Page 37 of Dance With A Devil
Dripping wet and radiant like sin baptized in fire.
She tricked me, weaponized her mouth and my weakness like a good little brat, and I let her. I let her win. But I won’t fall for it again.
At least, that’s the lie I’m telling myself.
Because everything about her, the way her skin glows under steam, how the water carves its path down the swell of her breasts, the way her smile tugs at the corners of her mouth like she knows exactly what she’s doing, is killing me slowly. And I want to burn for it.
But her well-being? That comes first. Even before my own damn pleasure.
For now.
I tear my gaze away, pretending like I’m not fucked in the head over the way she stands there, mine, and turn toward the bed where Karter’s little “gift” of an outfit is sprawled like bait.
And fuck me sideways… He really wants to get us all killed tonight.
The skirt’s black, high-waisted, and slit so far up both sides it might as well not exist. The halter top’s thin enough to show everything, everything, and there’s a black strapless bra and modesty petals that scream “Karter felt guilty halfway through jerking off while picking this.”
But what kills me?
No panties.
None.
That smug bastard did it on purpose. And the worst part? I’d have done the same damn thing.
I grit my teeth as flashes of her in that outfit strut across my mind, her legs bare, her hips teasing, every man in that club wishing they could fuck her, taste her, claim her. Like hell they will.
Storming to my closet, I yank clothes around until I find what I need, nothing flashy. Black slacks. Fitted black tee. Clean Armani shoes. Classic Devil uniform.
But tonight’s different.
Tonight, I want blood and power to bleed from my skin.
At my dresser, I slip in my diamond studs, wrap the gold Fossil watch around my wrist, and fasten the custom bracelets that never leave my side, one says “Athens.” The other? “Devil of Cliffside.”
A creed and a curse.
I’m so lost in the quiet ritual of dressing for war, I almost don’t hear the creak of the bathroom door behind me.
But when I turn around?
The world stops spinning.
She steps into the room wrapped in nothing but a towel and divinity.
And fuck, she’s a vision.
Dripping curls frame her face. Her skin gleams like it was forged from bronze and honey. Her eyes, those storm-colored eyes, search mine like she doesn’t already know she owns me.
“Is it okay if I get dressed in here?”
She says it soft, almost shy, like I haven’t tasted every inch of her before.
I smirk, voice low. “Only if I get to watch.”
Color floods her cheeks as she fumbles with the knot.
The towel hits the floor.
