Page 42 of Deviant

“I… uh… may I?” she says, pointing at the unopened beer bottle on the table.

“Are you twenty-one?”

“No. I’m twenty. You know that.” Her forehead creases, looking offended that I forgot her age.

I know how fucking old she is.

Especially when she stopped being jailbait.

“Twenty, huh? Then you’re shit out of luck.” I smirk, grabbing the bottle and popping it open just to piss her off.

But before the beer bottle reaches my lips, the little devil snakes it right out of my hand and takes a long-ass sip.

She wipes her cupid bow lips with her forearm after drinking half of the beer, handing me the rest.

“Cute,” I reprimand, making a show of pulling up my t-shirt to wipe the nozzle.

Instead of being offended by my revulsion, Rowen’s gaze lingers on my abs long enough for me to catch her.

“Take a picture. It will last longer.”

Another pretty shade of pink flushes her cheeks as she begins to stammer an apology.

“I… uh… sorry.”

“Just exactly what are you sorry for, Rowen? That you interrupted mymetime, drank my beer without permission, or got caught eye-fucking me?” I taunt with a mischievous grin.

When her eyes widen in both embarrassment and lust, my cock twitches to life.

Damn it.

It should know better than to get excited over someone that I have deemed to be the bane of my existence. Though I really can’t blame the fucker for stirring awake. With everything that has been going on with the harvest season, my mother’s illness, Nora’s death, and fucking Rowen being responsible for it, my cock has been greatly neglected.

“I wasn’t,” she starts, but then thinks better of it and decides not to finish her sentence.

Instead, she looks around at her surroundings, suddenly feeling like she made the wrong decision in coming over tonight.

And boy, did she.

With my mom knocked out for the night and Aidan off doing god-knows-what with the mayor’s daughter, we’re practically all alone in this house.

With no one for miles to help her.

Suddenly, this visit feels like a gift that has fallen on my lap.

It’s not every day a prey hand-delivers herself to her predator.

I should take advantage of this serendipitous moment.

But how?

How shall I play with you, Roe?

“You know,” I start, tapping my fingers on the bottle, “you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“Because,” she replies, her gaze darting everywhere but at my face. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“To me?” I cackle, loving how this is all playing out in my favor. “Whatever the fuck for?”

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