Page 18 of Devour

You tell me. I already agreed to listen to you until the end of your existence.

Ahh, the typing bubbles. The best and worst part of texting was the thrill of not knowing what someone thought at that moment. I could only spy on their thoughts short-range, so unless we were texting while nearby each other, I had to put my back into working people.

Fine.

That sure as shit was a long pause for a one-word answer. I’d take it.

After making my way to his dorm, I knocked on the door and waited in the hall. Worst-case scenario, the campus always teemed with a lot of hormones and emotions. I could easily fill on secondhand until another prospect came along. Still, fingers crossed.

Eli opened his door wearing only a fitted t-shirt and gray sweats, so I slid right in before he could change his mind. The room—I meant slid in his room, pervert. As soon as he closed the door, I rushed right over to him. I got maybe one wicked inch away before he said, “Down.”

Sigh. So mean. I plopped down on my knees and tried my best to appear as sad as that “Please, sir, can I have some more?” starving kid while gazing up at Eli.

He didn’t say more at first. His eyes raked down my body while his brow furrowed, as if deep in concentration.

Not surprised. Better believe I made sure I looked good before I arrived. Wore my shortest shorts because hubby made a point not to stare every time I did. Paired that with some leather thigh belts, because I had a hunch and I’d been right. He lingered the longest on my neck. More importantly, on my cropped mesh top decorated with metal eyelets for the crisscrossing laces that went all the way to my neck and ended in a metal ring. Only then did he break his silence.

“You are not going to eat me.”

I nodded in agreement. We established as much already with our contract. Not never, merely not yet.

“And I don’t think I want to let you feed off me.”

Oh, hubs. This was just cruel. “Then an itty-bitty snack,” I begged, showing how miniscule I meant with my thumb and finger. “Not even really a taste.”

“Yeah, I know all the words you’re using, but you need to establish some context here.”

“You let me snack on your birthday,” I reminded him with a wide grin. “But I’ll take literally anything you put on the table at this point. You can decide.”

“We are not having sex.”

Dang.

“Maybe a snack. Depends on how you behave.”

“I can behave,” I promised with a wide grin.

Oh, and he smiled ever so slightly at that, but the arousal surrounding him went through the roof. You wouldn’t know from looking at him, but I had my ways.

“And I swear, if you do not, this will never be happening again. I don’t care if you’re on your deathbed.” Hubby plopped down on the edge of his mattress and stared at me. Very sneaky, he was. He was cheating again.

“You don’t seem to want it that badly.”

“I do,” I whined from my spot on the floor. Must appear as pathetic as possible if I hoped to tug at his heartstrings.

“I don’t think so.” He crossed his arms and stared me down.

Ugh, so not nice. I’d bite him if it weren’t so damn hot seeing him like this. Joke was on him, though. My dearest pervy hubs absolutely enjoyed this back and forth, which meant his emotional output equated to snacking on almonds. Temporarily filling, but not enough substance to keep me full.

“Really surprised you haven’t moved a muscle yet.” The corner of his mouth ticked up. So hot.

He very much enjoyed watching me squirm, making this mutually beneficial, but I wanted more. Something I could sink my teeth into—metaphorically, of course.

“Hubby, come on. You haven’t told me I could.”

“I haven’t?” Oh, and did he ever sound pleased with himself.

I sighed in defeat. Okay, if he wanted a battle of wills, so be it. I’d lived a long time. I could be patient, even if I loathed delayed gratification.

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