Page 74 of The Demons We Hide

Nolan continues to wait patiently until I’m all out of giggles, and I finally manage a real response. “Probs fucking some douche-dick,” I say, my words only slightly slurred.

I pout. If only Mads were here too, then I wouldn’t be alone. It’s not fair that the one person who will actually hang out with me at these things and be my friend is the one person who’s never allowed to have any fun. Nolan’s eyes latch on to my mouth and a strange sort of look enters his eyes.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks.

I lift the red Solo cup that I’ve refilled an untold number of times and shout, “Not enough!”

He blinks. “You’re fucking wrecked, Princess.”

I laugh again. “Yup!” I say, popping the end of the word out of my mouth before rushing headlong into yet another giggle-fest. I can’t seem to help it. Everything is so fucking funny. From the way he’s standing over me with his eyebrows lowered and his lips twisted into a scowl and his arms crossed over his chest. I like that pose on him. It stretches the black cotton fabric of his shirt over the bulges of his biceps.

My eyes lock onto those biceps of his. I want to touch him, taste him. Of all the Scorpion Kings, he’s still the one I haven’t fucked. That’s not fair either.

“Stop being such a towering god and come lay down,” I say, patting the ground beside me.

Nolan shakes his head. “Not a good idea.”

“Then what the hell are you standing there for?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Playing bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” I snort. “For who? Me … or those bitches?” I wave my hand in the direction of the party. The sound of hard rock blending into rap echoes back at us from the bonfire.

“Both,” he replies.

I snort again and shake my head. “As if anything could protect them from me if I really wanted to do some damage,” I mutter, more to myself than him.

One thick, dark eyebrow arches up, and he takes a step forward and then another and another until he’s more than just hovering, he’s practically bending over my body. A thin silver chain drops out of the collar of his shirt and dangles between us, the dim light from the fire making it shine in certain spots, catching my attention as he speaks.

“Lex was right,” he says.

I hum in the back of my throat as I stare at that chain. “Hmmm. ‘Bout what?”

“You get more interesting with each passing day.”

My hand snaps out and I grab ahold of his chain, yanking down just as he uncrosses his arms, and he closes his hand around my wrist to keep me from pulling it straight off.

“Don’t.” He bites the word out, but I don’t listen.

Despite the grip on my wrist growing tight enough to bruise, I pull harder until Nolan is forced to go to his knees over me. “Juliet.” My name is a warning on his lips. Pretty lips. Full. Masculine. Still curled down into that ever-present scowl.

I twist the chain around my fingers, tugging once more as I lift up and press my mouth to his. His grip immediately releases me. Nolan’s fists punch the ground on either side of my head. “You’re playing a dangerous fucking game, Juliet,” he warns me, pulling away from my kiss. “You’ve been drinking.”

I lick my lips, savoring the taste of him on my tongue. If he’s had a drink tonight, there’s no taste of it on him. It’s all mint and sexual heat. Nolan’s gaze follows the trail of my tongue over my bottom lip. “Who said I’m playing a game?” I ask, grinning.

His eyes aren’t their normal cinnamon color tonight. No, with the shadows over the upper half of his face, they’re pitch black and almost devilish. Molten lust stares back at me. “I’m only going to give you one warning, Juliet,” he says, his voice low and vibrating. “You kiss me again and I’ll fuck your pussy so raw, you’ll be begging me to stop.”

My breath explodes out of my chest at the mental image that conjures. That sounded just fine to me. “Is that a promise or a threat?” I tease. Without giving him a chance to respond, my lips spread into a smile and I lean towards him. Just before I press my lips back to his, though, he backs his head up and glares down at me.

“Both,” he says. “If you kiss me again, then I have to tell you, that’s all the consent I’ll need—alcohol or not. I’ll fuck you until you think you’re going to break, Princess. Then I’ll fuck you until youdobreak.”

“Why haven’t you?” I ask, breathy and curious. I’ve been around them for months at this point. I’ve lived with him. I’m living with him again. Yet other than that one night, the night I killed my attacker, he hasn’t touched me again.

“Why haven’t I what?”

“Fucked me.”

He draws in a sharp breath, as if the very word is enough to set him off. I half expect him to throw away his ridiculous promise to not touch me until I’ve kissed him again. He doesn’t. Instead, he remains positioned over me, both fists in the ground as his knees lower to the stretch of grass above my head. We stare at each other for a long time, it seems.

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