Page 74 of The Devil of Downtown

She smiles, that slow, lazy one that utterly wrecks me. The same radiant smile that got us here in the first place.

God, she has no idea how much power it holds over me.

“I didn’t dream it then,” she grins. “Ididget kidnapped into your sex dungeon.”

“Oh, yes,” I say, smacking her ass playfully. “There’s no escape for the foreseeable future.” She squeals as I roll her onto her back, caging her arms.

For a beat, neither of us speaks—just our breathing, steady but not quite calm. She looks up at me and swallows, her eyes flickering, that telltale sign of doubt slipping in. Selfishly, I don’t want her to retreat. I want all of her, even if part of me is still chained to old nightmares and the rest can’t quite name whatever the hell I even want.

“Are you hungry?” I manage, voice gentle.

“Always,” she smiles, and the tension eases just slightly. “I’ll just grab a quick shower.”

Sensing she needs a bit of space, I press a light kiss on the tip of her nose and move off her. “Okay, I’ll go see what I’ve got. You want coffee?”

“Of course,” she says, sliding out from under me.

I lay back, arms resting behind my head, a ridiculous grin painted on my lips, admiring her beautiful body as she walks away. I wince as I see some angry red hickeys scattered around her. My fingers curl into my fists as I hear the shower start up, resisting the urge to fly in there and fuck her against the wall.With a groan, I haul myself off the bed and slide on some dark sweatpants and pad through to the kitchen, pulling from the fridge whatever ingredients I can find.

I’m halfway through folding the eggs in the pan when I hear her quiet footsteps approaching. She walks into the kitchen barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, skin fresh-faced, swallowed by my T-shirt. I know I’m an egotistical bastard, but she looks way too good in my shirt. She climbs onto the stool, tucking one knee up protectively.

“Hey,” she says, voice soft.

Before my mind plays catch-up, I’m on her, sliding between her thighs. My hands come up to her face, thumbs brushing the warm line of her cheekbones as I angle her chin up. I tell myself it’s just a morning kiss—just a soft hello.

It isn’t.

The moment my mouth touches hers, something gives. Her lips part with the smallest inhale, and that’s it—I’m lost. I deepen it, slow but hungry, letting my body press closer until her knees bracket my hips.

The kiss turns hot, lingering, her damp hair cool against my fingers as I cradle her jaw. I taste mint, and something purely her, and every part of me wants to keep going, keep taking, keep—

She pulls back the tiniest bit, breath brushing my mouth, and wrinkles her nose.

“...can you smell burning?”

I blink, still half on her lips. “No,” I say automatically.

Then, the faint hiss reaches my ears.

And the smell hits a second later.

...Shit.

I drag one more slow kiss from her bottom lip—because I’m weak—before turning toward the stove. Pulling away feels ridiculous, almost painful, and she laughs under her breath.

And honestly?

Let the kitchen burn.

The pan is a disaster, but not a total one. I kill the flame, rescue what hasn’t turned to charcoal, and plate the food. It’s... salvageable. Barely.

I set it on the counter with a grunt. “Don’t say a word.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she says—way too innocently—though the smile she’s fighting is impossible to miss. She picks up the fork, leans in, and inhales. “Smells good.”

“Yeah,” I say, watching her like an idiot. “I thought you needed something.”

And you’re still here.