Damon Prison World Pancakes Novels & Stories

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.”

They sat away from the table where Dominic and the soldier with him were also giving their order to the waitress. “Here you go, Alpha,” Roxanne, the owner of Pancakes Palace, said with a dimpled smile as she set the steaming platter of pancakes on their table. “Here we go,” Raymond said cheerfully, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of wolfing down the golden-brown yumminess. Roxanne was soon back with another tray holding two plates, forks, a bowl of cut-up strawberries and maple syrup.

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?”

Chapter 25 - Gluttony Gideon Panic room is busier than it has been in weeks. After Lucifer sent Emmett and me out of our little roundup mission, more people kept showing up. Eager to experience the thrill of the seven rooms designed after the seven deadly sins while also enjoying the alcohol and music on the dancefloor.

Damon is there, his back to me, at the stove flipping pancakes or something domestic that looks way too hot on him. He's in boxers and a white tank, muscles shifting under his skin as he moves...broad back, those strong arms I've clawed at in my dreams for years. His hair's tousled, like he barely slept, and I know why. We didn't exactly whisper sweet nothings before passing out. 'Morning,' I say, voice low and teasing, leaning against the doorframe. He turns, spatula in hand, and his eyes drop straight to my legs, then up to where the shirt gaps open, flashing my tits. His jaw clenches, that familiar hunger flashing before he schools it.

I ask him as I shoved a bite of eggs in my mouth. “The agenda?” He asked now really confused. “Yeah, are we going to hang out watching movies, eat popcorn or are you going to keep me locked in this room by myself all day?” I asked as I scraped some more eggs onto my fork. Damon looked puzzled and I could tell he was thinking hard about my request so I added, “If you’re worried I might try and escape isn’t happening. Having those two pups stole all my juice. My wolf couldn’t fight her way out of a wet paper bag.”

Usually Damian’s assistants, bodyguards, or business calls filled the mornings with noise. Today, nothing. I stood inside the kitchen for a moment before deciding to make breakfast anyway. Maybe he would come back hungry and things would return to normal. I moved around the luxury kitchen slowly while the chefs stayed out of my way. The marble counters gleamed under the morning light while coffee brewed nearby. I made pancakes myself because Damian liked them when I cooked personally instead of leaving everything to the staff. By the time I finished arranging breakfast on the dining table, I heard footsteps entering the mansion.

Comfort was key, especially after the emotional rollercoaster of the previous night. The kitchen was my domain. I loved the methodical process of cooking, the way simple ingredients transformed into something delicious. This morning, it was fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, perfectly cooked eggs, and even some hotdogs – Damien’s guilty pleasure. I was flipping the bacon when I heard footsteps. Damien walked in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was unfairly handsome, even disheveled. His t-shirt clung to the sculpted lines of his chest, his hair was adorably messed up. He just stood there, leaning against the counter, watching me work.

“Let’s go find out.” We padded down the stairs, Eliana bouncing ahead, Leo trailing from her arm. The kitchen door was half-open, and inside stood Dominic. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie forgotten, his hair tousled in a way that made him look younger. Eggs were sizzling in a pan, toast was stacked on a plate, and a bowl of fruit was in the centre of the table. Eliana gasped. “You are making pancakes!” Dominic turned, spatula in hand, and his lips curved into a sheepish smile. “I’m attempting pancakes. No promises on taste.”

He ruffled Maurice’s hair on his way past, murmured something that made him giggle, and then his arms were around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “What are you making?” he asked, planting a kiss to my neck. I turned in his arms and kissed him before I answered. “Pancakes for you.” “Smells nice.” “I want to have some too, Mom,” Maurice called out, already halfway out of his chair. I laughed. “Of course.” Damon’s phone rang from pocket. He pulled it and glanced at the screen. Something in his eyes shifted before he looked at me. “It’s the police,” he said, already turning away.