Page 21

Chapter 20

It’s a Date, Big Boy

SJ

I returned—forthwith as promised—with a largeish box of donuts, and a satisfied grin plastered across my face. I made no move to hide it. I’d just had an enlightening conversation with my new friend at the donut stall, which had me feeling much more confident about the next task I had planned for Jemma.

My grin only widened when I saw the way her eyes went wild and hungry at the sight of me. Although her expression was most likely directed at the box of donuts.

She was with a customer, so I squeezed past them to the back of her little stall, where she had some form of flimsy-looking metal and fabric chair that I’d watched her unfold from her car earlier.

Her eyes followed me, and it wasn’t until I was seated that she turned the full force of her quirky personality back on the unsuspecting customers. And they melted under her bubbly sweetness.

Something squeezed inside me. Was this the real Jemma, and I was on the receiving end of the snarky version because of who I was … of what I was doing to her?

Or was the version she showed me a deeper layer that she kept from everyone else?

I thought I might do unspeakable things to know the answer to that. Which was, frankly, the stupidest sentiment I had ever entertained.

She’s just a soul. And we have a job to finish with her.

But those spicy girls did warn me not to continue down this path.

Are you truly going to pay heed to a pair of nipple-mouthed dream-women?

“How many did you get?” she demanded. Startled, I blinked from my reverie, finding her standing over me, wrapping her vibrant, yellow thingamajig around her tighter.

“A dozen. Are you cold?” I asked, leaning forwards.

She eyed me for a long moment, blue eyes boring holes in me before she nodded. “It’s suddenly gotten chilly, can’t you feel it?”

I shook my head. “My Lucifer blood is like an internal heating system.”

She tilted her head to the side, regarding me. “Lucifer blood?”

“Yes. Our family name is Lucifer. And hand in hand with the name go the horns and the hot blood.” And the responsibility for Hell, but that was not a subject I wished to discuss with Jemma Bliss.

“Must be nice. I hate the cold,” she remarked, rubbing her arms vigorously.

Before I could think too deeply about the sanity of my actions—or lack thereof—I snatched her hand and tugged her into my lap. Her squeaking protest was cut short when I rested the box, warm from the freshly cooked donuts inside, on her thighs, opening the lid like a peace offering.

“Better?”

She inhaled deeply, letting out a satisfied little moan as she reached in, taking out a donut and biting deep into it. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

“So much better,” she mumbled around her mouthful.

“Excellent. Incidentally, the young chap at the donut stall saw me coming and went about fifty shades of grey.”

Jemma snorted around her mouthful. Her body softened against mine as she took another bite. “Well, let’s not forget that the last time he saw you, you made him practically burst a poofle valve whipping up eighty donuts just so you could …” She twisted, her body suddenly sideways on my lap as she eyed me. “What did you do with all those donuts anyway?”

“I …” I began, but the rest of the words slipped away from me. Her round arse … it fit perfectly against my suddenly very aware nethers.

I was genetically hot-blooded. But having her delicious little body using me like a comfortable chair … I was producing heat like I never had before. A veritable furnace of it.

“SJ … what did you do?” she asked again, accusation tingeing her tone. And something else … was that a hint of … amusement? Did she enjoy me in this distracted, randy state?

“I ate them,” I blurted, shifting surreptitiously under her. But there was no hiding my body’s reaction from her. Her eyebrows lifted, and her twitching dimples told me that she was very much feeling what was going on just underneath her pretty backside.

But she didn’t jump away, didn’t look horrified. No.

The evil little menace wriggled against me.

“You ate all eighty of them?” Another little wriggle.

I bit back a groan. “Well, I did share some with the Hounds, but … yes … close enough.”

Suddenly she was facing me. Straddling me. Her warm thighs pressing against my hips. Her hot … other parts, pressing against my bulge.

For badness’ sake! Was she trying to kill me?

But she seemed oblivious to my agony. She shoved the donut box into my chest. “How?” Her expression was utterly, adorably discombobulated. “Eighty donuts! Well, maybe seventy, if you shared a few … but that’s hardly the point. How could you possibly manage to eat that many?”

“Well,” I began, trying to wrest control of my aching cock back from … from my aching cock. “It takes quite a bit of food to maintain a physique like this.” I flashed what I hoped was a cheeky smile. Would it be enough to spark more of that amusement in her?

Clearly it wasn’t.

She returned my smile with a sneer. “Oh my God! You arrogant … you do realise that if I ate even half that many donuts in a single sitting, not only would I make myself sick, but I’d probably stack on about forty kilos in the process! In the human world, donuts do not equal a body like that …” She waved a hand at my chest, her … feminine parts rocking against me was almost enough to make my eyes roll back in my head.

“You like my body?” My voice was rough, grating. This … thing with her was so intense.

The blush that flooded her cheeks was gratifying. Her climbing off my lap (without relinquishing the box of donuts, I might add) was not.

“What’s my next task?” she asked bluntly, biting viciously into her second donut.

Home’s bones! Why did we have to talk about this, right now? When I had an aching cockstand and she’d just all but confessed that she found my body wildly attractive.

“Come out to dinner with me,” I grunted, crossing my legs to hide my arousal from her.

Her mouth fell open, a half-chewed piece of donut tumbling out and onto the grass. “Huh?”

My smirk was genuine this time. There was something so … rewarding … in shocking her. I stood, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “You heard me perfectly well, Mouse. Will you have dinner with me, two nights hence?”

She stared, frozen. My legs longed to take me closer, but I waited, watching her process what I’d just said. Our eyes locked, and suddenly it felt like a battle of wills, with the winner being whoever could hold that intense stare the longest.

A raucous clatter from the direction of the ferret play pen made me blink first. I cursed the rotten Hell beasts as Jemma hurried over.

