"Would you care to take a walk with me?" Thranduil asked, his rich and deep voice piercing the contented silence that now permeated all around them, save for the uneven breaths of its occupants.
Charlotte glanced up at him, her cheeks beautifully flushed, and she blinked a few times trying to focus on his words. Thranduil understood fully – he, too, was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the warm and pliant woman he held beneath his hands. But there was much he wanted to discuss with her before he let their relationship progress any further. And he did, indeed, want to take things further with her. Their kiss had only been a taste of what could be, and fuelled a desire for more. Much, much more.
A sudden shyness seemed to envelope Charlotte and she mutely nodded in agreement.
Suddenly a loud growl sounded from her stomach and Charlotte glanced down at mortification at the offending body part. Really? You had to do this now?!
"But first, I think some breakfast is in order," Thranduil stated, amusement written all over his luminous features.
Charlotte glanced back up at him, her face red from embarrassment. "Um...yeah. I think that might be a good idea." Not only were her legs conspiring against her, but now her belly as well. "What would you like me to make you?"
His grin instantly vanished and alarm now washed over his features. "No, no. That's quite alright. I'll make breakfast," he said hastily.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. "Honestly, I'm not that bad of a cook."
Thranduil merely arched a thick brow, his silence speaking volumes.
"Fine," Charlotte said in defeat. "If I'm really that terrible, maybe you should teach me."
"I could try, but I know a lost cause when I see one, Charlotte." He flashed her a playful grin that made his eyes twinkle with a blazing light that illuminated his whole face, before swiftly departing from the room.
In rare moments like these, when he let the mask fall, Charlotte could fully see the warm, carefree and playful ellon Thranduil was capable of being. There was so much more to him than met the eye beneath those many layers of icy and haughty indifference.
Charlotte shook her head, quite used to his teasing by now. It seemed her cooking would always be the brunt of his jokes. Not that she could blame him – she really did hate cooking and it showed. She sighed and decided to go join him in the kitchen.
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Charlotte was perched on the counter, her legs swinging idly as she watched Thranduil make pancakes to a golden perfection. He moved with a dancer's grace, so elegant and hypnotic that it was not hard to be captivated by his movements and finesse.
Her stomach gave off another growl and Charlotte reached for the jar of peanut butter. She twisted the lid off and scooped out a glob with her finger. There was nothing better than eating peanut butter straight from the jar.
