Page 49 of The Cute Psycho

"I fear no such thing! I can defend myself." She crosses her hands over her chest, pushing her voluptuous breasts up.

I groan out loud, taking my eyes off her chest. Even I am but a man, and breasts like hers are prime material for getting a man in trouble—even those of the monk variety.

"Can you?" I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Of course!" She barely gets the words out when my hand shoots out, pushing her onto her bed, my body on top of hers.

"Please, do," I say, amused.

She narrows her eyes at me, but she doesn't lose her calm. If anything, she seems to be even more composed than before.

"Nothing?" My eyebrows shoot up questioningly. "I could do a lot of things to you from this position. Say, hike up your dress..."

She doesn't react to my taunt. Instead, she turns her eyes to me, her gaze softening.

"You could," she says in a breathy tone, her hand coming up to my face.

I frown, not understanding what she's trying to do.

She smiles briefly before leaning forward and pressing her lips to my cheek.

To say I'm stunned would be an understatement. I'm frozen to the spot as my skin soaks in that small gesture.

Hell, I can count on one hand the times someone's willingly kissed my cheek.

But I don't have more time to wonder about this unusual situation, as her knee lodges between my legs, kicking me in the balls with a force that makes me see stars.

"Fuck," I rasp in pain, moving off her and praying to all deities that my balls are still intact.

"See, not helpless." She smirks at me, swinging her legs off the bed and getting up.

"What are you, some ninja nun?" I mumble, my vision doubling from pain.

"I don't know what that word means, but you need to leave," she says, tapping her foot on the floor impatiently.

I take a deep breath, fighting against the pain.

That's one region where my pain receptors are not dulled.

Bringing myself under control, I get up, putting on my most charming smile. Instead of making her soften towards me, it does the complete opposite.

"Wipe that smile off your face," she fires at me, and I'm momentarily stunned by her reaction. But I quickly recover.

"Afraid you'll fall for me?" I ask playfully, trying to bring the conversation into silly yet comfortable territory.

"As if," she snorts. "Get to the point. Why are you here?"

"Why, Assisi, didn't those nuns teach you how to give such a warm welcome?" I lay back on the bed, resting on my elbows and watching annoyance appear on her face.

"No, they taught me not to take any bullshit," she tilts her head at me, "especially of the male kind," she says, looking down at me.

My mouth curls up. "Ah, the age-old misandry. You know, I have a theory about nuns and why they are so bitter," I say slowly, and I note a hint of interest in her features.

"Really?" she asks, her tone suspicious.

"They just need a good fuck." I shrug carelessly, but my eyes are honed in on her expression, watching for any slight change. When I see none, I add another thing, just to rile her up, "But you probably don't know what that means."

The reaction is delayed, as her brows knit together in confusion before her eyes widen in realization.

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