Page 33 of Devil May Lie

“Not even a little.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. “Then I’ll go home with you.”

Berga opened his mouth as if to argue but, surprisingly, seemed to change his mind.

He waved a hand in the air as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other and turned to stare out the window as Madden drove them across the city.

Was he tired? Madden had heard mental breaks and manic episodes took a lot out of a person, and while he wasn’t entirely positive that’s what he’d witnessed, it seemed likely. He tried to think back on all that he knew about Berga, but there wasn’t a single recollection that mentioned mental instability—aside from the obvious, which was that the Butcher liked to experiment on subjects. That wasn’t entirely normal, even for one of the Devils.

Neither of them spoke again until twenty minutes later when he pulled up in front of Berga’s apartment building. Madden shut off the engine and waited when Berga didn’t make any moves to leave the vehicle.

The storm started in a flash, a single crack of lightning ripping across the sky before the downpour. Sheets of rain cascaded around them, pinging heavily against the roof of the car and instantly blocking the view from the windows. This sort of weather was pretty typical for Vitality, but not even the umbrellas stashed in the back would keep them dry in this if they stepped outside the car.

Deciding he’d rather not, Madden reached over, his fingers unsnapping the button on Berga’s pants before the Butcher even knew what was happening.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Berga grabbed onto him and shoved him away with a glare.

“Clearly you need a distraction,” Madden replied. “Whenever I need to blow off steam, I do it one of two ways. Either riding my bike, or…” He waggled his brow and yanked on Berga’s zipper. “Come on. I promise I can make you hard for me in under a minute. It’s better than sitting here twiddling our thumbs until the storm passes.”

“Surely you can find someone else to screw,” Berga stated, but his grip on Madden’s wrist loosened some, a tell-tale sign that he wasn’t as averse to this as he was trying to make it seem.

“You chose me that night,” he reminded with a shrug, downplaying the way he was currently feeling since it was obvious the Butcher wouldn’t be pleased about his growing obsession, “Now I’m choosing you. Can’t I?”

He considered for a moment. “You want to even the score?”

Not exactly.

“Sure, if you want to call it that.”

“If that’s the case, I’d call what you did at the university more than enough.”

“What we did, Butcher.” Madden eased his hand beneath the waistband of Berga’s violet boxer briefs, the corner of his mouth lifting when there was no resistance. The second he cupped him, Berga exhaled and pressed into him, leaning back against the car seat. “Does it really matter? Why do we need to label anything?”

“It’s just sex,” Berga insisted anyway.

“This is a handjob,” he corrected. “I sort of have a feeling you wouldn’t let me take you with my mouth.”

“Absolutely not.”

He hummed and lightly moved against Berga’s dick, smug when the other man started to harden and lengthen at his touch. “Not a fan of spit?”

“Spit is all right,” Berga surprised him by saying. “It’s clear. Clear fluids are fine.”

He quirked a brow. “Then why—”

“We’re in the middle of the parking lot,” he reminded. “Do you really want people finding out we’re screwing on the side?”

“There’s no rule against it.”

“Call Kelevra right now then,” Berga motioned to his multi-slate. “Tell him we’re getting married.”

Madden chortled. “Were you always this funny, Butcher? How have I never noticed?”

“Probably the same way I’ve never noticed how thick your fingers are.”

“That a suggestion?” He’d been debating whether or not he’d be comfortable bottoming for Berga from here on out, but hadn’t come to a definitive conclusion as of yet. On the one hand, if it meant getting another taste of the Butcher, it’d be worth switching up his preferences. On the other, he was used to taking control and wondered if he’d slip up in the bedroom and lose his cool.

Now, though, watching the way Berga arched his back for him and widened his thighs, listening to the sharp, breathy sounds escaping from his parted lips…

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