Page 98 of Dance With A Devil
His mouth ghosts over my ear, his voice a sinful promise, “When I want you so bad it hurts to breathe, and I’m not holding back.”
“You’ll know,” he murmurs, dragging me against his chest before crashing his mouth onto mine, long, hard, and ruinous. His kiss isn’t sweet, it’s a brand. A promise carved in heat.
When he pulls back, his breath is ragged against my lips. “When the time comes,” he says, voice low and hoarse, “I’m gonna be a fucking goner for you.”
“If you say so,” I reply, but I’m already a mess, flushed, shaky, grinning like I’ve been marked.
“I’ve gotta go,” he says, reluctantly releasing me.
“Oh. Right.” I flop back onto the bed like a petulant brat, arms splayed wide. “Guess I’ll get up, too.”
His low chuckle scrapes along my skin, dark and dangerous in the best way. “Flopping back in bed doesn’t exactly screamproductive.”
“It doesn’t,” I smirk, stretching like a cat. “But maybe I’ll lie here for a while. Let the silence kiss me where your mouth just was.”
His gaze lingers. Heavy. Possessive. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he turns and walks out the door, leaving me burning in his wake.
He’s always leaving me burning.
The rest of the day crawls. I grade papers that bore me, sketch out a week’s worth of lesson plans that make me feel more like a prison warden than a professor. Then I schedule a mani/pedi because the Devils are chaos, and sometimes a girl just needs clean nails and quiet revenge.
Maybe I’ll drag Karter along, he’d probably flirt with the esthetician until she faints.
But something else sparks in the back of my mind. A distraction.
“You know what?” I mutter aloud, already digging through the fridge. “I’ll cook dinner tonight. A little domestic damage.”
With Maeve’s help, of course.
Let the Devils come home to something they won’t expect.
Warmth. Control. Maybe even comfort.
Because nothing unsettles monsters like softness with teeth.
Chapter Twenty One
Wyck
I should’ve been satisfied, hell, full might be the better word. Athens and Maeve cooked for us tonight, and not the kind of meal you forget either. Homemade lasagna soup, thick and simmered to perfection. Every single one of us walked away from the table in a daze, like we’d just been fed by something holy.
But I’m not at peace.
Not even close.
While the rest of the Devils retreated to their rooms, I’ve been wandering the halls like a ghost with too much on his mind and nowhere to unload it. I waited too long, restless and simmering, and now the clock’s dragged past midnight.
It’s only when a low crack, like a whip snapping across the sky, rattles the windows that I notice the storm. And then I hear it.
Not the thunder.
Her.
Soft whimpers. Fragile hiccups. A sound that grabs me by the throat and pulls.
I don’t hesitate. I move fast down the hallway, fists clenching with each step. My room’s door is cracked just enough for shadows to slip through. Another crash of thunder. Another broken sob.
Then I see her.
