41. Summer #2
I sneak out of the bathroom and hurry to the wardrobe, breathing easier when I’m out of his line of sight. My relief is short-lived when I find only naked hangers littering the rack. I stare at them and sigh, worrying my lower lip, really not wanting to go back out there this exposed.
The feel of soft fabric draping my shoulders makes my whole body go completely still.
I can feel him at my back, and my heart stutters in anticipation.
I glance at my shoulder and see the white shirt he has laid over me.
The material still holds the subtle warmth of his body, and, perversely, it does more to relax and calm me than the bath did.
Dropping the towel, I shrug into the shirt and button it before turning to meet his gaze, trying not to notice his bare chest.
“You said you’d close your eyes,” I say, dropping my gaze and tugging at the hem of his shirt.
He brushes his fingers over my hip. “I lied,” he says, utterly unconcerned with his admission. He goes back through to the bedroom, and I take a couple of deep breaths before following him .
He is sprawled on the bed again, but now it is worse.
His cut abs, thick chest, broad shoulders, and muscled arms are all on glorious, devastating display.
His pants are slung low on his hips, the leather so lovingly molded to his form that I can see the powerful lines of his thighs and the shape of his cock.
The memory of how he felt in my hand earlier makes heat pool low in my core.
The emotions pummeling me as I look at him confuse me.
I don’t know why I respond as I do to him, but I am drawn to the power I can feel radiating from him.
I tug on the bottom of his shirt again, the hem nearly reaching my knees.
He is a massive male, even in this form, and I know he is even bigger in reality.
Right now, I’ve never felt smaller or more vulnerable, and I hate it.
I miss being strong. I miss my muscles. I miss my curves, which still have not fully returned.
Gathering that annoyance, I come to a stop at the foot of the bed and cross my arms, glaring at him. “So where are you going to sleep?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes and puts his book down.
I try not to notice the way his muscles ripple as he stands from the bed.
I take one step back as he stalks toward me, but he simply reaches out and lifts me.
He tosses me over his shoulder without breaking stride and carries me to the other side of the bed.
He drops me, my body bouncing against the mattress a little.
I squeak as he wordlessly climbs onto the bed, straddling me before swinging back onto his side.
I glare at him as he settles back in bed. “We could have done separate rooms,” I snap out.
He ignores me and picks up his book again.
“Asshole,” I grumble, and roll onto my side, giving him my back.
He growls, and the sound sends a thrill through my body. My ass faintly stings, my body remembering what happened the last time he called me a brat.
I growl back, testing the boundary. Do I want him to spank me? Absolutely fucking not. But then why is my core throbbing at the thought?
He slams the book closed, and I feel him shift behind me. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me close, his heat enveloping me. My back presses against his solid chest, my ass nestled against his groin.
“What are you doing?” I ask, starting to struggle, but the more I move, the harder he grows against my ass .
“Putting my scent on you, clearly,” he growls, this time against my ear.
Unable to ignore the feeling of his growing cock against me, I try again to get him to release me, pushing at his arms, but being careful not to rub against him. “I don’t want your fucking scent on me, asshole.”
“It’s for the act,” he says, tightening his arms.
“No one is coming tonight,” I growl, swatting at his thigh when he presses it behind mine.
He returns my growl with one of his own, rubbing his face into my neck. “And you think they won’t know if we have not spent the night enjoying each other?”
I pause for a moment. I have read about demons’ heightened senses, and while I hate to admit it, he’s right.
We’ve settled on this guise for whatever reason, and since we’ve committed to it, I will need to have his scent on me.
But not like this. I shove him away, managing to struggle out of his hold, but I know it is only because he allowed it.
“Fine, but I’ll do it. Don’t touch me.” If I’m in control, this will be easier.
“Okay,” he says, releasing me fully and lying on his back. I roll my eyes, able to hear the male smugness in his voice.
I turn to face him and shift to my knees, my cheeks heating as I look over his chest and abs.
“See something you like, little fae?” he asks, the smirk woven into his words.
“Shut up.” I take a breath and reach my arm out over him, barely brushing the skin of my forearm against his chest.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asks dryly, and I glance at him just as he rolls his eyes.
The flush of lust morphs easily into anger. “Rubbed some asshole’s scent all over me? Strangely enough, no.”
He grabs my wrist and brushes his thumb over my fluttering pulse. “It has to be your pulse points and face,” he says, more gently than I was expecting.
“Like this,” he says. He guides my arm to his throat and brushes my wrist against it. His stubble scratches against the delicate skin of my inner arm as he drags it along his jaw and cheek to his lips, pressing a soft kiss directly over my pulse.
I watch him, transfixed and barely breathing.
He presses his lips to my thrumming pulse again, his eyes meeting mine as his tongue darts out, tasting me.
Slowly, and never breaking contact, he brushes my wrist along the other side of his jaw, tracing the strong line of his neck.
As he slides it over his collar-bone and across the heavy muscle of his chest, nearing his heart, I yank my hand back.
“That’ll do it.”
“Your turn,” he says and shifts to lean on one elbow, holding out his other arm toward me.