He raised his eyebrow. “Prove I’m a demon?”
“No,” she said. “Prove you’re a pleasure demon. All I see is a guy with tattoos, good bone structure, and a superiority complex.”
He grinned. “And yet you still haven’t kicked me out, or used your lemon-scented justice on me.”
“It’s a Swiffer. And obviously make bad choices around men.”
“You have questions,” he told her, taking a step closer. “And wow, a lot of fantasies.”
Blair opened her mouth, but the breath caught in her throat when he reached out slowly, like approaching a lit fuse, and brushed a fingertip along her cheek.
“I’ll give you proof,” he murmured, his voice silk and smoke. “Let me tell you exactly what you just imagined. That flash fantasy you tried to bury the second it hit you.”
She flushed. “I didn’t.”
“You pictured me,” he interrupted, low and deliberate, “pushingyou up against that wall. One hand is pinning your wrists. The other slips up your thigh. My mouth, right here.” He brushed a knuckle beneath her ear, and her whole body answered like a match to gasoline. “And you thought, finally. Someone who knows how to make you come undone without treating you like just a couple of holes with a pulse.”
Her heart thundered, and her mouth parted. The room felt ten degrees hotter.
“And you’re still wondering,” he continued, his voice a caress, “if this is real, or if your body just knows before your brain does.”
She paced once, then twice; she looked at the door, then at him. He was still shirtless. Still watching her as if she were a miracle and a meal.
Blair didn’t know if she moved first or if he did, but honestly, it didn’t matter, because the next second, their mouths collided. The kiss wasn’t soft or sweet. It was hungry.
The kiss hit her like a shockwave, hot, deep, and terrifying in its intensity, yet thrilling in its sensation.
But then she did what she always did when things got too intense, she pulled back.
“Okay,” Blair gasped, stumbling a step away from him, cheeks flushed and heart pounding. “That, that didn’t happen.”
Ashar tilted his head, that maddening smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, it happened.”
“Nope.” She held up both hands like she could press reality back into place. “I slipped in the shower. I have a concussion. Or a brain bleed. This is a very elaborate coma dream, and you’re just a sexy figment with great tattoos and a stupidly symmetrical face.”
Ashar didn’t move. “You want me to leave?”
“I didn’t say that,” she snapped. Then backpedaled. “I mean, yes. Yes. You’re not real. You’re a demon hallucination brought on by bad sex and expired glitter.”
“You summoned me.”
“By accident!”
“You lit the candle.”
“It was a birthday candle!”
He just waited.
Blair started pacing, mumbling to herself. “This is fine. It’s fine. People have weird stress dreams all the time. Some people dream about flying. Some people dream about showing up to school naked. I dream about getting railed by a demon who could bench press my trauma and still have perfect aftercare, which I don’t even want to know what my therapist would say about that if I had one.”
Ashar raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very specific dream.”
“Don’t analyze me!”
Silence stretched. The fridge hummed. Her pulse thudded in counterpoint.
And still, he stood there. Real as breath. Hungry as I need.
