Page 4 of Deviled Eggs (One Handed Holidays: Crossed Swords Edition #4)

Xalreth

It takes longer than I expect for Micah to reach out, and his request for a meeting is brief and absurdly formal. I can almost see him sneering as he wrote it, his pinkie stuck out like some sort of Heavenly prince. It seems three days was his limit.

Three days that I spent chaffing my own dick, jerking myself every chance I can find a few free minutes. Three days of fucking my fist until my balls ache from the strain.

Three days of trying to purge him from my system.

Fuck him and his pompous, pretentious ways. Fuck his arrogance and his holier-than-thou attitude. I don’t need it.

He wants to pretend he didn’t melt at the opportunity to get on his knees for me. That’s fine. If he wants to live in his world of denial, then I’ll make damn sure it doesn’t happen again.

But if he thinks I’m going to run away and hide just because he’s uncomfortable with his little sub awakening, he has another thing coming. Head high, I strut into the meeting room to find Micah standing at his podium, shirt off and pants so tight they might as well be painted on.

My cock gives an excited twitch and I growl to myself, drawing his attention. His eyes hold their same level of stoniness, not a sign of anything else. No excitement, or regret, or even embarrassment that I saw him at his most vulnerable.

Nothing .

Anger makes a mad dash through my veins, but I force myself into a similar state of indifference. “Please tell me you will not be standing up there lecturing me. I thought this was a discussion, not a sermon.”

“All my notes are up here,” he argues, and I snort a laugh.

“Keep your high ground then, buddy. I hope the advantage up there gives you what you need.”

His lip twitches as he glares at me, and I love that I’ve made him so unsure. After a long stretch of silence, he gathers his papers in a flurry of movement before carrying them over and slamming them down in front of me. A loud crack rings out as his hand slams onto the messy stack, and the impact vibrates through the table. I raise my eyes to his with a bored arch of my brow as he leans in, his teeth bared.

“Happy?”

“Very happy, thank you,” I say sweetly. “It’s so nice of you to bring yourself down to my level. That must’ve been terribly hard for you, being as important as you are.” I flash my own razor-sharp smile at him. His cheeks flush as the muscle in his jaw ticks, growing even more furious at my lack of reaction. I drop into my seat and lean back, crossing my arms as I nod at the papers. “What’s all this?”

“Research.”

“Thank you so much for that enlightening information,” I mutter, taking the stack of papers and jogging them until they’re in a neat pile. “Have you figured out why the humans even invented such a bizarre character? Because we aren’t debating that, right? We’re admitting this is weird as hell?”

He’s cautious as he takes a seat opposite me, wary as though I might attack him at any moment. “From what I can tell, it holds a similar purpose as The Santa, and encourages children to behave for a reward.”

My brows furrow as I gesture at the sketch of a basket full of colorful eggs. “That’s the secret to curing human’s tendencies for bad behavior? Giving the children eggs?”

“Apparently,” Micah murmurs, and when I glance up, he’s chewing on his pen, sliding it between his lips as he concentrates. Momentarily distracted, I watch the tip of his tongue flick over the pen, then he freezes as his gaze snaps up and my eyes move to his. “Is there a problem?”

“Of course not,” I answer with a smile, returning my focus to the paperwork. Determined to stay on task, I gesture towards a series of notes he’s written in his precise, flourished handwriting. “What is this list?”

“Variations of your uniform. We need to do some test runs to see which one has the best response.”

“Excuse me, what? Uniform?” My eyes snap back up to his as he arches that brow again.

“Yes? If you are going to become The Easter Bunny, we cannot have you prancing around looking like this , can we?” He gestures at me, and my composure slips as my lip pulls up in a snarl.

“We’ve returned to this, then? Schoolyard insults of my appearance?”

He scoffs, and his fingers squeeze into a fist as his chest rises and falls in a long, controlled breath. “That is not what I am doing. It’s a simple fact that if the humans expect a rabbit , I cannot throw a demon at them and believe it will be enough.”

