Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 75: Taste of the Chef

Slowly—painfully slowly—the man began to move.

His shoulders twitched. The muscles of his back, broad and scarred, rippled under the grime as he planted his hands on the cold stone. With a low, guttural groan that vibrated deep in Ren’s chest, he pushed himself up.

He didn’t stand immediately. He rose to his knees first, his movements heavy and disjointed, as if gravity were pulling him down with double the force. His head hung low. His white hair, now matted with mud and the remnants of the swamp, fell forward like a heavy curtain, completely obscuring his face.

He stayed there, swaying slightly, like a statue that had just learned how to breathe.

"Impossible," Syris whispered, his voice tight with disbelief.

He was staring at Kael with wide amethyst eyes. He had seen feral madness claim dozens of beastmen. None ever came back. Once the mind was gone, the beast took over forever. But here was the Tiger, shifting back to human form right before his eyes, defying every law of the Beast World.

"You actually did it," Syris murmured, glancing at Ren.

Syris relaxed his stance slightly, but as he looked back at Kael, a frown creased his brow. The Tiger wasn’t moving. He was too still. Too silent.

"Kael?" Ren called out softly.

No response. The white-haired figure didn’t even flinch.

Ren took a tentative step forward.

Immediately, a hand clamped around her wrist. Syris yanked her back, pulling her flush against his chest.

"Wait," Syris warned, his voice low. "He may strike out in confusion."

Ren gave him a reassuring smile to mask the uncertainty and panic swirling in her own eyes. She placed her other hand on Syris’ arm, squeezing gently.

"It’s okay," she said softly, then added to herself, ’I think.’

"I’ll be careful."

’But, I don’t know what I’ll do if he suddenly attacks me!’ she added in her head.

Syris hesitated. He looked at the fragile woman in the ridiculous red puffer coat, then at the silent tiger on the floor. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip, though he didn’t lower his guard completely.

"Okay," he breathed.

Ren turned back to Kael. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

She took a step. Then another.

The walk felt miles long. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed in her ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The air in the cell was heavy; it suddenly felt difficult to breathe. Or perhaps she had simply forgotten how to breathe. The silence stretched until it was almost deafening, broken only by the drip of water and the frantic thudding of her own pulse.

Ren moved slowly, giving him every chance to react, to speak, to move.

But he remained frozen.

’System,’ Ren thought as she closed the distance. ’Is he back?’

Ding!

[System Notification] [Status: You are approaching the Beast.]

Ren frowned, frustration bubbling up. ’That’s it? That’s all you have to say? I can see I’m approaching him! I wanted to know if he’s going to kill me or kiss me!’

Ren swallowed the lump in her throat. She was now standing directly in front of him.

Kael was still on his knees, his body radiating a terrifying amount of heat.

He didn’t look up. The curtain of white hair remained closed.

"Kael?" Ren whispered, her voice trembling.

She slowly reached out her hand. Her fingers, still sticky with the residue of the gumbo she had practically shoved down his throat, hovered inches from his face. She wanted to brush the hair away. She wanted to see his eyes.

She moved to touch his cheek.

Snap.

In a blur of motion, Kael’s hand shot up and grabbed her wrist.

It wasn’t a bone-crushing grip. It didn’t hurt. But it was firm, undeniable, and impossible to break.

"Ren!" Syris barked, stepping forward, his claws extending.

"Stop!" Ren shouted, throwing her free hand up to halt him without looking back. "Stay back! He’s not hurting me!"

She looked down at Kael. He still hadn’t lifted his head. He held her wrist in his large, calloused hand, keeping her frozen in place.

Then, he moved.

He didn’t pull her down. He brought her hand to his face.

He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against her palm. He sniffed her skin, inhaling the scent of the gumbo, the spices, and her own vanilla fragrance.

Then, he parted his lips.

Ren gasped as she felt the wet, hot slide of his tongue against her skin. It was a stark contrast to the cold air of the dungeon.

He licked her fingers.

He tasted the residue of the gumbo on her index finger, his tongue rough and textured like a cat’s, scraping gently against her sensitive skin. It wasn’t a tentative lick. It was deliberate and maddeningly slow.

"Kael..." Ren breathed, her knees suddenly feeling like jelly.

He didn’t stop. He took her middle finger into his mouth, sucking gently. The sensation was electric. The heat of his mouth, the suction, the swirl of his tongue against her digit—it sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated arousal straight to Ren’s core.

Her face flamed a brilliant crimson. She stood there, trembling, as this powerful, naked King on his knees worshipped her hand, cleaning every speck of the "cure" from her skin with a devotion that left her breathless.

He licked the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger, humming a low, vibrating sound against her palm that made her toes curl in her boots.

Syris, standing a few feet away, watched with a mix of jealousy and annoyance. He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say anything.

Ren couldn’t speak. She was mesmerized by the feeling of his tongue. It was incredibly erotic in a way that had no business happening in a dank, mossy dungeon cell.

Finally, after he had licked her hand completely clean, Kael stopped.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

The curtain of matted white hair parted.

Kael stared up at her. His face was sharp, handsome, and intense.

But his eyes were glowing blood-red.