Page 35 of Demon's Bane

The deep, dark scent of her permeates the air between us. Lavender and spice, lush desire and a sprinkle of sugared, confectionery temptation that breaks across my palate.

Goddess, I could devour her.

“Do you like what you see, witch?”

Her eyes go even wider at the question, like they could take even more of me in.

My cock aches, and I could no sooner stop myself from hardening under her greedy gaze than I could stop the beating of my heart in my chest. Still, when she sees my growing arousal, she lets out a little squeak of embarrassment, then turns and flees the room.

Cursing softly under my breath, I grab a towel off the vanity and sling it around my hips before following her.

She’s reaching for the door handle like she’s about to flee when I step into the room.

“Wait,” I call after her, and she goes stock-still with her hand on the knob.

Joan takes a long, shaky breath before she speaks. “I’m sorry. I had my headphones in, and I didn’t hear… I should have known better than to…”

She turns to face me, and her face is flushed pink all the way to her hairline.

My mate is embarrassed, which is the very last thing I want her to be around me. The only thing I ever want Joan to be feeling when I’m bare before her is exactly what she was just a few moments ago.

Aroused. Eager. As hot for me as I am for her.

“I’m not angry,” I tell her.

Joan swallows and worries her hands in front of her, just like she did when she stood in the bathing chamber doorway.

Is she aching to touch just like I am? Is every part of her tense and straining, alive with need and the soul-deep knowledge of how right it would be if she did?

As subtly as I can, I shift and try to hide the persistent evidence of my arousal.

It’s not subtle enough, though, because a moment later I’m struck by it again—the sweet scent of her desire, thick enough that I nearly choke on it.

“Joan,” I rasp. “It’s alright if you—”

“I don’t. I’m—Goddess, I don’t mean to—” She turns her eyes toward the ceiling and runs a restless hand through her hair. “I’m really sorry for staring. I didn’t mean to.”

I can’t stop the displeased rumble that breaks low in my throat.

My mate has leave to look at me whenever she likes. If she thinks she has anything to hide when she does, if she thinks forone moment I’m anything but pleased with her reaction, then it’s my job to let her know otherwise.

“I can smell you, witch,” I murmur. “Perfuming the air with your delectable arousal.”

Her gaze snaps back to mine, and she shakes her head in immediate denial.

“Uh, I think you’re just smelling my funk. I’ve been cleaning for the last couple of hours and I worked up a sweat.”

I chuckle. Certainly, I can smell that on her, too, but it’s nowhere near as strong or appealing as the evidence of her desire.

“Believe that, if you’d rather.”

Joan lets out a disgruntled little noise. “I’m not—it’s not—let’s just forget this, alright?”

As if I could forget the scent of her, the delicious evidence of how appealing she finds me, the bone-melting sense of relief in knowing I don’t repulse her in this form.

But I agreed to play by her rules, as she likes to remind me, so if my mate would like to pretend she’s not as hot for me as I am for her, I can accept that. For now.

“Whatever you want, Joan.”

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