Page 147 of Bound By Song

She hesitates, her fingers tightening in the blankets. Then, slowly, she uncurls enough to take the bottle from me. Her hands tremble slightly, and I fight the urge to steady her. Instead, I keep my gaze locked on hers, steady, unbothered.

She takes a sip from the in-built straw. Then another.

“Good girl,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

A shudder rolls through her, sharp and involuntary. Her eyes snap to mine, wide and dark, pupils swallowing the blue.

Fuck. My control is slipping. But she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t snap at me. Her breath is shallow, her fingers gripping the bottle tighter.

“Easy,” I say, forcing a grin, keeping it playful. “Didn’t mean to short-circuit you there.”

Her cheeks flush, and she glares. “I’m not short-circuiting.”

“No?” I tip my head. “Because you’re looking a little…” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “Glitchy.”

That earns me a scoff, but her shoulders loosen slightly. She hands the bottle back, curling in on herself again.

“Eat something,” I encourage, nudging the plate toward her. “You need your strength.”

Her gaze flicks to the food, then back to me. She hesitates again, but she’s weakening. Giving in.

“Fine.” She picks up a piece of fruit, nibbling at the edge.

“Atta girl,” I say, pleased.

Her breath catches again, and this time, she looks away quickly, like she’s trying to hide it.

Oh, princess. You’re killing me.

I keep my hands to myself, keep my body relaxed, but every inch of me is on edge. My skin itches with restraint, my muscles coiled too tight. Her scent is a fucking drug, and I’m riding the edge of control, keeping my instincts in check.

Focus.

I shift back slightly, giving her space. “You know, this reminds me of the time I got locked in a bakery overnight.”

She blinks, thrown by the sudden topic change. “What?”

I smirk. “Yep. Got stuck in there after closing. Long story short, I was trying to impress this girl – total disaster, by the way – and ended up hiding in the stockroom when the owner came back early.”

Her lips part, a reluctant curiosity sparking in her eyes.

Encouraged, I continue. “So there I am, trapped in this tiny space, surrounded by sacks of flour, right? And I think, ‘Alright, Blaise, this is fine. You can wait it out.’ But then—” I gesture dramatically. “—a fucking rat scurries over my foot.”

Her brows lift. “A rat?”

“A big one. Like, I swear this thing was half my size.”

That gets me a tiny snort. Progress.

“So, naturally, I freak the hell out. I jump, knock over an entire shelf of baking ingredients, and suddenly – boom. I’m covered head to toe in flour and sugar.”

She stares at me, and then – there it is. A small, barely-there smile.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

It punches through me with a force I wasn’t ready for. My chest tightens, something deeper than instinct curling in my gut. I shove it down, forcing a grin.

“That’s how I learned that charming bakery girls is not my strong suit.”

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