“Well, you three are little fiends, aren’t you? Luci, don’t you learn bad habits from these Hellions.”

I followed, still grouchy that I’d been the one to lose our little staring competition, to find that her snowy pelted pet and my two midnight menaces had overturned the little plastic igloo and were all laying in it, side by side, black, white, and black, and appeared to be using it like a rocking cradle.

Beezle and Bub were nuzzling their tiny noses against Luci-Fur’s fuzzy cheeks. I had to admit, it was quite an adorable sight.

“Oh look, they’re both kissing her,” I remarked, sidling as close to her as I could manage to make seem accidental.

“My flipping ferret is living out my why choose fantasies,” Jemma muttered, shaking her head.

“What does that mean?” I asked before thinking twice about it. Jemma’s eyes flicked up to mine, and if anything, the pink on her cheeks was even more pronounced and was spreading to her throat, her chest, her …

“Never mind. This … dinner thing. Is it my next FiendPay task?” her tone was brusque, businesslike, and she straightened, setting the donuts on the corner of the table.

My fingers itched to reach for her. To pull her to me. To do something, anything, to wipe that resigned expression from her face. I’d rather her scowl at me … preferably in conjunction with her using that smart mouth to tear me a new one …

“What if I said it wasn’t …” I hedged.

She raised a brow. “You’re asking me out for dinner, with no ulterior motive … like a date?”

It appeared it was my turn to blush. I cursed inwardly. Devils don’t blush!

“Alright … it is a FiendPay task. Which means you cannot say no.”

“Well, I do so love it when a man coerces me into a dinner date.” Her tone was sarcastic, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that made my stomach flip.

Her hands went to her hips. “Where are you taking me? Is it fancy? Do I need to dress up? It’s … it is a human establishment, isn’t it? Like, you’re not going to drag me to some Hell-hole in the wall where you plan to ply me with demon brew and take advantage of me, is it?’

“Would you like it to be?” I asked wickedly, taking a step closer. “I had made other plans, but I could rearrange them …”

Her eyes widened, her tongue darting out, wetting her lips. “Uh … let’s just hear your original plan first.”

I stepped closer again, flipping the lid on the donuts and taking one out. “I have reservations at a local place … the chef owes my father a favour.” I bit into the donut, because my face twisted at the knowledge of what that favour was, and I didn’t want Jemma to see … to suspect.

I should have given her more credit, clever little thing she was.

“So … old Cheffy’s been suckered into selling his soul too, has he?” She snatched the half-eaten donut from my hands, taking a bite.

“You like to steal my food, do you not?” I remarked. “First that apple in your apartment, and now this?”

What I didn’t voice was how much I liked watching her plump lips wrapped around the same places mine had just been.

Stop thinking about her like that, you stupid, moronic devil!

“Let’s be clear. The apple, and this donut … both actually my food. So, the thief here is you, you giant beast! And stop trying to change the subject! Did you, or did you not, steal the chef’s soul?”

I swore I heard a hissing snicker or two from the direction of the play pen. I scowled. “It was my father, not me … and it was a number of years ago. The chef knew what he was getting himself into. He willingly relinquished ownership in return for a Michelin star.” Whatever that was. I remembered Father laughing about it for weeks afterwards. A soul for a silly star, how inane humans were.

Jemma’s eyes widened. “You’re not talking about Stella, are you?”

I nodded. An expression of longing stole across her face, and my lips curled. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Heard of it? It’s almost impossible to get a reservation there! I know because Joe bragged about it for a solid month when he managed to snag a table three months in advance!”

“And did he take you?” I asked, heaviness settling in the pit of my stomach at the thought.

She frowned, biting into the donut again. “No, he had some client or other of his who needed schmoozing.”

The heavy feeling dissipated, leaving me suddenly lighter than air. “Well, now’s your chance. And, did I mention that I might have … secured the private dining room?”

“Get outta town!” she slapped at my arm, then looked horrified, staring at her palm, flexing her fingers. She cleared her throat. “So …” Her eyes met mine, her lashes fluttering. “I suppose it is a date after all.”

Her lashes … my stomach … everything seemed to be fluttering. I coughed. “Well … a fake one, of course.”

She pursed her lips, but I believed she was doing so to stop herself from smiling too wide at me. She brought the donut to her lips but didn’t eat immediately.

“Oh, it’s a date, big boy.”

What had I just gotten myself into?

* * *

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“I believe, Boss, that it’s called a date … ‘big boy’.”

I wanted to hurl Beezle across my chamber. Instead, I settled for ramming my horns against the wall.

“Aargh! That bloody hurt!” But I deserved it. I needed to knock some sense into myself.

“Aww, Boss, don’t chip your precious horns! They’re so pretty and black and shiny … and the demonesses love to stroke them!” Bub lamented. I scowled at him and rammed them again.

“Why do I feel as if humiliating her on this … this dinner date … is a terrible idea?” I spun and sank into my thinking chair, putting my head in my hands.

“Well,” Beezle began, trotting to my feet and leaning against my shin. “Because it’s supposed to be terrible. You’re the next in line for the Throne of Hell. If you weren’t being terrible, people would start to question your ability to rule …”

I massaged my aching temples. “I have to go through with it, don’t I?”

Beezle gave the Hound equivalent of a shrug while Bub tilted his head to the side. “Unless you wanna go to Daddy and Hellen and tell them that you’re giving up on the trial run of FiendPay because you’re having funny feelings about a human …”

“Fuck. They’re not feelings … they’re just … funny thoughts.” He was right, though. These funny thoughts … they were inappropriate in the extreme. And I only had the one Soul Token, and it was already housing a portion of her soul.

I had to keep going.

I simply had no choice in the matter.