Page 50 of Demon with Benefits
“We haven’t fucked there yet.”
“Yeah, we have. Remember when we ordered sushi, and you refused to put clothes on, even though eating naked is gross?”
“Eating naked is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”
“It’s gross.”
“You’re naked under your clothes every single time you eat.”
“That’s the point of clothes. To cover nakedness. That makes no sense.”
“I’m just saying, if you’re grossed out by the idea of your genitals being near food, they—”
“They’recovered. By clothing. That’s exactly my point. And don’t call them genitals. That word gives me the creeps.”
“Genitals.” He smirked when she grimaced. “And agree to disagree.”
“It’s gross.”
“Didn’t stop you from doing it.”
“It was still gross.”
“You jumped me like a horny little lioness afterward. I don’t think you found it that gross.”
Her face flushed. It wasn’t her fault he was so irresistible, all covered in tattoos and piercings and built with muscle as he was. What was she supposed to do? Did he really expect her to sit there unaffected while he flaunted his naked body, even if he had been eating?
“So you remember then,” she said. “We’ve already christened the couch.”
“You’re right.” He stroked his chin. “The floor in the living room, then. On the rug.” He smirked. “Doggy style. I’ll eat you out first from behind—I know you love that.”
She made a face to hide the full-body heatwave his suggestion elicited. “I’ll get rug burn.”
“And you’ll beg for it.”
She scoffed and stood. “I’m going inside.”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “Go get naked and kneel on the rug, baby. I’ll be right behind you.” His grin was ferocious. “Pun intended.”
“You’re a pig. And you should be arrested for that terrible joke and locked away forever.”
He laughed, and it sent a shiver through her.
“We’re not fucking on the rug,” she said, pulling open the door to the warmth of her kitchen, “so get that idea out of your head right now.”
He shoved his hands into his knees and stood, following her inside, once again showing no signs of being cold despite the fact that he wore nothing but an oversized hoodie. “I always get my way,” he purred in her ear, closing the door behind him.
She scoffed as if that was the most ridiculous notion she’d ever heard. But as she pulled her parka off and flung it over the back of the kitchen chair, she was already working out how to end up naked on the rug without him realizing he had, in fact, gotten his way. She couldn’t give in too easily or he’d become intolerably smug.
“I know you’re already planning how to give me what I want without making it look like you’re giving me what I want.”
She spun around to glare at him, secretly panicking a little at how easily he read her.
His brow quirked. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re an open book, doll.”
“I am not!” She was not. She was stoic. She was mysterious. She was an enigma. She went to great lengths to exude a cold and unapproachable aura, and she did not appreciate the insinuation that she was some sort of guileless, transparent simpleton.
He laughed in the face of her indignation, because of course he did. “You are. Your eyes are way too expressive. I can always tell what you’re thinking.”
