Novel & Cerita Damon Prison World Pancakes

Damon greeted me, standing shirtless with an apron on and exposing his perfectly sculpted muscles. “What are you doing in my kitchen?” I settled into the dining area situated at the center of the kitchen. “Our kitchen,” he retorted, "is making you breakfast.” Damon handed me a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and hotdogs. “What happened to my alcohol?” He asked. My stomach twisted as I remembered myself and Logan drinking it yesterday. “I poured them down the sink,” I replied, turning my face away from him. “You what? That wine was motherfucking expensive.” He snapped.

the green-eyed boy brought a hand to the damaged area without touching it; it still hurt horribly, but he didn't want to disturb his friend anymore, "We're safe for now, thanks to you." Before Chrystal Daly could say anything else, a lady came up to take their order. "One beer... make it three." The woman stared at the redhead, she looked older than the boy, but she still had to make sure. "ID..." Chrystal pulls out her fake ID, waiting for it to be returned without any objection. She had paid a lot of money for that ID; the only thing fake about it was her birth date. "And bring the boy a strawberry milkshake." The woman nodded and returned to the bar, leaving them alone again.

The smell of Damien cooking filled the penthouse the next morning. I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him in the kitchen. His broad shoulders were tense under a simple black t-shirt, hair still damp from a shower. He looked like he hadn’t slept much either. When he turned and saw me, hope flickered in his eyes like a candle fighting the wind. “Good morning,” I said softly, tugging his shirt down my thighs. He turned, flipping pancakes with forced casualness. “Morning. Do you want pancakes? And I even cut them into hearts like a sap. Laugh at me if you want.”

“What plan?” “How to make the pack fall in love with you in ninety days.” The kitchen smelled like bacon and eggs and something sweet. My mouth watered. Damien was already there. Eating pancakes straight from a pan. He looked up when we walked in. “She lives.” He grinned. “Thought you might sleep all day after last night.” “Almost did.” I sat at the island. Lycian put a plate in front of me. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. More food than I usually eat in a day. “This is too much.”

Heaven’s POV The morning light floods through the kitchen’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Eden is seated, kicking his legs playfully as he plays with his tablet. Damien stands at the stove flipping pancakes in nothing but low-riding grey sweatpants after convincing Mariam to allow him to cook, the muscles in his back flex every time he moves the spatula. I’m leaning against the counter in one of his black T-shirts and a pair of his boxers, my hair still messy from last night as I sip coffee.

Evelyn smiled slightly. “Thank you.” Silas looked at Damian. “Do you cook?” Damian shook his head. “Not well.” Silas frowned. “You should learn.” Damian raised an eyebrow. “Should I?” “Yes.” “Why?” Silas shrugged. “Because dads are supposed to cook pancakes.” Damian glanced at Evelyn. “I wasn’t aware of that requirement.” Evelyn laughed softly. “It’s apparently very important.” Silas nodded seriously. “Pancakes are a dad job.”

So an annoying voice inside my head said. “Okay. I will buy you one. Don’t be sad, or The Conde will put my head in a silver platter.” And he removed the apron that he was wearing and gave it to me. “Look for his pancake; don’t do anything.” Before he turned his back at me, I call on his name. “Damian, I’m just going to look at these, and what if his pancake will be toasted. I will still look at these pancakes?”

Upon opening the fridge, he saw that Alfred had stocked up on ingredients for pancakes. While they were waiting for them to cool, Damian took out one of the cups from the cupboard and poured hot water into it. When he put the cup back down on the counter, he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the island countertop and headed back over to join everyone at the table.

The sound of eggs sizzling, the smell of butter, it was grounding. I was whisking pancake batter when I heard footsteps behind me. “Morning,” came Damien’s voice, low and lazy. I turned and instantly forgot how to breathe. He was shirtless with just a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his hair still messy from sleep. “Morning,” I said, trying to sound casual, but my voice cracked halfway through. Great. Real smooth, Cara. He smirked, leaning against the counter like he didn’t know what he was doing to my sanity. “Didn’t know you were the type to cook when you’re stressed.”

"Oh, and Nonna made chocolate chip pancakes this morning. She saved you some in the warming drawer." After she left, I showered quickly and dressed in comfortable jeans and a soft sweater. Damien had mentioned he'd be in the city for meetings today, which meant I could relax a bit from the constant awareness of his presence. As much as I was growing accustomed to his company, there was something exhausting about being around someone so intensely observant. The kitchen was empty when I arrived, but as promised, a plate of pancakes waited in the warming drawer. I poured myself coffee from the carafe Rosa had thoughtfully left and sat at the kitchen island, savoring the first heavenly bite of c