Page 60 of Satanic Shadow
He fists both hands. “It might come as a shock to you, but kissing isn’t something I do. In my realm, it was viewed as an act of pure romance and love, so forgive me if the thought of pressing my mouth to yours violates everything I believe in.”
“That explains the hard-ons you keep getting then. You’ve never been in that position, so you have no idea how to control yourself.”
His jaw strains as he clenches his teeth. “I’ve been in that position plenty of times.”
“You’ve been in love?”
His eyes light up with something unforgivable. “Yes. Countless times.”
I look intently at him, unsure how to approach the next question but asking it anyway in a whispered-out voice. “How many times have you fallen in love?”
“Fifty-seven. Are you done with your questions? Or do you plan on telling me about your love life too?”
Fifty-seven times? He must be as old as Hell itself. Why does he look my age?
“Do you have children then?”
Dane’s eyes grow dark, and I feel like I hit a no-go zone. “Don’t ask me things like that unless you’re willing to tell me your history.”
“I have no history. I’ve never been in love. And you’re a lot older than me if you’ve been in love fifty-seven times. I kind of feel weird kissing you now. I’m not into age gaps.”
“You say you’ve never been in love, yet you have a boyfriend. You said so yourself a few weeks ago. Is he aware of your infidelity?”
I tip my chin. “He’s not my boyfriend. I was messing around with him. His name is Grayson, and he’s nice, unlike you.”
The corners of his eyes crease. “Messing around?”
“Sleeping with him,” I clarify. “Anything else you need to know about my private life?”
Dane stiffens, his hands fisting. “Do you care for him?”
“As a friend.”
I feel the slight relief coming from him. It confuses me enough to relax my shoulders, until he speaks again.
He snorts at himself. “I expect nothing less from you. Commitment issues. Shock.”
Maybe I can run to the bench full of weapons and cut his head off with an ax. Would it grow back, or would he just be headless and still an asshole?
Dane’s sour mood shifts as quickly as it appeared, and he tries not to laugh. “Sometimes hearing your thoughts can be entertaining. You’re strange, mortal. Very strange.”
“Stay out of my head.”
“Stop letting me in then,” he says, crossing his ankles as he leans against his desk again. “Most of the time, it just happens, but then when you’re mad, your thoughts run wild. I find it amusing, listening to all the ways you’d like to hurt me.” He rubs the back of his head, and my eyes are drawn to the stretching of his large bicep. “Then there are the dirty thoughts.”
“Stop it.”
He doesn’t stop. “I’m a little surprised how many times an image of me bending you over has flashed across my mind whiledoing schoolwork. Tell me, human, is that what you want? For me to rip that shirt off your dying body, bend you over this desk, and fuck you until your pussy is raw?”
“Funny. But if I’m not mistaken, those images are coming from you. I prefer to be on top.”
Dane falls into silence, staring at me with his jaw tensing once more. It’s so easy to get under his skin. He looks like he wants to maul me again, not breaking his glare while I wait for him to fight back. He doesn’t, and it’s like the atmosphere is slowly altering, as if the room is shrinking to push us together. I don’t move, but my body begs my feet to go forward, to press my half-naked body to his and order him to slide his hand up my thigh and thrust his fingers deep within me.
Instead of pleading with him to do just that, I scoff. “I wouldn’t allow that to happen anyway. I have self-respect, and when someone calls me disgusting, the last thing I’m going to do is bend over a desk for them.”
I sit down on the edge of his bed, keeping my legs closed tightly, not only to create an ounce of friction, and to hide me, but to make sure he can’t see how slick my thighs are with my own arousal at the thought of having him touch me so intimately.
Dane gives me a death stare before he straightens, pulls off his belt with terrifying slowness, and tosses it. The strap of leather floats into his walk-in closet. He begins unfastening his shirt buttons, starting from the top. “You talk too much.”
