A Change in the Game - 22.5 (bonus chapter)
“Hey Rhys?”
“Yes darling?”
“I always meant to ask you: Why do you call me darling?”
Feyre craned her head so she could peer into Rhys face from over her shoulder. They were snuggling on the couch, Feyre’s back connecting comfortably with Rhys’ chest, his legs on either side of her body, his strong arms caging her in.
“Why, cause you are so darling!” Rhys declared, imitating a British accent and failing miserably.
Feyre rolled her eyes in annoyance, making sure Rhys saw. “I thought you’re half Illyrian, not half British.”
“I can be both!” Rhys declared with a wink.
“More like half stupid,” Feyre mumbled under her breath.
Rhys caught it nonetheless and tickled her in retribution.
“No, but seriously,” Feyre asked, blowing a wayward piece of her out of her heated face after Rhys was finally done with doling out his punishment. “Why do you call me darling?”
“I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to my mind when I saw you. It just kinda slipped out, to be honest,” Rhys shrugged, pressing a kiss to the back of her head and breathing in her scent. “So cute and sweet and darling. I also loved how pissed you got over me calling you that, so I continued!” he admitted.
Feyre could heard the smile in his voice and swatted his thigh. Rhys laughed in delight.
“And why do you call Lucien babe?” she inquired curiously.
Rhys let out a sigh that was almost a moan. “Seriously? Just look at him!”
Feyre glanced over towards the kitchen, where Lucien was in the middle of baking some walnut-banana muffins.
Not that Lucien could bake, but when he came home earlier, Lucien had suddenly declared he needed to bake some muffins and shooed Rhys and Feyre out of the kitchen. Feyre might not be a great cook, but she sure could bake, so she easily spotted every mistake Lucien made. Hence, the last 30 minutes had been spent by her and Rhys greatly enjoying themselves, observing a struggling Lucien messing up everything there was to mess up in the great art of baking.
Really, if she weren’t getting the show for free, Feyre wouldn’t mind paying for it. There was something infinitely rewarding in watching her former nemesis and now boyfriend being an utter failure for once.
Just as Feyre and Rhys turned their attention once more to him, Lucien stopped mixing the dubious concoction he claimed was the muffin batter to consult the cookbook, his brows drawn together in the cutest little frown as he checked the recipe again.
He licked his lips, leaving them glistering moistly as he silently read out the recipe to himself.
Staring at his lips, Feyre licked her own. She couldn’t help it. Lucien had fantastic lips, all shapely and soft, very good for kissing her. Not only on her lips.
He bent over the book a bit more and as he did, a strand of hair came loose from the little bun Lucien haphazardly tied his hair off in earlier, the silky, auburn lock falling forward, brushing against his cheek. Absentmindedly, Lucien reached up and tucked the strand behind his ear, never breaking his concentration.
It was such an endearing little gesture, with Lucien so absorbed in his little task, being all adorably concentrated, Feyre’s breath caught.
Well, it also caught, because Lucien, being completely focused on the recipe, hadn’t noticed how far he had tilted the bowl - the batter would pour out any second now, and not necessarily into the mold it was intended for.
Feyre wanted to warn Lucien off, but Rhys, sensing her intention, quickly placed a broad hand over her mouth, shutting her up before she could shoot a warning.
“Shush darling! Don’t distract him yet!” he whispered with glee, careful not to draw Lucien’s intention to them.
So Feyre was doomed to watch a disaster in the making. But luckily, Lucien caught himself in time, and straightened the bowl, his face twisting into the most enchanting little grimace over the almost accident.
The man ought to be kissed, Feyre decided. Or deserved a fucking medal for being an adorable mess. Really, how could anyone be so charming when failing miserably?
Lucien began pouring the muffin batter into the molds, somehow managing to miss the molds and getting batter everywhere except where it belonged and Feyre, fascinated, watched how a disgruntled Lucien carefully licked batter from his fingers in lazy, languid strokes. Suddenly, what had been a very cute and messy affair turned into hot and slow, finger-licking, very sexual kitchen porn that caused Feyre - and Rhys behind her - to begin panting softly.
Apparently, even when making a beautiful mess out of a simple affair as baking, Lucien and his muffin batter held more sex appeal than a perfectly whipped Mousse au Chocolat. Especially when he bent over to put the tray into the oven, causing his slacks to stretch over his nice, toned ass, presenting Feyre and Rhys with a view that had both of them perform synchronized squirming on the couch.
Lucien straightened and turned to them, flashing them a little triumphant smile while pushing back the one brazen lock that had stolen away from behind his ear again, coating his hair in some leftover batter. Feyre had seldom seen a sexier sight.
“You’re right, Rhys. Such a fucking babe!”
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