Page 16 of Her Nightshade

“You can continue dinner now,” I said with a teasing smile. The playful air hung between us and I could see the way his hunger shifted from desperation to something darker, but he obeyed, rising to his feet with his dimpled, charming grin.

He let out a low breath. “You have no idea what I’d do for you,” he murmured. He stood up slowly and added, “But for now, I’ll finish dinner,mi diosa.” His eyes lingered on me, as ifhe was saying much more than his words could convey, before he covered himself back up and walked into the kitchen.

8

Charlie

Ana was enjoying herself, and so was I. Every touch, every command, only pulled me deeper into this. She could edge me and tease me all night long if she wanted to, and I’d still beg for more. There was a thrill in giving up control, in letting her lead. I wasn’t just playing along—Iwantedit. I’d do anything she told me to do. I’d fucking chop my finger off if she desired, and I’d do it with a smile on my face.

I eyed her as I began slicing an heirloom tomato, but I couldn’t keep my focus. I was desperate to watch her every move. She sat on the couch, phone in hand, a hint of a smile on her lips. The way she was so calm, so in control, drove me crazy. Just as I was about to look away, she glanced up, catching me staring.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” she asked sweetly, her Spanish accent like music to my ears.

I shook my head, trying to keep my cool. “No. You’re supposed to be relaxing,” I replied, focusing on the tomato but still stealing glances at her. “What do you do to relax?”

She smirked slightly, her gaze lingering on me. I could feel the tension rising again, and staying cool around her was a losing battle.

“I read, or listen to music, or just sit on my ass and watch twelve hours of TV,” she answered with a laugh, her smile easy and natural.

I couldn’t help but grin. “Twelve hours, huh? Sounds like you’ve got the art of relaxing down.”

She leaned back, her gaze still on me, playful and relaxed. “I’m good at it,” she teased. I could tell she was getting more comfortable around me and I was reveling in it.

At this rate, the caprese salad I planned on making was destined to be forgotten.

“What do you like to listen to?” I asked, wondering if she ever heard my music.She must have, right?

She gave me a knowing smile, pausing just long enough to keep me guessing. “A little of everything. I love oldies, Motown, alternative, anything female-driven. But I was obsessed with the Backstreet Boys when I was young. I don’t know if you know anything about boy bands.” Her eyes lit up with mischief, teasing me.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Boy bands, huh? I might know a little something about them.”

Her laugh was addicting. I needed to hear more of it.

“You have some great songs, too,” she said, her tone turning serious for a moment.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep things light despite the compliment. “Oh, so youhavelistened to my music?” I teased, grinning. “Which song is your favorite? Don’t tell me you’re just saying that to be nice.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m serious! And no, I’m not just being nice. I like your stuff…only when I’m not listening to the Backstreet Boys.”

I chuckled. “So?” I asked, desperate for her validation. “What’s your favorite of mine then?”

I could feel the anxiety in my chest as I waited for her answer. It wasn’t just a casual question—I needed to know what she thought, if what I created meant something to her.

She met my gaze, her expression softening. “Your latest,” she admitted, naming the title. “The ballad and the piano. It’s…real, and sad. It’s beautiful.”

Her words hit like a warm wave, filling the void I hadn’t realized was there. I was already planning on writing at least a dozen songs about her.

“So, you’re a fan then, huh?” I teased, trying not to show how excited I actually was. Inside, my heart was pounding with pride.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Maybe. But don’t let it go to your head,” she quipped, though I could see the hint of warmth in her eyes.

We settled into an easy conversation, talking about favorite places to travel and movies we liked, and I was finally getting around to making the caprese salad. At one point, we delved a little deeper.

“Is there something that’s always stayed with you? Something that’s shaped who you are now?” she asked, leaning her elbow on the couch and laying her head against it.

I took a deep breath, the old memories surfacing. “Yeah…my dad left when I was young. It changed everything for me. I’ve never been able to shake that fear of people walking away.”

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes softening as she got up and walked towards the kitchen where I stood. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been…but I get why you’d feel that way. That kind of loss—it stays with you.”

---