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The demon pretends to mull that over, then pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “It was also a little fun. By the way, I didn’t peek. Barely saw your pert nipples above water.”

Erg! Back to square one.

Wonder opens her mouth to retort, but then Malice’s eyes scrape down her body, the curves trussed up in gauzy cloth and speckled with wet spots.

She becomes hyperaware of the beads licking down her neck, her breasts pumping against the textile, and the flush of her complexion.

This compact aisle reduces her oxygen supply, and his breathing has a new weight to it, the respirations increasing in frequency.

The more his eyes trace her, the more acute the sensation. The more droplets seep into the cloth, the more inflamed his expression becomes.

In hindsight, Wonder could have conjured a replacement for the robe. She hadn’t needed to traverse The Archives naked. If she hadn’t taken leave of her senses, she’d have drawn this conclusion and avoided that look, spared herself its effect.

The tick in his jaw matches the one in her pulse.

Every rough sweep of his gaze tightens her thighs, Wonder’s pussy tensing, the mortal from history nudging to the forefront of her mind.

She has dreamed of him looking at her this way, with the sort of disorderly hunger that makes her want to bite something.

Step closer. Unwind the garment. See if he’s capable of shock like he used to be.

The gilded waves remind her of a mussed bedsheet, which matches the pandemonium crowding his features. Even if she could tap into his emotions, she doesn’t need to. Not when the dark, self-indulgent flavors of wine flood her taste buds, the sensual slide down her throat tainted with lust.

How inconceivable that a moment can be infuriating and stimulating at the same time. How unfathomable that someone can be dear yet damning to her soul.

Without warning, Malice’s desire transforms into something perverse, trampling over her vision of him. He becomes the demon once again and boasts, “Seems my vulgar stunt worked. What a productive morning.”

Wonder huffs. “You’ve made your point, but I’m not going to shower you with flattery.”

“And I’m not about to deny that your prowess doesn’t do it for me.

Matter of fact, I’d say you have more balls than I do.

But Wildflower? I’m not the only one keyed up here, and it’s hardly my problem if your cunt is soaked and your titties are jiggling in my face.

If you don’t want it to happen again, then get your shit together and remember your magic.

Don’t make yourself an open target, and I’m not just talking about myself. ”

“Enough, or I’ll declaw you!”

“In my sleep, no doubt.”

“Think again,” she replies. “We’ve established more than once that I can trounce you while you’re awake, with your eyes wide open. So take my advice and put away your ammunition.”

Determined to have the last word, she whips around. Then she gasps as he grabs the back of the curtain, where it covers her ass, and yanks on the material. The brunt flings Wonder backward, her spine slamming into his torso, his breath pumping against her ear.

The robe drops from her free fingers. Her other hand clings to the curtain even though it’s secure, the demon’s mesh shirt abrading the damp cloth.

Gliding his tongue across his incisors, Malice sketches his lips across the delicate flesh of her lobe. “But I haven’t even whipped out my ammo yet,” he purrs, his breath drizzling across her skin.

It’s not the coarse words. No, it’s his voice that penetrates her, the husky register snaking into the nexus of Wonder’s limbs. Like a deception too late recognized, his gritty timbre slides deeply, an evil probe between the tight lips of her pussy.

No. This physical reaction cannot be genuine. It can’t have anything to do with longing. Because he’s not that human. Not anymore.

Instead, this is something far worse. Frustration and animosity clench her thighs. That, and combativeness.

With a growl of self-preservation, Wonder executes a countermove. In a flash, she flips them around. Malice’s back hits the wall in between two bookcases, a grunt ripping from his chest, which turns into a hiss when she seizes his wrist and rams it into the facade.

Her breasts shove against his pectorals, the contact unintentional but stifling, their chests pumping like engines. She withholds a gale of air, the response straining to break free. Their bodies have never touched like this, the magnitude threatening to release her grip on the curtain.

As it has multiple times before, an inexplicable pressure assaults her flesh. Angry. Thick. Yet another semblance of heat, nothing but a fallacy.

Clamping onto his pinky nail, Wonder exerts pressure, tempted to snap the talon from its root. There had been a time when seeing him hurt would have been unthinkable. Most times, it still is. Just not now.

Ignoring the illusion of heat flooding her veins, she curls her body into him. “Go ahead,” she speaks through her teeth. “Try me.”