Page 44 of Curses & Cold Brew
“Exactly.”
“Here.” She slid a steaming mug across the countertop.
I looked down at what appeared to be hot chocolate with a dollop of freshly whipped cream on top and a dusting of chocolate flakes.
My mouth instantly started salivating.
“Holy cow,” was all I could say. “Thank you.”
I took a sip, rich flavors alighting on my tongue. It was the perfect blend of sweet and spicy, the chocolate rich and decadent, the milk thick and creamy . . .
Was it possible to orgasm just from taste alone?
I let out a moan, and Ramona cleared her throat, shifting her weight at the sound, and I hoped she was as turned on as I was because, fuck, this hot chocolate might’ve been the best foreplay ever.
Well played, demon.
“Where did you learn to make this?”
With a pleased smile, Ramona replied, “I got the recipe from an elf in that Christmas town north of here . . .” She searched the ceiling as if trying to think of the name.
“Sugarplum Valley?” I supplied.
She snapped her fingers. “That’s the one.” Her hunter’s eyes watched me as I took another sip.
“You’re not having one?”
“Hell is plenty hot enough, love,” she said with another panty-dropping wink. “I only drink cold drinks.”
She turned and fetched a cold brew coffee from the fridge, pouring some of the leftover hot chocolate into it along with a heaping serving of dark ice cubes that I suspected were more frozen coffee. With her drink in hand, she rounded the kitchen island. She perched on a bar stool beside me and assessed her untouched pumpkin.
“Trying to figure out how to create stained glass for a Notre-Dame design?” I teased.
“Oh please, Gothic churches was last year’s theme.”
I snickered into my mug, the hot steam tickling the tip of my nose. “I think I’ll keep the stoop on-theme and do some potion bottles.”
“Sounds like a winner.”
Leaning back in my stool, I sipped my hot chocolate and enjoyed the view of Ramona deep in concentration. She deftly prepped her canvas, and my stomach flipped once or twice at how her nimble fingers expertly carved and etched the pumpkin’s thick orange flesh.
Of all the things that would turn me on . . . this was probably the most bizarre. But when it came to Ramona, everything seemed to turn me on.
And I would never admit it to her, but my panties were as wet as the newspaper by the time she was finished.
22
RAMONA
We placed the newly carved pumpkins on the porch, and I stepped back to admire our work. It was clear that I didn’t carve all of them, but something in my chest swelled at the sight of our pumpkins butted up next to each other.
I indulged myself for the briefest of seconds, imagining what it would be like if the two of us always decorated the stoop every Halloween—ourstoop, the one we owned together. What would it be like if this were just a normal night for us and not only a quick flash of stolen time?
“Not bad for a couple of townies.” Iris’s shoulder nudged mine, pulling me from my dangerously wistful daydream. “You need some candles floating around in the air. Really sets the tone.”
“Using magic is against the rules,” I chided.
“Didn’t realize demons were rule-abiding citizens.”
