Page 11 of Dance With A Devil

And there she is.

My Little Fox.

Eyes red. Cheeks streaked. Lips trembling.

And still the most dangerous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

For a moment, she doesn’t see me. Then her gaze lifts andlocks. The second our eyes meet, something inside me snaps into place, and something else threatens to come unhinged.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps, voice low, rough. Half a growl, half a dare.

It hits me straight in the cock. I actually have to close my eyes for a second, or I’ll fuckingtakeher right here on this goddamn porch.

When I open them again, I see it… She’s unraveling. And I want to help. But first, I want towatch.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping in, pulling her flush against me like I have every right to. My hands move across her waist, hips, ribs, searching for bruises. “Are you hurt?”

She swats at me. “What makes you think something happened?”

“You’re crying.”

“And you’re twitching like you’re ready to bite my throat out.”

I smile. “Because Iknow you,Athens. And you’re not fine.”

She tries to step back.

I grip tighter. “Don’t. You better start talking or-”

“Or what?” Her voice dips low. Taunting. “Gonna punish me, Wyck?”

Her lips part, and I know exactly how that mouth feels when it's moaning my name.

I exhale sharply through my nose, jaw tight. “Not now. But when I do…” I lean in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “You’ll beg for it.”

Her knees actually soften. But just as I’m about to drag her inside and make her forget her name, her voice drops again.

“I don’t want to get into it right now. Can you just… get me out of here?”

I blink. That’s not a command. That’s a plea.

And before I can answer, the front door opens again.

“Athens, baby, don’t leave. Not like this. Not before you hear everything.”

The voice belongs to an older woman, refined, soft-spoken, and somehowinvasive.

I glance between them. Their faces. The resemblance. My eyes narrow.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No.” “Yes.”

They answer in unison. Of course they do.

And then another woman steps out, this one younger, with an aura that screamstrouble wrapped in lipstick.

“Hi, you must be Wyck,” she says, sliding between them like she owns the place. “Now’s not a good time.” She links her arm with mine like she’s earned the right to touch me.