Page 39 of Higher Demon

Though… it’s an objective fact, right? He’s got a great ass. So do a lot of people. The fact that I noticed doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s not like I’m attracted to him—just admiring of the body he’s… in. Because he’s a demon, not a human. Even if his body right now is human. Maybe it’s the body I’m attracted to, not the insides.

This is getting creepy.

The truth is, I’m just caffeine-deprived, and I had some weird dreams last night after Dylan said that dumb thing about getting Marc a girlfriend. I couldn’t get it out of my head because it’s not abadidea. It would work to make him more relatable… if not for the fact that it would need someone to actually hook up with a higher demon. Which is ridiculous.

But that and the sight of the glorious cake before me have clearly tricked my brain into thinking I’m attracted to Marc. I just have to train it back to the right setting, which is that he’s got a great body, but that’s it. Caffeine will help. So will listening to him talk about how grubby humans are.

He turns around, holding a mug full of gently steaming heaven, and for the first time I pay attention to what he’s wearing. The business casual style is a good look for him—it takes the scary factor down a notch and makes him almost seem approachable. Plus, with his sleeves rolled back like that, he’shot. Of the H-O-T variety. Those forearms are a work of art.

He sets the cup down, the aroma of coffee and hazelnut drifting to my nose and making me crazy, and I decide aversion therapy is what I really need. I grab the front of his shirt and yank him to me, our mouths colliding awkwardly—and painfully. This will do the trick. One super-bad kiss to remind my brain that this isnotattraction, and?—

My brain shuts down completely as lust zings through me. I forgot how soft and full his lips are. How he parts them just a tiny bit at first, then relaxes more. How everything I’ve been telling myself all these years is a lie, ever since that first time I kissed him as a “fuck you” to my parents and ended up discovering just how much I want him.

Him.

A demon.

Thedemon.

The demon my dick wants to rub up against right now. Which my loose boxer shorts do not hide.

The demon who’skissing me back.

I break away, almost falling off the stool, and swipe the back of my hand across my still-tingling mouth. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m wearing boxers and nothing else. “Uh… th-thanks for the coffee.” Grabbing the mug, I take a big gulp and promptly burn my mouth.

Marc blinks. He’s panting a little, his lips damp from our kiss, his shirt a little wrinkled where I grabbed it, and every atom of my body wants to climb all over him. Except my brain, which has finally woken up and is blaring warnings at me.

His eyes drift down my body to where I’m crossing my legs in a desperate attempt to hide my boner, then snap back up to my face. He opens his mouth to speak?—

“Do I smell coffee?”

Thank fuck for Matt. My bestie-brother practically falls into the kitchen, dressed only slightly better than me in yesterday’s jeans, and beelines toward us. Marc steps back to a more respectable distance, but Matt doesn’t even seem to notice, too intent on stealing my mug.

“No fucking way,” I declare. My voice is still a little… off, but he’s whining and not paying attention.

“I’ll make you one,” Marc says. “After all, that’s what friends do, correct?” He shoots me a pointed look, as if to say he’s fully aware that humans don’t normally say “thanks for the coffee” with a kiss.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I mumble, then wish I hadn’t when the image of Marc joining me rises in my mind’s eye. I rescue my coffee from Matt and leave as fast as I can without looking like I’m running away. Which I am. I don’t stop until I’m in the bathroom with the door locked.

Then I stare at myself in the mirror and realize how lucky I am that Matt was still half-asleep. If he’d been fully awake, there’s no way he wouldn’t know what I did. My mouth is puffy, my cheeks flushed.

I look like I’ve been kissed and loved it.

And every part of that is true.

Fuck.

* * *

I manageto make it through the next half hour without being alone with Marc at any time, and then I’m safely in my car and headed back to the compound. My head is a chaotic jumble of thoughts I don’t want to think, so I put on an angry playlist and crank the volume high enough to drown out everything else.

That helps, right up until I pull into my driveway with Matt behind me. I dawdle in the car, and he’s got the front door open by the time I get there.

Lucky for me, he’s a completely selfish asshole who doesn’t notice I’m in the middle of a mental breakdown.

“I’m gonna get my laundry from this trip started, then turn in my report and check in,” he says, already halfway to the laundry room. “You going to work soon?”

“Uh… yeah. Now.” That’s a good reason to leave the house. “I, uh, need to check the archives for stuff about the Highetts before anyone else is around.” Because that’s another fucking headache I need to deal with.

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