“It’s not an affair! It’s an arrangement.”
“Potato, po-tah-to.”
“Devlin!”
“I’m serious. I willnotbe locked in a drawer like your haunted battery-operated boyfriends. I have feelings, Violet. Real feelings. Also, we’re stuck together. Remember? Where you go, I go.”
I sigh.Shit, I forgot about that part.
One more flash of that devilish grin, and then he’s finally—finally!—stepping back through the doorway. “See you in the morning, darling. I’ll be sure to bring my own balls.”
“Devlin!”
He laughs. Then, eyebrows wriggling, “Balls ofyarn, you brazen harlot!”
Chapter Eighteen
DEVLIN
The shower in Violet’s apartment has become my very own personal torture chamber.
Every time I step inside and catch the faintest whiff of her homemade shampoo, I’m instantly hard for her.
Rockfucking hard.
And that’s the problem. Because on therarestof occasions, sex can lead to attachment. Even for me. And my situation with the tea witch is much too untenable to riskanysort of attachment—especially the emotional sort.
Fuck.
Where in the bleeding fiery lakes is this evencomingfrom? I can’t recall the last time a woman stirred anything in me beyond lust and annoyance. And in recent years, even the lust part has waned, every interaction feeling exactly the same as the last, a countdown to some final end that never, ever arrives.
Yet here comes this witch,stirring.
This may be shocking to hear—it’s shocking to admit, even to myself—but I’ve not had so much as a single wank since Violet and I crossed paths. Oh, I’ve thought about it, for sure. Came pretty damn close on more than one or two (hundred) occasions.
But something always holds me back.
Because for as many mistakes as I’ve made—and trust me, listing them would fill an entire library—I do know this:
As long as Violet is on my mind,anyform of sex—even sex of the lone-wolf nature—is too dangerous. Comes too damn close to triggering those pesky attachment issues, and then where the fuck will I be? Fast-forward a month. Violet, tea shop bustling, heart’s desire unlocked, everything set to rights. Me, alone in my study, hiding out from our party guests, longing for things that were never mine to want in the first place.
Or worse. Me, cursed to a mortal life because I couldn’t meet my father’s demands. Cursed to die, like everyone else, with nothing but a cracked heart stuffed full of anger. Full of regret.
So. Celibate I’ve remained. Self-control I’ve mastered.
But fuckingHell. Tonight, after what I just witnessed in her bedroom?
Call me weak, call me a fool. But I can’t hold back another moment.
The poor, sweet little witch. Mortified doesn’t evenbeginto describe it. The crimson color of her cheeks set off her bright blue eyes in a way that will haunt me for eternity—a moment frozen in time to revisit again and again, long after I return to Los Angeles. To Hell, if I ever make it back there.
By sheer force of will and all the Hell magic I could muster, I kept from ravaging her tonight. But there’s no way I can sleep like this. Fuck, I can barely remember my own name.
Everything in me aches as I wish her goodnight and close her bedroom door behind me, my cock pressing so urgently against my silk pajamas I’m certain they’ll tear. It’s a wonder I can even make it to the bath, but somehow I do. Lock the fucking door and turn on the water, full steam ahead.
Stripping bare and stepping in behind the glass door, I get that first heady whiff of the shampoo, like lemons and coconuts and sunshine, deadly fucking combo, and my fist is already wrapped tight around my stone-hard cock, imagining her on her knees for me, the feel of her soft mouth taking me in, my fingers tightening in those wild curls as she licks and teases and sucks…
Mmm…it’s almost too much to imagine. Too fucking indulgent, but I’m in too deep to turn back now.