Logic tells me he’s right, but a stubborn part of me wants to keep fighting. Wants to provoke him once more and watch as his cheeks redden—rile him up until a flustered softness overcomes him. I fight the urge for the sake of my sanity, though, and only offer him a snarky smile. “And you believe you’re the most qualified to style me?”

“Of course.”

I hum a contrite, unconvinced sound. “If you say so.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” I hold my hands up with my palms facing him. He glares for a long time, and I wait until he nods and looks away to say, “It’s just that… fashion advice from a man that slathers himself in oil before he leaves home? Not what I’d call the best choice, but what do I know?”

That spark of electricity behind his eyes flashes for a moment as his lips pull into an irritated sneer. “I do not slather myself in anything.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Oh, on the contrary, Micah, ” I say as a victorious smile spreads across my mouth. “ You slathered yourself in front of me just days ago. I have vivid memories of it.” He takes a long, shaky inhale before pushing it out of his nose, and excitement burns in my gut as I brace myself for the fight.

But he returns his attention to the papers on the table. “I’ve chosen a few options we can test. Once we see how the humans react to them, we can make better decisions.”

Wait…

That’s it ?

That’s all I get?

Where’s the snapping temper and screaming match? The crawling across the table and trying to choke me before I pin him to the ground? The fucking sweet, delirious moans as I dry-hump his ass until he begs me to come all over his back?

As I’m fuming in confused horniness, he glances up with that condescendingly sharp eyebrow. “Did you need something?”

“Nothing at all,” I insist, and I don’t miss the way he smirks as I fume at the table, acting as if he doesn’t exist. The longer we sit here in silence, the more uncomfortable it gets. Neither of us is willing to break this stalemate, and instead we’re both pretending to be busy even though I finished reading his notes minutes ago.

The longest sections of text discuss the origins of Easter—which, might I add, are remarkably incorrect. This whole ‘He is Risen’ thing got taken entirely too far when Jesus crawled his way out of a three-day bender.

It’s like the old game of telephone, and a perfect example of how gossip gets twisted as it spreads from one person to the next. An innocent comment about how you’ve been dead to the world all weekend suddenly turns into a resurrection. That cluster of groupies that always chased him around caught wind of it, and they repeated everything he’d ever said as gospel.

How it spiraled into something involving giant rabbits and chicken eggs is beyond me.

“How much time have you spent with humans?” Micah finally asks, and I silently celebrate the fact that he cracked first. I glance up to find his eyes darting across the papers. It doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s faking, though. I’ve already read everything twice, and he wrote the fucking things. He doesn’t need to read them again—he just refuses to admit his attention is on me instead of the notes.

“I haven’t spent much time with humanity aside from the tortured souls in Hell.”

His eyes flick up to mine for a brief second, and I swear a slight pink hue builds on his cheekbones. “Tortured souls? Do you get off on making them suffer? Tying them up and prodding at them when you’re bored?”

I scoff, and he looks at me again. “Way to show your judgmental side, asshole. If you must know, I’m only ever around the souls for administrative purposes. Someone has to ensure everyone’s accounted for and that their identification is up to date. There’s a lot more to Hell than eternal damnation, but I’m pretty sure you already know that.” He nods as he stares at the papers once more, trying to appear disinterested when his original question registers in my mind. “You are awfully curious about my ability to tie a good knot, Micah.”

“Just making conversation.” He doesn’t bother looking up, and I grin as I scoot my chair closer until my knee bumps his.

“Thinking about me tying you up? Are you wondering how it would feel to be open and exposed to me with no means to fight back?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, but he squirms in his seat. If he were to stand up right now, there’s no doubt in my mind that his thick cock would be perfectly outlined in those ridiculously tight pants.

“God, what a pretty fucking picture it paints. Do you want to know how I’d do it?”

“No.” He shifts again, and I’m dying to see what he’s hiding from me. Desperate to drop to my knees and crawl to him under the table… lick the pre-cum from his pants. But that’s not what needs to happen.

