Violet was in the kitchen alone with Griffin. Technically, he was doing the cooking while she just watched.
And it was for good reasons.
Griffin was standing by the counter shirtless, while a black apron hung around his waist, flour dusting his arms and chest. His hands worked the dough with slow, firm motions, pressing, folding, and kneading. The movents made the muscles in his arms flex, the veins in his forearms shifting like ropes beneath his skin.
And gods, how could Violet not stare?
Griffin hunched forward, gripping the dough tighter, his forearms taut, and biceps clenching. Then he slapped the mound hard, the sound cracking in the kitchen.
Violet bit her bottom lip. That was sexy as hell. She pressed her thighs together on instinct as heat rushed between them.
He did it again. Slap. Knead. Slap. And all Violet could visualize was Griffin doing that to her body—handling her just like he slowly rolled the dough beneath his palms.
"Soone’s eye-fucking the man at."
Violet jolted, nearly knocking over the bowl of fruit on the counter.
"Roman!" she hissed, whipping around to glare at him.
He was already grinning like the devil, arms folded as he leaned in the doorway with all the satisfaction of a man who’d caught her sinning with her eyes.
Griffin didn’t say a word, he just kept kneading dough with the casual dominance of soone who knew he looked good doing it. His smile was lazy, knowing, and smug enough to heat her cheeks all over again.
"Get lost, Roman," Violet snapped, trying and failing to sound unaffected.
"As you wish, Princess." Roman gave a dramatic bow, strutted to the fridge like he was on a runway, retrieved a bottle of water, and moonwalked his ass out of the kitchen.
Violet exhaled deeply. She had her hands full with that one.
Griffin finally glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Enjoying the show?"
Violet didn’t answer right away and sauntered toward him, stopping when she was close enough to sll the heat of him, flour and musk mingling in the air.
"You did that on purpose, didn’t you? " she asked, crossing her arms. "Sexualized the dough to make all hot and bothered?"
"I’m just a humble man making bread, princess," Griffin replied, utterly unconvincing. The wicked gleam in his brown eyes said otherwise.
And what was it with her n suddenly calling her "princess"? She hadn’t told them the truth so they could start throwing titles around. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, just a fact. Nothing more.
Nonetheless, Violet narrowed her gaze. "Uh-huh. Humble, shirtless, flour-covered, apron-wrapped sexy man."
Griffin’s grin widened. "You forgot to add strong, dominant, and slightly sweaty."
Violet chuckled despite herself. "God help ."
"Even God would agree you need no help, darling," Griffin said, slapping the dough one final ti and the sound echoed between them.
Violet bit her lip again. Damn him.
Griffin noticed and smiled. Then he said, "Wait..."
Violet’s brows arched as Griffin turned and walked off to the corner, only to return monts later with a small plate in hand. The scent of rosemary, thy, and garlic wafted toward her, making her stomach grumble in anticipation.
"Figured you might want a taste," he said casually, holding up a skewer. The herbed chicken glistened slightly and was still steaming, charred in just the right places.
Violet eyed it suspiciously. "You’re feeding now? What’s the catch, big guy?"
Griffin rely shrugged, then pulled off a single, tender piece of chicken between his fingers and brought it up to her lips.
"Open."
Her brows arched. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious." His voice dipped. "Co on, Princess."
Violet rolled her eyes, but her lips parted anyway. The mont the chicken touched her tongue, her eyes fluttered half-closed. The flavor was warm and juicy, packed with herbs and the tiniest kick of pepper, and it hit all the right places. Her moan ca out before she could stop it.
Griffin’s grin stretched wider. "Good?"
"Holy gods, this is food orgasm," she mumbled, still chewing. "I should have married you when I had the chance."
Griffin laughed heartily, his eyes sparkling. He looked so happy and Violet felt so satisfied.
"Who taught you to cook like this? Irene?" Violet asked, genuinely curious.
"God, no!" Griffin said quickly, like the idea alone was offensive. "If my mom ever stepped into the kitchen, it was probably to sharpen the knives for cooking. While other girls were learning how to boil rice, Irene was brawling and learning how to lead a pack."
Violet snorted.
"I actually learned from my dad Arion, he’s the real master chef. Aeron dabbles sotis, but it’s considered a celestial event if he does. And even then, he can’t hold a spatula to his brother."
A thoughtful silence settled over Griffin as he paused, his eyes distant as he savored the old mories. It was jarring how fast life moved. Just yesterday, he’d been a boy looking up to his fathers, now he was on the verge of starting a family of his own. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"It’s reassuring to know you had the best childhood experience," Violet said softly. "When we all settle together, I’ll need soone who can hold everything together."
Griffin understood what she ant. Asher had the worst childhood. Roman and Alaric, in their own ways, had grown up with absent parents, and probably knew next to nothing about what real family looked like.
"We’ll figure it out as we go," was all Griffin could offer. He already saw the road ahead, rugged, and demanding. His mother had handled two n; now his load was doubled. It would be hell at tis, but he’d give everything he had to make this harem work.
"Alright, feed another," Violet said, expectantly.
Griffin obliged, tugging another piece of chicken from the skewer. "You’re such a big baby."
Violet didn’t care. She moaned as the flavor burst across her tongue, loud and utterly indecent.
Griffin’s eyes darkened. "You keep moaning like that, and we can forget dinner altogether."
As tempting as that sounded, Violet forced herself to behave.
"I plead dinner," she said, licking her lips.
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