Page 149 of Sinful Blaze

Pasha sighs. “Fine. I’ll be at the office if you need me.”

I hand him his phone and check his wrist for the watch that he doesn’t always remember to put on. The longer we live together, the more I’m picking up on tiny little quirks I don’t think he’s even aware of.

When I met him, I thought he was a god. An angel, at the very least.

I still do. Now, I just know that he’s an angel who forgets to put on deodorant sometimes.

“I will need you at Chez Moliere at noon,” I inform him. “Noon, and not a minute sooner.”

He winks at me on the way to the front door. “I love it when you’re bossy.”

I steal one more kiss before making sure the door latches behind him. Then I get to work making our bed before I settle into the closet to pick out an outfit for Asya’s birthday luncheon. I strip the sheets for washing and replace them with a fresh set, grateful he listened to me when I refused to hire a maid.

I don’t need some stranger figuring out just how often we have sex.

Hint: it’s a lot.

Like, a lot.

But just as frequent as our lovemaking is our heart-to-heart conversations about the things on our minds. Sometimes, it’s just venting about the day; sometimes, we delve into memories that make us laugh or make us understand each other’s darker sides a bit better.

Pasha never goes into great detail. I never press for it. I’m just grateful he’s willing to give me as much as he does.

I’m even more grateful he’s kept to his end of the deal we made.

Does he still storm off into his home office when we have a heated disagreement? Yes.

Does he leave the door open and not say a word when I eventually wander in to sit nearby? Also yes.

Did we have an especially feisty debate the other day over something so stupid, I felt compelled to walk in, drop to my knees between his legs, and suck his soul through his dick?

You bet your ass I did.

The vibration of my phone pulls me out of my daydreams and back to cold, ugly reality.

“Nope.” I shut the ringer off hastily. “Not today, Satan.”

Conrad’s attempt at an incognito number disappears from the screen. I don’t know how the hell he got my new contact info, but I have my suspicions.

They rhyme with “Teeth” and “Odd.”

I save the number just so I have it in case I need the records later. Such as for a restraining order.

DICKHEAD: Pick up the phone, Nay

DICKHEAD: We need to talk

“No, we do not.” I don’t even bother responding to him. It’s wasting my thumbs trying to text a brick wall.

BRIT THE BITCH: Answer your fucking phone!

BRIT THE BITCH: It’s important!

Figuring out how Brittany got my number isn’t rocket science. With Conrad being down one hand, it makes sense that she’d do his dirty work for him.

They make a perfectly pathetic pair.

When my phone keeps buzzing, I put it on Do Not Disturb and set an alarm to remind me to grab it before I leave. I’m not going to waste my time or energy dealing with their bullshit.

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