, painting the planes of his face in shifting amber and deep shadow.“Adam,” she breathed, her voice a thread.
He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at her, his gaze a physical touch moving from her wide eyes, down her throat, over the thin silk of her dressing gown. The silence was heavier, more charged, than any words. “You’ve been hiding,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the space between them.
“I haven’t,” she lied, her fingers clutching the book.
“Yes.” He took a step forward, then another, moving with that predator’s grace.“You have.Your eyes avoided mine today. You sent a boy with a message that tasted of parchment, not of you.” He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Did I frighten you?”
“No,” she said, too quickly.
“Did I disgust you?” The question was flat, but a world of vulnerability lived beneath it.“God, no. Adam, never.” The words burst from her, honest and pained.
“Then why?” He closed the final distance, not touching her, but his presence enveloped her.She had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. “You look at me like I am a feast,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers. “And then you run.You starve yourself.You starve us.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “You don’t understand. It’s not… it’s not simple.”
“Show me.” It wasn’t a request. It was a gentle command, born of an instinct that cut through complication. “Show me what isn’t simple.”
He reached out, one broad hand coming up to cradle her jaw. His thumb stroked her cheekbone, a touch so tender it shattered her remaining defenses.A sob caught in her throat.“My thoughts… they’re not innocent. They’re not pure. I want… things.”
“What things?” His voice dropped, a intimate rumble meant only for her. His other hand came up, fingers tangling gently in the curls at her temple.She shook her head, her cheeks burning with shame and desire. “I can’t say them.”
“You can.” He leaned down, his breath warm against her lips. “Say them to me.Let me hear the impurity. Let me see it.” His mouth hovered over hers. “Or show me.”
It was the permission, the absolution in his tone, that broke her.A dam burst inside.She surged up, crushing her mouth to his. The kiss was not soft or explorative. It was desperate, hungry, all teeth and clashing tongues and years of pent-up wanting.She poured every filthy fantasy into it. He met her force for force, a groan vibrating from his chest into hers, his hands sliding from her face to sink into her hair, holding her firmly to him.When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing raggedly. “Show me,” he repeated, his voice ragged with need.
Her hands flew to the tie of his simple tunic, fumbling with the cord. He helped her, pulling it over his head, letting the garment fall to the floor. The firelight danced over the magnificent, mismatched tapestry of his body.She didn’t hesitate this time. She pressed her mouth to the hard plane of his chest, tracing a scar-seam with her tongue, tasting salt and man and him. She dropped to her knees before him.His sharp intake of breath was the only sound. She looked up, meeting his burning dark eyes as her fingers worked the lacing of his trousers. “This,” she said, her voice trembling with want. “This is what I think about.”
She freed him, her hands circling the thick, heavy length of him. He was fully erect, veins standing in relief, the head flushed a deep, blunt red. She leaned forward and licked a slow, wet stripe from root to tip.He shuddered, his hands tightening in her hair. “Fuck, Eve,” he growled, the curse raw and perfect.
She took him into her mouth, as much as she could, which wasn't nearly all. She hollowed her cheeks, using her tongue to press against the sensitive underside, her hand working the base. She worshipped him with a desperate, open-mouthed fervor, slurping and sucking, letting saliva slick the way. He watched, his expression one of rapt, agonized awe, his hips giving tiny, involuntary thrusts.
“Enough,” he rasped after minutes that felt like seconds.He pulled her up by her arms, his strength effortless. “My turn.”
He turned her, his front to her back, and walked her the few steps to the large, carved post of her bed.“Hold on,” he instructed softly into her ear. She gripped the polished wood, her knuckles white. His hands went to the belt of her dressing gown, untied it, pushed the silk off her shoulders.It pooled at her feet. The cool night air brushed her naked skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his body.
One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against the solid wall of his chest. His other hand slid down, over her belly, through the curls below, finding her wet and open. He swore again, a harsh, grateful sound. “Soaked for me,” he murmured, rubbing his fingers through her slick folds.“While you were hiding, you were thinking of this.”
He didn't wait. He positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging against her entrance. He paused, his breath gusting against her neck. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” she gasped, pushing back against him. “Please, Adam, I need it.”
He pushed inside, a slow, inexorable invasion that stretched her deliciously, filled her beyond thought. He wasn't gentle; he was thorough, claiming every inch with a single, deep stroke until he was fully sheathed, his hips flush against her buttocks.They both cried out, a raw, shared sound of completion.
He held there, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust.Then he began to move. His strokes were long and deep, each withdrawal almost complete, each thrust a hard, driving reclaiming.The angle was perfect, each impact sending jolts of piercing pleasure through her core. His arm around her waist held her steady, the other hand leaving her sex to brace against the bedpost, caging her perfectly.
The sounds were obscene: the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, their ragged breaths, her choked moans as he hit a spot that made her vision blur. “That’s it,” he grunted in her ear, his voice thick with restraint and possession. “Take it.Take all of me. You want it, you have it.”
His pace increased, driving into her with a powerful, piston-like rhythm that stole the breath from her lungs. The coil in her belly tightened impossibly, every nerve focused on the deep, perfect friction of him filling her again and again.She felt him swell within her, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic.
“Come with me,” he demanded, his fingers digging into her hip. “Now, Eve.”
It was the command that undid her. Her climax tore through her, a violent, unraveling wave that clamped down on him, milking his length. With a guttural roar, he slammed into her one final, devastating time and spilled hot inside her, his release pulsing in time with the contractions of her own body. He held her there, pinned between the post and his shuddering form, until the last tremor passed.Slowly, carefully, he withdrew, turning her in his arms. Her legs gave way, but he caught her, lifting her and placing her gently on the bed. He lay beside her, pulling the covers over them both. For a long time, they just breathed, entangled in the silence.
His large hand came up, wiping a tear from her cheek she hadn’t realized had fallen.“Your thoughts,” he said quietly, his voice back to its normal rumble. “They are a part of you.And you are a part of me now. There is no separating them.” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t hide from me again.”