Page 83 of Demon Food

I scrunched my face as he continued to paw it.

“Nice demon boy.”

This fucking human. He couldn’t convince me there wasn’t a part of him that sort of liked playing with fire.

He startled awake when I gripped his hip bone, tugging his ass against my cock while I pressed my lips against his ear.

“I need to smoke,” I said. “And you need to get this perfect ass off me before I lose my whole goddamn mind.”

He jolted away, swiveling around to blink at me. His eyelashes were a tangled mess, and his hair was pure chaos, the white streak half-sticking straight up and half-spilling over his forehead.

But he looked exactly like a ruffled fox.

I grinned sweetly. “Good morning, my love.”

“What the—?” It was like his brain was trying to ask questions his tongue wasn’t prepared for as he glanced down at my raging hard-on. “Oh, gods.”

Oh, gods, indeed. “And what of the gods, darling? Think they’d approve?”

He blinked hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Approve?”

“Of you testing fate like this. Sleeping with your enemy. Nestling your sweet ass against him. Having the audacity to smell like a cinnamon scone the whole time.”

“They can’t disapprove if they don’t exist in the first place. Look at me.” He gripped my jaw, twisting my face toward the light. “Are you red?”

The way my tongue crept from my mouth to try to taste his fingers—I could not be held responsible.

“Stop that,” he said, wriggling his hand away as I licked it like the animal I was. “Only a little red. You don’t need to smoke yet—I said, stop it, Alek.”

I chuckled as he lightly smacked my cheek, gripping my jaw once more, centering his gaze on mine.

He nodded once, then declared, “You can wait.”

My stomach clenched when he pulled away, ripping the covers back to swing his legs off the bed. “Yes, but I don’t want to wait.”

“We all have to do things we don’t want to do, Alek.” He stretched as he rose from the bed. “It’s not perilous yet. You need to save them.”

I parted my lips to speak, but nothing came as he jogged toward the washroom. Was this what it was like having a human? They just made unilateral decisions for everyone involved?

“You don’t understand,” I groaned when he disappeared from sight, dramatically flopping onto the bed. “It’s torture, human.”

His voice called from the washroom, “Well, what would make it less torturous?”

I had to blink hard when the stream of urine hit the toilet. Lords, I’d seen that cock. It was pretty and proportionate to his lean frame, and I wanted it in my mouth. “Well, it sure as fuck isn’t that.”

“What?” he asked, shaking his cock, and I could hear that, too. Was he not aware of my acute hearing? “My peeing turns you on?”

“Everything you do turns me on,” I said to the ceiling as he washed his hands. “The way you smile at me. The way you glare. The way you stab.”

“You act as if I’ve stabbed you more than once⁠—”

“The way you smell. The shape of your mouth. When you prance around here, wearing my clothes like you’re doing now.”

He emerged from the washroom to squint at me, drying his hands on a towel. “Prance? I don’t prance.”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Walking. I walk from one point to another. I have never pranced in my life.”