Page 22 of Demon with Benefits (Hell Bent #3)

Their gazes met. His smile faded away, but not because the moment was tarnished.

The opposite. It turned... intimate. Heated, because things always turned heated between them the second either of them initiated anything.

A single touch. A long look. Even a bloody compliment. Their chemistry was off the charts.

If she’d thought their little friends-with-benefits arrangement would get him out of her system, she’d been wrong. Very wrong. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted him. The more she couldn’t stop staring at him, touching him, making him laugh, making him come.

He was an addiction just like the fucking cigarettes. Another vice to add to the list.

God, he was so pretty, though. She’d never seen a smile like his before.

It pissed her off—what did he have to be so damned happy about all the time?

—but she couldn’t get enough of it. She was glad he smiled so much, because she had a sinking feeling she would do stupid things to make that little grin appear.

Luckily, it appeared all on its own with little prompting.

She retracted her hand.

Their gazes continued to hold, and the air felt charged. The corner of his mouth quirked, and she wondered what he was thinking.

She stared into his demonic red eyes and wished she could crack open his head and peer inside.

He played his role well—insouciant, lacking perception and maybe a little intelligence—but she had learned he was plenty sharp.

She’d figured out he had a healthy dose of cunning and ruthlessness hidden under all those layers, and she desperately wanted to see it.

It came out sometimes when they had sex, and it felt like he was punishing her for something.

Sometimes she wanted to be punished. She had discovered that with him, her boundaries extended far beyond what she’d ever thought possible.

Sometimes it felt like he wanted to fuck her into submission, until she was cowering and begging at his feet.

And... she wanted to cower and beg. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t sure she was ready to give up that much control, yet it kept happening whether she was ready for it or not.

But right now, the look in his eyes wasn’t heated or dark. It was something else. It looked like he was trying to crack her head open too. It brought her some measure of comfort to know she was as much a mystery to him as he was to her.

“Iris...” His voice was quiet. Soft? He usually only used her name when he was serious. So, rarely. Otherwise he chose from an extensive list of increasingly ridiculous pet names that she pretended to hate.

“What?” Her voice came out a whisper. She was holding her breath, though she had no idea why. Like she was waiting for something, something she needed to hear.

Something that terrified her. Something she wasn’t ready for.

“I—”

And then he blinked. The something was gone without a trace, and they both slumped back into their chairs as though relieved.

He flashed that ridiculous, gorgeous, infuriating grin. “I wanna go inside and fuck on your couch.”

She blinked too, taken aback by the sudden return to normalcy. “Why the couch?”

“We haven’t fucked there yet.”

“Yeah, we have. Remember when we ordered sushi, and you refused to put clothes on, even though eating naked is gross?”

“Eating naked is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

“It’s gross.”

“You’re naked under your clothes every single time you eat.”

“That’s the point of clothes. To cover nakedness. That makes no sense.”

“I’m just saying, if you’re grossed out by the idea of your genitals being near food, they—”

“They’re covered . By clothing. That’s exactly my point. And don’t call them genitals. That word gives me the creeps.”

“Genitals.” He smirked when she grimaced. “And agree to disagree.”

“It’s gross.”

“Didn’t stop you from doing it.”

“It was still gross.”

“You jumped me like a horny little lioness afterward. I don’t think you found it that gross.”

Her face flushed. It wasn’t her fault he was so irresistible, all covered in tattoos and piercings and built with muscle as he was. What was she supposed to do? Did he really expect her to sit there unaffected while he flaunted his naked body, even if he had been eating?

“So you remember then,” she said. “We’ve already christened the couch.”

“You’re right.” He stroked his chin. “The floor in the living room, then. On the rug.” He smirked. “Doggy style. I’ll eat you out first from behind—I know you love that.”

She made a face to hide the full-body heatwave his suggestion elicited. “I’ll get rug burn.”

“And you’ll beg for it.”

She scoffed and stood. “I’m going inside.”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “Go get naked and kneel on the rug, baby. I’ll be right behind you.” His grin was ferocious. “Pun intended.”

“You’re a pig. And you should be arrested for that terrible joke and locked away forever.”

