Page 15 of Claimed
Turning, I spy the demon from town earlier.
Gone is the suit. The dapper male.
He is clad in jeans now and a black tee stretched tight over a surprisingly well built torso. Like a swimmer with a little extra pump. His paler biceps push at the sleeves, and I catch sight of leather cuffs on his wrists before my eyes dip to the collar around his neck.
He damn near screams gothic wet dream.
I raise my gaze to his as I toss my hair a bit. “He would be,” I admit. “In fact, I was considering his offer.”
The demon smiles and the flash of white teeth is almost feral. “Were you?”
My heart picks up speed.
I don’t know why. He hasn’t done anything. Merely smiled. And yet my eyes keep moving to the jagged fall of his tousled hair. To the way his shirt brushes the top of his jeans. Jeans poured over very strong thighs.
He’s more ripped than any goth I have ever seen.
And god does it work for him.
His nostrils flare and his crimson gaze sparks. “Tell me,” he croons as he sidles around me. I go still, like a predator has found me and if I don’t move, it will go away. “Do you believe him to be a lover of men as well?”
For a moment, a hint of disappointment beats inside me.
Not that the bartender could be bisexual. But that the demon could be gay.
I shove the idiocy ofthatworry from my mind and scowl. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
He chuckles from behind me, the sound smooth and deep. Something warm brushes my back and my eyes flutter.
I force them open and round on him.
He leans against the rail, watching me. “I believe he would accept the invite more if you were to play with us.”
“You want a threesome? With me and the bartender?” I can’t quite stop my incredulity.
His eyes roam from my feet up. “I seek a distraction, pet. And you and the lovely human male could be just that.”
The way he says it is like a game-show host telling you what waits behind door number one. Like being with a demon is some prize on its own.
Rolling my eyes, I turn away. “Not interested.” I start toward the stairs.
A feverish hand grips my arm, halting me.
I glower over my shoulder. “Let go.”
He does so without forcing the issue. Something like loathing sparks across his features. But the emotion is wiped away as he shoves his hands into his pockets, leaving his expression blank. “Sorry,” he mumbles and pushes past me for the stairs.
It’s such an un-demon thing to do, apologize, that I set my drink on a nearby table and take off after him.
He is halfway to the door by the time I catch up. “Hey, wait.”
He stops walking, his head turning as surprise colors his features.
I slow a few paces away, unsure what to say now.
“It’s no big deal,” I say. “Really. You didn’t hurt me or anything.”
His lean frame turns to face me. “If I had meant to hurt you, pet, I would have.” His tone says something his words don’t. Like he is used to threatening, but there is no real heart behind it. No desire.
