Page 36 of Claimed By the Villain
“Did you drink?”
“No.”
“Then how the hell could you ask me to marry you? You don’t love me, dammit!”
“Andyoudon’t loveme. Sounds like a perfect match.”
Perfect match?
How is it “perfect” to have the man you’ve been in love with since you first became aware of the opposite sex tell you—not ask,tell—you’re getting married… without one shred of romance in the announcement?
“Perfect match, my ass! I came here tonight not even knowing what you wanted from me. I even considered the possibility that you had a wife—or secret kids—because we… um… that day…”
“The day I made you come?” he says, with that raw, sexy bluntness of his. “Yeah, I remember. Go on.”
“On the way here, I was lowkey horrified in the car because it only then occurred to me that you might’ve had a wife all along and that I was the side piece.”
“I’ve never been married. It never even crossed my mind.”
“Yeah, five minutes in your apartment and I got the message loud and clear, there was zero risk I’d played the role of ‘the other woman.’ You’re alone, Lucifer. And I don’t just mean single, I mean alone. It’s your choice. You like it that way. So forgive me if I have a hard time believing there’s anything perfect about you marrying anyone.”
“Like I said, I never thought about marriageuntil now.”
“Right. So you’re telling me you suddenly fell in love with me after disappearing for two months?”
He doesn’t answer. And thank God. I would’ve been crushed to hear him lie.
“Let’s eat, Jackie. I’m hungry and I hate cold food. You can let the proposal sink in while we eat.”
“That was aproposal?” I snap. “Could’ve sworn it was a threat.”
His calm—his absolute self-confidence—drives me insane. I can’t string a coherent sentence together, and he’s over here acting like he owns the room.
He twists a strand of my hair around his finger and brings it to his nose, breathing it in.
“Careful, Jackie.”
“I’m not afraid of you. You’ve protected me my whole life. You’d never hurt me.”
“Not on purpose, no. But I could act on my desire right now. And your fiery little attitude’s got me hard as a rock. All I need is one touch,” he says, dragging a finger from my throat down to the neckline of my dress, “to have you naked in my bed.”
“Cocky bast—,” I start, but I never finish. A tremor runs through me when his fingers brush my cheek.
He looks curious about my reaction.
Like a scientist studying a new species.
His thumb traces a line down my neck, like he’s testing my responses to his touch—and again, I shiver beneath his fingers.
“If this is how you react to just my hand on your skin, I’m dying to see what happens when my tongue’s on your pussy, Jackie.”
I don’t have time to be shocked by the filth coming out of his mouth, because seconds later, his lips crash down on mine, swallowing any comeback I might’ve had. At first, I think he kissed me just to shut me up, but it takes only seconds for the electricity between us to explode.
Lucifer’s body is a fortress and I want to be locked inside it forever. I can’t stop my hands. They move on their own, reaching for his hard abs. I want to strip his shirt off and see if he’s really as irresistible as he looks. I want to dig my nails into his skin, to mark him as mine.
My face flushes with embarrassment when I remember he’s not just some guy, he’s my fantasy. And that’s intimidating, but desire wins by a landslide. Shame doesn’t stand a chance.
The way he kisses me, there’s only one word for it: devouring. His mouth commands, his tongue demands.
