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“You’re right-handed,” I whisper, and he immediately laughs.
Not wanting to miss that smile that’s curling at his lips, I spin around. He gives me the space I need before leaning into me once more.
“Yeah, Angel. I’m right-handed.” His lips brush my ear. “And I think of you every time I wrap my hand around my cock.”
I gasp, his words hitting me right between my legs.
“Keep that in mind until later, yeah?”
He’s gone before my brain has a chance to catch up with his movements, and I sag against the wall.
He chuckles as he watches me, his erection more than obvious behind his sweats. The sight makes my mouth water. But that’s nothing compared to when he shoves his hand beneath the waistband. His eyelids drop as he squeezes himself, but he doesn’t take it further.
“You’re no fun,” I sulk.
“Angel, I’ll be all kinds of fun once I’ve fed you properly. You’ve got a habit of ruining my meals, and I refuse to let you go hungry. Now, either sit and watch or go and do whatever you were doing.”
“I think I’m good watching. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two in here too.”
“I’ll teach you whatever you want to know.”
I grab the drink I’d first come in here for from the fridge and pull out a chair to watch him at work.
“Your phone is ringing,” I say as he’s plating up our food. Pulling it from my pocket, I find Isla’s resting bitch face staring back at me. “It’s Isla.”
“Decline it. I’ll message her later.”
“Fair enough.” I hit the red button and place it on the table top so he can have it back.
* * *
“That was incredible,” I say, leaning back in my chair and placing my hands on my swollen belly.
The most incredible smile lights up Daemon’s face at my praise. It makes happiness and contentment swell within me.
I should still be mad at him. I guess I am deep down, but it’s easy to forget the reality outside of this house, of this little slice of heaven I’ve found myself in with him.
“More?” he asks, lifting the bottle of wine he put into a cooler between us.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were in some beachfront restaurant. The food was that good, and the view… well, I’d happily look at a contented and relaxed Daemon any day of the week.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Deimos?” I quip.
“Damn right I am. Not that I think it’s necessary to have my wicked way with you.” He winks, and I feel it right in my clit.
“Are you trying to say I’m a whore?”
“No, Angel. I’m just telling you that you’re mine.”
My lips part to respond, but my iPad starts ringing on the chair beside me.
“Shit,” I hiss, reaching for it and finding a FaceTime call from Stella.
“Answer it. Let them know you’re still alive and kicking,” Daemon says, filling my glass.
“But—”
“I’ll go clean up. Be good,” he warns.
