Page 91 of The Devil's Weakness

“Did you just say ‘ew’?”

I turn her around, so she’s facing me and tug her hair gently, pulling her head backward.

“I just meant; I probably smell like diner food. I was getting ready to get in the shower.”

“Yeah, you taste like it too.”

I lean over and place my lips to her chest, just above where her robe meets. Licking a path downward, I grab her belt and pull on it, untying it from around her waist. Walking her backward, I don’t stop until she falls onto her bed, and I’m towering over her.

Reaching down, I pull the cloth away from her, exposing her to me. I can feel the flames licking through my body as I stare at her.

“Mine.”

I watch her eyes grow wide as I lay on top of her. Kissing a path from her lips down her chest, I don’t stop until my tongue plunges deep inside of her.

* * *

“I can’t stayin bed any longer.”

Sasha says the words I’ve been dreading since last night.

I licked, kissed, and massaged her from head to toe yesterday. I drew every ounce of pleasure from her until, once again, she was a docile, pliant creature who barely knew which way was up.

I love her fire, but I also love seeing her on the brink of oblivion. The power that I feel over her is provocative.

“I need coffee, badly, and I need to get ready for work.”

She crawls over me and out of bed. I watch her ass move back and forth as she sashays away from me. Missing the closeness we had all night, I get up and follow her. When I get into the kitchen, she’s got all the cabinets open, looking at them. Unsure of what she’s looking for, I turn my attention to them as well. It makes my heart hurt that they don’t have enough money to afford a week’s worth of food.She looks at me with a shy smile.

“Between Michael and I, neither one of us eats a lot while we’re here. Michael barely eats at all.”

She stops talking, and her face turns curious.

“Speaking of Michael…” she walks back down the hallway to his room.

The door is slightly ajar, and she pushes it open.

“He’s not here. Did he even come home last night?” she asks me. “I was so tired I don’t know if I would have heard him if he did.”

“I don’t think he did. You said he doesn’t have a key. He would have had to knock to get in, and we would have heard that.”

She rolls her eyes and closes Michael’s door.

When we get back into the kitchen, she picks up an empty water jug from the counter and studies it. Suddenly, her eyes grow wide. Putting the jug back on the counter, she grabs a step stool from the corner and drags it over to the refrigerator.

“Motherfucker!” she screams once the door to the cabinet above the fridge is open.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“It’s gone…”

“What’s gone?”

Stepping down off of the stool, she uses the counter to help hold herself up.

“The coffee can. Full of cash. Michael stole it. I know it.”

She can’t even speak in full sentences; she’s so worked up.

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