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I’d stay quiet until I had melted into a puddle of sweat, or the pain was bad enough to make me feel like I’d been stabbed. Not because I was a martyr. Because I was a stubborn bitch, and I wasn’t about to throw myself into August’s arms.
If I jumped into his arms, I wouldn’t want to leave until heat was over.
And I was not going to prison because I couldn’t resist sleeping with some gorgeous supernatural guy.
The pain was survivable.
It would have to be.
He continued cleaning the couch, then disappeared into one of the rooms.
“I don’t want all-purpose spray on my bedding!” I called over my shoulder. “I’ll throw it in the wash if it smells bad!”
“Alright.”
A few minutes later, I heard the washer door open.
I’d forgotten to switch the laundry.
Whoops.
“I’ll switch it,” I added.
“I’m already doing it.”
A minute later, I heard the dryer start. The washer followed.
When he made it back into the kitchen, I apologized quickly.
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to clean up after me. I should’ve set a timer.”
He flashed me an irritated look. “I’m the reason you’re stuck here, Fireball. I can handle a few chores.”
Well, then.
He wasn’t wrong.
“A thank you is better than an apology most of the time,” August said, pulling the oven door open to check on the food.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The food must not have been done, because he headed back into the bedrooms to start disinfecting things again.
I worked a bit more, but he came back after ten minutes or so.
“Is your sense of smell really good enough to bother wiping down the fabric couch?” I asked him, more curious than anything else.
“Not usually.”
I waited for him to clarify, but he didn’t.
He hadn’t responded poorly to me pushing or asking questions yet, so I figured it was worth a shot.
“What does that mean?”
“My sense of smell is only slightly better than a human’s most of the time. Mating is the only thing that changes it.”
“How does it change?”
