Page 55
He grunted. “Does the TV actually work?”
“Yes, the TV works.” You turd.
I had no idea if the TV worked in that room, but I didn’t care.
“No dead bodies stuffed under the bed?” He chortled, glancing at his wife as if he’d just told the most hilarious joke in the world.
“Not yet.” I shared a brief look with Linda myself. “But the night is young!”
His lip curled as he turned for the door. “Hilarious. Let’s go, Linda. I’m starving. We’ll have to eat at that grubby-looking diner down the street.”
“David’s Diner is actually very nice,” I said as Linda cast me another simpering, apologetic smile and followed her husband to the door.
When he yanked it open, a huge figure was looming in the doorway. Harold jumped out of his skin, stumbling back and clutching at his chest.
“What the—” He shook his head. “You scared the living daylights out of me! What are you playing at, standing there in the…”
His voice trailed off as the person stepped inside. My pulse leaped when I saw who it was.
Brian—now in his human form again—frowned down at Harold in silence, his chiselled features cold and hard and expressionless. It was super intimidating, and extremely hot. I nibbled on my lower lip, heat prickling at my skin from the mere sight of him.
He was so handsome in this form too. That dark, rumpled hair and snow-white skin and eerily bright but pale blue eyes. My gaze wandered over his wide shoulders and huge, muscly arms and those mammoth pecs under his tight shirt. Lucifer, he was just so… ripped.
And kind of scary. I could see why Harold was suddenly getting red in the face and averting his gaze. Brian didn’t say a word, just kept giving him that cold, hard stare before Harold cleared his throat, ducked his head and skirted around him to leave the front office. Linda trailed behind him, peering back to get a peek at Brian’s ass before the door swung shut behind her.
Once they were gone, Brian looked over at me, his brow still furrowed.
“You okay?” He started walking over. “I heard what he said.”
“What…” I fiddled with my pendant again. “Um, what?”
My mind had gone blank from his mere presence. He was so ridiculously handsome, and he smelled so good, and his big, hard, throbbing cock had been in my mouth just ten minutes ago. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, and frankly, it was unreasonable for anyone to expect me to.
“What he said about this place because you’re an incubus.” Brian stopped on the other side of the desk, shoving his hands into his pockets. His shoulders crept up a little, and that shy, uncertain expression I’d noticed before began to replace the intimidating frown he’d worn in front of Harold.
“Oh. You heard that?” Damn, werewolf hearing was even better than I’d thought.
He nodded. “That was an asshole thing for him to say. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was just—” He blushed, those pale cheeks turning a rosy pink. “I had to get dressed.”
“Oh.” My voice was suddenly a little breathy. I smiled up at him, still playing with my pendant. “That’s okay. Thank you. He’s just… You get people like that all the time here. I’m used to it.”
He’d actually come to my rescue? Oh my fucking Lucifer, I was going to swoon myself into a coma.
I had to text Nat and tell him.
“You shouldn’t have to be used to it.” A frown crept back onto his face, furrowing his dark brows. “I’m sorry people talk to you like that.” Before I could respond, a flush crept up his throat and he rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze. “And I’m… I’m sorry for what I did. When you knocked on my room door. Uh… dropping my towel like that. It was… weird.”
What? No no no, it had been ridiculously hot.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said quickly. “I enjoyed… it. All of it. Did… did you?”
I couldn’t help but ask. He was so hard to read. He’d come like a fountain in my mouth, so I was pretty sure he’d enjoyed it, but he didn’t talk or emote all that much, so some verbal confirmation would’ve been nice.
And I was a greedy bitch. I wanted the praise. All of it.
“Yes.” He nodded rapidly, his voice now a little hoarse and his face turning an even deeper shade of pink. “Yeah, I… I really did. I just—uh, I’m just bad at… talking. Sorry.”
I was already starting to realise that what I’d initially thought was cold indifference was actually intense shyness. Maybe social anxiety. I could see it in his posture now, the way he struggled to maintain eye contact, the stilted sentences.
