Devil's Prisoner of Love by Prefer

How could the man he used to be ever say such things? Ever since they met again, he seemed... different.

He was still as domineering and forceful as before, but now there was something else- something unfamiliar-woven into his demeanor.

Warmth.

Could a man like him even comprehend the meaning of that word?

Lost in thought, Irene blinked as Nick lifted a spoon of porridge to her lips. The familiar aroma lingered in the air, stirring a memory she thought she had buried long ago. Did he still remember her preferences?

"Open your mouth." His tone was cold, but if she focused, she could catch a faint trace. of something softer underneath.

"Mr. Coleman, people's tastes change. It's been two years, and I-"

Before she could finish, Nick ate the porridge himself and leaned forward, his face suddenly too close for comfort.

"What are you-"

His lips captured hers in a swift, commanding motion. The warmth of his breath intertwined with the taste of the porridge, stirring something deep inside her.

Damn it. Did he still think she was the woman who let him have his way without question? A chill flickered in Irene's eyes as she shoved him back, her anger simmering beneath the surface.

Nick didn't seem to care. His gaze was calm, almost teasing, as if her resistance amused him.

know you didn't have breakfast," he said simply, his voice low and deliberate. "If you won't eat, I'll feed you-one

His audacity still had the power to disarm her,

landed on his face, softening the sharp edges of his features. For a fleeting moment, he looked almost approachable, even warm. But Irene knew better-he was a man carved

her will. Damn him-smiling like that. Who was he trying

and leaned into him without hesitation. She would have let her guard down, drawn in by his charm.

food container from his hands. "Since you're so

He hated the distance implied in her words, the invisible

me that," he said

Everyone else calls you Mr. Coleman. What should I call you, then?" Irene's lips curved into

keep him from getting too close. He had

what I want to hear," he said, his

the porridge, then leaned in close. Her breath brushed against his ear, warm

her lips stirred something in him. No matter how cold or mocking her tone, it still hit him like a blade to the

surface, she appeared confident- charming and untouchable, the

him, she hadn't been with

had been her first-and

let another man touch her. She had tried to move on, but every time,

she wouldn't have gone through with it anyway. Her heart had been his for far too long, and even though she hated him for it, she couldn't let

silence. She turned her attention back to the food, focusing on each bite as though it might

since you left, I

heavy with unspoken emotion. Irene didn't respond. She didn't trust herself

kept eating, pretending his confession didn't matter. Whether he was telling the

sat side by side, it