He laughed, and it sent a shiver through her.

“We’re not fucking on the rug,” she said, pulling open the door to the warmth of her kitchen, “so get that idea out of your head right now.”

He shoved his hands into his knees and stood, following her inside, once again showing no signs of being cold despite the fact that he wore nothing but an oversized hoodie. “I always get my way,” he purred in her ear, closing the door behind him.

She scoffed as if that was the most ridiculous notion she’d ever heard.

But as she pulled her parka off and flung it over the back of the kitchen chair, she was already working out how to end up naked on the rug without him realizing he had, in fact, gotten his way.

She couldn’t give in too easily or he’d become intolerably smug.

“I know you’re already planning how to give me what I want without making it look like you’re giving me what I want.”

She spun around to glare at him, secretly panicking a little at how easily he read her.

His brow quirked. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re an open book, doll.”

“I am not!” She was not. She was stoic. She was mysterious. She was an enigma. She went to great lengths to exude a cold and unapproachable aura, and she did not appreciate the insinuation that she was some sort of guileless, transparent simpleton.

He laughed in the face of her indignation, because of course he did. “You are. Your eyes are way too expressive. I can always tell what you’re thinking.”

She frowned at him, ire suddenly forgotten. Antoine had always told her the exact opposite. You’re impossible, Iris. How was I supposed to know you were upset? You never show any emotion, and you never say what you’re actually thinking. It’s like trying to communicate with a block of ice.

While outwardly, she’d pretended to enjoy being perceived as an impenetrable ice queen, a secret part of her had been disappointed. Hurt, even.

She wanted to be understood. She wanted so badly to reach out to someone, but her trust (and other) issues made it so she wasn’t willing to do so unless she knew without a doubt that the other person was already reaching toward her in return.

Antoine hadn’t cared enough to reach. He’d never cared about anyone except himself and his giant, unmerited ego. Meph, well, she wasn’t sure she knew him well enough yet, but time would tell if—

With a start, she stifled the thought. This thing with Meph was a physical arrangement only. There was no reaching out to each other. There was no forming bonds or exposing vulnerabilities. That was the entire reason she had begun this sordid affair in the first place.

FYI, I’m not like Ash or Mist. I’m not looking for a human woman to solve my problems and heal my wounded soul.

She hadn’t forgotten those sneered words for a second. His grimace when she’d asked about relationships had made it perfectly clear that the idea repulsed him.

Which was good. This was what she wanted. This was safe. She needed to focus on fixing her own shit before she even thought about another commitment, and when the time came for that, well, a half-reformed demon from Hell was the last person she should consider for the role of significant other.

Or maybe she’d just stay single forever. A spinster witch cat lady. Cat-and-hellhound lady, rather. Because who could forget she was now the proud parent of a dog that would grow to the size of a small horse?

The thought of Faust gave her the excuse she’d been looking for to migrate to the living room. It had nothing to do with Meph’s plans for carpet debauchery, of course. She simply needed to ensure her puppy wasn’t eating her new couch cushions.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, depending on her current level of denial—said hellhound was in the living room where she’d left him, fast asleep on said rug, which made plans for said debauchery slightly awkward. He was still a pup; she didn’t want to traumatize him prematurely.

Iris dropped onto the couch with a sigh, resisting the urge to pet the hound’s soft fur.

Or better yet, scoop him up and squeeze him until he wriggled to escape her crushing grasp.

What was it with the urge to crush cute things?

It was vaguely alarming the way she had to restrain herself from tightening her grip on his adorably soft, squishy little body that she just wanted to hug so hard —

She shook herself, focusing instead on the noises in the kitchen. Meph had lingered behind, banging around the fridge and cupboards, and he appeared a moment later with two glasses of wine, of all things. It wasn’t their usual beverage of choice.

She cocked an eyebrow when he held one out for her. “Wine?”

He wasn’t the wine-and-dine type. He never tried to woo her. He just showed up, shagged her within an inch of her life, overstayed his welcome just enough to annoy her, and then made up for it by giving her consecutive orgasms and filling her freezer with ice cream.