Three days ago he had held her like she was the center of his universe on his bed, kissing her and touching her as he set her body on fire with pleasure. Now he moved with careful detachment, as if she were fragile glass he was afraid might shatter and cut him open, and he had to be careful.
She parted her lips to accept the porridge despite his silence cutting into her chest. The warm spoon slid between her lips, creamy, lightly salted, and comforting against her throat. She swallowed, and the simple act felt far too intimate under his intense gaze fixed on her mouth.
"Good?" he asked, his first word to her since coming in.
"Good, but not as good as the one you make." Viola whispered honestly, because he made the best porridge she had ever tasted. Though Nick's was not bad at all, she was being honest, and quietly hoping he would say more words to her than just that single one.
