Page 115 of Married to the Devil

His cheeks are flushed when I turn toward him, and I’m glad he realizes that Stoneheart is courting him as much as he’s courting me. The piano in the bedroom made that clear.

“Ben, this is amazing.”

There’s something sad in his expression, but he smiles. “You deserve only the best.”

Before I let myself succumb to the instinct to get shy at that, I grab his hand and pull him to the candles. “We need to light these before you start being too charming.”

“Am I that tempting?” he teases, almost surprised.

Does he really not realize? He gives and gives, and I’m struck with the need to do the same because he’s essential to me, and he should know it.

A flame kindles in my belly as I light one of the long matches and the closest candle. I step in close until our lips brush and hand him the burning match.

“You tempt every part of me,” I say.

His eyelids droop, and I nod for him to light a candle. When he does, I brush our lips together again. “My body.”

My hand takes his, and we hold the burning match together. “My soul.”

The middle candle comes to life, and a static crackles in the air with magic, the sealing of the act. I hold the match upand blow it out before setting it aside and taking his face in my hands. “And my heart.”

Ben looks hypnotized. “Stella?—”

I cut him off with a deeper kiss.

“I’ll keep you forever if you let me,” I whisper.

The sound from his throat is raw, and it lights up my senses as surely as the magic candles do.

I take a step back and pull him toward the padded area of the room.

“When Remy gets here, he’ll add his flame to ours,” I say, and Ben follows me, his movements slow and curious, kicking off his shoes when I kick off mine and stepping forward until we’re surrounded by soft places to land. I turn to him. “In the meantime, the spell will take what we offer.”

My fingers run under his suit jacket and push it from his shoulders.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Whatever would we do in a sex bathhouse while we wait?” I ask, breathless, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt one by one.

“Are you trying to anger your husband?”

My smile is slow and sure. “He’d never deprive me of a taste.”

Ben swallows but helps me remove his shirt. “A taste?”

“A taste,” I confirm, my hands spreading over his bared chest and down the demarcated lines of his abs to the buckle of his belt. I step closer and give an open-mouthed kiss to his throat.

He shudders, and I continue my kisses over his collar bone, to the expanse of his chest, each flick of my tongue going lower. He stops me from kneeling, grasping my shoulders.

“Stella,” he says, hoarse. “You can have your taste another time.”

I tilt my head, trying to figure out why he’s suddenly showing me the walls he’s built around himself when he’s been so open with us the last few days.

The strap of my dress falls, and he strokes the skin of my shoulder, entranced by the sight. “You should really eat dinner beforehand. I don’t want you hungry.”

“Is food really what you’re hungry for?” I ask, pressing my body to his, pouting that he’s stopping my fun, but hopeful that he doesn’t seem to want tostopcompletely.

“If you give me what I’m hungry for, I fear I’d devour you whole.”

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