I nod and turn around, crouching a little lower to give her access. She uses both hands, and with a light touch, she traces her fingertips down the center of my back, then slowly spreads outward, running along the membrane all the way to the edges, then back again.
I bite back a hiss, forcing myself to remain still even as her soft touch has my heart slamming against my ribs, my nerves on fire.
“They’re so tough,” she says, her tone reverent. “Leathery, almost. But thin. I guess that’s how you can fold them in so easily? And lie on them without damaging them?”
“Mmm-hmm.” It’s all I can manage.
“And the sensitivity probably helps you with flying. Like, you need to be able to detect subtle changes in the wind speed and temperature and stuff, right?”
She’s exactly right, but I can’t respond. Can’t do anything but remain absolutely still and try not to fucking incinerate.
“They feel… so smooth. I like touching them,” she says, her strokes becoming more deliberate, fingers drawing patterns across the membrane, her hot breath ghosting against the back of my neck, the heat of her touch radiating right down to my bones, and I can’t—
“Auggie,” she sighs, her hands sliding up into my hair, fingertips brushing the base of my horns.
In a flash, I spin around and grab her hips, more than ready to devour her. But then I remember why we’re here—research, Codex, curse, demons—and simply lift her up and set her on the countertop.
“Only good waffle is a hot waffle,” I say firmly, as if we both need the reminder. “Don’t let it get cold.”
She nods, letting out a shaky breath, and I can’t help feeling like we both just dodged a bullet.
One I’m still aching to step in front of.
“Also,” I say, trying my damndest to keep it together, “there’s only one right way to eat my hot apple waffles, so I hope you like it, because anything else is blasphemy and I won’t tolerate it.”
She smiles. “I’m trusting you here, but okay.”
I drag a pat of vegan butter across the top, making sure it gets into all the nooks and crannies. The apple compote goes on next, spiced with just a hint of cinnamon, ginger, and cardamom. Then, finally, the maple syrup.
When I set down the syrup bottle, she gasps.
“You… you got merealmaple syrup?”
“Don’t read into it, witchling. Your oh-so-helpful critique the other night made me realize we’d all gotten a bit lazy in our shopping, so I decided to make some upgrades.”
“Excellent choice.”
“I thought so.”
“So, are you going to keep standing here staring at me? Or are you going to let me taste these hot apple waffles you’ve been hyping up for a million years?”
“Oh, it’s not hype. This is the real deal, baby.” I cut her a piece and spear it with a fork, then cup her chin, slowly sliding it into her mouth.
She closes her eyes and chews slowly, a soft moan of appreciation floating to my ears, and I take a moment to look at her again—the soft pink cheeks, the damp hair that’s just starting to frizz, the boxers riding up on her thighs.
The fabric of her hoodie is thin, and judging from the pert nipples poking out against it, she’s not wearing a bra…
For fuck’s sake, this fucking girl and her fucking nipples and moans and—
“More,” she demands. “Goddess, that’s good. More!”
Laughing, I spear another bite and feed it to her, watching in abject fascination as she chews and swallows it, her throat bobbing, a dribble of maple syrup escaping.
“Wait. You’ve got a little…” I swipe my thumb along her lower lip, catching the runaway syrup. But before I draw back, she grabs my wrist, and her eyes flare with something that makes my heart slam against my ribs all over again.
Damn it, this woman. How the fuck she can go from sweet, innocent schoolgirl to red-hot vixen at the drop of a dime is a damn mystery, but my cock isherefor it.
She glances down, noticing the bulge I couldn’t even hide if I wanted to.
