Page 20 of Devil’s Promise

The ice pack is still on top of the dress, my legs together, my toes pointed while my torso is pushed up on my elbows.

Angel’s eyes move down me slowly, as he takes in every detail.

When he gets to my toes, he reaches out, running his thumb over the polish on my big toe. “Pink.”

I feel the heat climbing up my chest. I’m always camera-ready. It’s part of being in my family. I’m waxed, painted, curled, and scrubbed.

And then his hand wraps around my foot. “Even your feet are soft and pretty.”

I get regular pedicures. But the pedicurist has mentioned that I have nicely proportioned feet. I have no idea, I haven’t really done a comparison.

He starts to pull my left foot farther to the left to open my legs, but I resist, shaking my head.

His eyes narrow as he glares down at me. “Easy way or hard way.”

I frown as I consider those words. We’ve known each other for a few hours, I know this is not the final version of Angel, but still. I appreciate the choice. It’s more than I usually get.

Which is why I draw in a deep breath and then slowly crook my knee, bending my leg to open my thighs.

The ice pack is still there and Angel reaches toward me. I panic, snapping my legs shut again, but he only grabs the pack, lifting it off my dress.

It’s enough. The fabric is so wet, he’s getting a really good view. He rumbles his appreciation, my breath catching and holding in my chest.

I hear the ice pack hit the floor with a wet thump.

He grabs my foot again, lifting it up until my foot is in front of his face. I’m transfixed as I watch, the blood rushing in my ears.

And then…

He kisses the arch. It’s so unexpected, a touch like that, that I gasp—audibly. Loudly.

Much louder than earlier today and it’s been so long, the sound of my own voice like that, it shocks me.

He doesn’t seem to notice as his fingers sweep over my skin as he starts pulling my foot out to the side. His movement is slow, controlled enough that I don’t resist. I let him.

The fabric droops down between my legs, giving me at least partial coverage. His other hand skims up my leg, catching the hem, and lifting the wet fabric off my skin.

The cool air hits me, and I break out in goose pimples. Because the cotton skirt is creating a tent, I can’t see what he sees, which is easier, but his gaze is laser focused between my thighs.

“Promise,” he growls out, his voice so deep, I shiver. It’s the first time he’s used my actual name.

My lips part as I stare at him, his gaze still between my legs.

“I’m going to look so good buried deep inside you.”

The idea of that kind of invasion breaks whatever spell has come over me and I jerk my foot from his grasp, clamping my legs shut.

He looks up at me then, his eyes narrowed and full of irritation.

His hands sink down on the bed, positioned on either side of my outer thighs as he leans over me. “I don’t like being told no.”

My lips part and I shake my head. I didn’t tell him anything.

That’s when a knock sounds at the door.

He straightens, but his eyes are still on me. “Don’t move.”

I know better than to disobey a direct command, so I stay propped up on my elbows even as he crosses to the door.