If anyone is going to be on their knees, it’ll be him.

“Sure about that?” I slip my shoe off and drag my foot along the inside of his calf. His eyes go wide as his entire body jolts, his guard dropping as he fumbles and sends his notes raining down in a chaotic spread of papers.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Who, me?” I ask, maintaining an air of innocence as I inch higher, and he scowls even as he spreads his knees. A shaky breath pushes from his nose as I rest my foot over his crotch and tease. His hips jerk as he whimpers, just like I knew he would.

“You’re awfully hard for someone who claims to be repulsed by the thought of being tied up,” I say conversationally as I rub along his cock. “I think you want to be bound and helpless, don’t you?”

“No,” he grits out, even as his eyes close and lips separate, his face tilting towards the ceiling.

“You are dying to be at my mercy, with all your precious control taken away. Ropeburn on your wrists and fire in your veins as you fought, but you’d love every fucking second of it, wouldn’t you? I know I would. The thought of dark leather against that pale skin… you would be so pretty. You’d be a goddamned work of art.” I rub my foot against him harder, and he grips the ends of the table as he gives a rough thrust forward.

“Would you be my muse, Micah?” His head jerks in a nod, like he’s fighting himself not to do it. “Do you want to be my good boy again?”

The moan that slips free is loud and unrestrained as one of his hands falls to my foot, holding it in place as his hips roll faster. “Tell me your safe word.”

His eyes snap open, some of the haze clearing. “Wha-what?”

“If this is going to happen the way you want it to happen,” I give him a pointed glance as his cheeks flush deeper, “there have to be ground rules. I would never be so careless as to take away your control without giving you a way to reclaim it. What’s your safe word?”

He stays quiet as his mind spins, and I start to pull my foot back. He releases a pitiful whine and grabs my ankle, and I raise a brow as I glare. “If you can't find the courage to have this conversation with me, then we aren’t doing this.”

The uncertainty vanishes from his eyes as that fire ignites behind them. “Do not speak to me in that condescending way.”

“No? You only want me to tell you how pathetic you are when we’re fucking?”

“How dare you—”

A harsh, annoyed scoff rips from my throat as I shove backwards. My ankle burns as I wrench it free from his grasp, and I stand and lean over the table. “See something you like, Micah?” I ask as his eyes fall on my cock then slowly rise to mine. “Let’s get one thing straight. In your world, you might be a bigwig, important Archangel, but in mine? You’re just a shiny whore who’s desperate to be used. Admit it… you want to spend so much time on your knees that they’re red and calloused.”

His nostrils flare as his pupils dilate, and I can’t tell if it’s from anger or arousal.

Probably both.

“You fantasize about it, don't you? Having a scratchy throat when you call your next big meeting because I’ve fucked it raw.” My fingers circle his neck and he lifts his chin, giving me room. “You want to wear a collar around this gorgeous fucking neck so I can leash you whenever I want. Use you in any way I desire.”

My hand drifts lower, fingertips grazing his chest before I pinch at his nipple and draw a hiss from between his lips. “You’re desperate to be marked, aren’t you? Painted in my cum, inside and out. Covered in bruises and bite marks from where you’ve allowed me free use of your body. Fight it until you’re blue in the face, Micah, but you want to submit.”

He remains stubbornly silent, his eyes blazing with defiance. Looks like it’s going to be a few more days of beating off like a teenager who just figured out how his dick works, after all.

“Alright then.” I force calm into my voice as I sink into the chair again, and he’s surprised as he watches me. Guarded. “Let’s review these notes so I can go home.”

“But—” Micah starts, and my eyes dart up to his, daring him to argue as he trails off.

“Oh, trust me, I’m listening. Do you have anything to add to this conversation?”

Conflict brews on his face as his eyes dart between mine, his lips slightly parted, until he seems to deflate with a sigh and shakes his head. His uncertainty causes a flicker of something uncomfortable in the pit of my stomach—something that feels an awful lot like regret.

Until he opens his mouth again, and then all I feel is annoyance.