of them couldn’t be greater. His worn, weathered flesh, his violent and destructive past, added years to his visage. Three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, together with his kidnapping and torture, and Farida’s murder, had corroded his soul.
He blew out a long sigh. What a cluster fuck—he yearned for the impossible. For even if he decided to ask her to stay with him, what were the odds of her consenting? For Angel had made it absolutely clear that all she wanted from him was monkey sex and fun.
Chapter Ten
Angel knuckled one eye and peered through the wall of hair covering her face trying to get her bearings. She was resting on Satan’s chest, and he lay on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace.
She tilted her head back, swiped her tangled curls to one side, and found him staring down at her.
“You’re a sound sleeper.” He pressed his lips to her brow.
“Not usually. Only with you, it seems. Did you get any rest?” She thumbed the coarse hairs stubbling his jaw. The man had the sexiest five o’clock shadow on the planet. The lines bracketing his eyes hadn’t deepened, and he actually appeared relaxed and refreshed.
“We both conked out. I only woke when I felt you stirring.”
“Oh. I’m so glad you slept, too.” She cupped one hand over the other, rested her chin on her knuckles, and smiled up at him. “Maybe pairing two insomniacs is the cure for not being able to sleep. Heck, we could take a wedge out of Ambien’s market.”
He tickled her nose. “Sure. Like the pharmaceutical lobbyists would allow that one to happen.”
“True. I’m guessing you like lobbyists as much as I do.” The man radiated heat and her chilled toes sought his warmth by tucking under his hard calves.
“They’re fourth on my list of despicable professions.” He danced a finger along her forearm.
“Fourth? What’re one through three?” Why in hell had she forced the issue? She already knew from Jess how much he detested anyone who worked in any form of media.
“Journalists, ambulance chasers, talk show hosts. Crap. What a topic to go off on when I’m holding the most desirable woman on the planet in my arms. We’re not going there. How about we delve into the lamb stew?”
She bent her head to avoid his scrutiny and gather her wits after his sucker punch. Yes, she knew he had no love for any media occupation, but the contempt with which he spat out the three words, talk-show-hosts , startled and upset her a ton.
“Hey.” He nudged her jaw. “Something wrong?”
She yanked her chin up and flashed him her talk show host smile. “I’d almost forgotten about the lamb. I’m ravenous. And so I should be after our marathon sex. I can’t wait to turn the tables on you. I’m going to really, really enjoy making you beg.”
He sat up. “You’ve got a competitive streak there, missy.”
“You bet. I hate losing, but then again, who likes being last?”
He grabbed his phone from the coffee table.
She made to get off his lap, but he snagged her waist, swaddled her in the throw that covered her back, and lurched to his feet carrying her and his cell.
“Really. What’s with all this carrying me everywhere?” She tapped a finger to the hollow of his cheek. All at once she remembered Jess talking about Devil and Bacchanal—the BDSM club where their romance started.
“What’s going on in that ticking brain?” He slid her a side glance.
“Are you a Bacchanal member?” She bit her tongue to stopper the real question she wanted to ask.
“Probably. Why?”
“ Probably ?” She interlaced her fingers to resist the sudden urge to smack him—hard. “You don’t know ?”
“We did the security for Bacchanal and they gave us lifetime benefits. Haven’t been to the club in years. While I enjoy bondage and role playing, the Dom lifestyle’s not for me. Satisfied, missy?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m beginning to dislike the way you latch onto my thoughts.”
“Don’t.
He blew out a long sigh. What a cluster fuck—he yearned for the impossible. For even if he decided to ask her to stay with him, what were the odds of her consenting? For Angel had made it absolutely clear that all she wanted from him was monkey sex and fun.
Chapter Ten
Angel knuckled one eye and peered through the wall of hair covering her face trying to get her bearings. She was resting on Satan’s chest, and he lay on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace.
She tilted her head back, swiped her tangled curls to one side, and found him staring down at her.
“You’re a sound sleeper.” He pressed his lips to her brow.
“Not usually. Only with you, it seems. Did you get any rest?” She thumbed the coarse hairs stubbling his jaw. The man had the sexiest five o’clock shadow on the planet. The lines bracketing his eyes hadn’t deepened, and he actually appeared relaxed and refreshed.
“We both conked out. I only woke when I felt you stirring.”
“Oh. I’m so glad you slept, too.” She cupped one hand over the other, rested her chin on her knuckles, and smiled up at him. “Maybe pairing two insomniacs is the cure for not being able to sleep. Heck, we could take a wedge out of Ambien’s market.”
He tickled her nose. “Sure. Like the pharmaceutical lobbyists would allow that one to happen.”
“True. I’m guessing you like lobbyists as much as I do.” The man radiated heat and her chilled toes sought his warmth by tucking under his hard calves.
“They’re fourth on my list of despicable professions.” He danced a finger along her forearm.
“Fourth? What’re one through three?” Why in hell had she forced the issue? She already knew from Jess how much he detested anyone who worked in any form of media.
“Journalists, ambulance chasers, talk show hosts. Crap. What a topic to go off on when I’m holding the most desirable woman on the planet in my arms. We’re not going there. How about we delve into the lamb stew?”
She bent her head to avoid his scrutiny and gather her wits after his sucker punch. Yes, she knew he had no love for any media occupation, but the contempt with which he spat out the three words, talk-show-hosts , startled and upset her a ton.
“Hey.” He nudged her jaw. “Something wrong?”
She yanked her chin up and flashed him her talk show host smile. “I’d almost forgotten about the lamb. I’m ravenous. And so I should be after our marathon sex. I can’t wait to turn the tables on you. I’m going to really, really enjoy making you beg.”
He sat up. “You’ve got a competitive streak there, missy.”
“You bet. I hate losing, but then again, who likes being last?”
He grabbed his phone from the coffee table.
She made to get off his lap, but he snagged her waist, swaddled her in the throw that covered her back, and lurched to his feet carrying her and his cell.
“Really. What’s with all this carrying me everywhere?” She tapped a finger to the hollow of his cheek. All at once she remembered Jess talking about Devil and Bacchanal—the BDSM club where their romance started.
“What’s going on in that ticking brain?” He slid her a side glance.
“Are you a Bacchanal member?” She bit her tongue to stopper the real question she wanted to ask.
“Probably. Why?”
“ Probably ?” She interlaced her fingers to resist the sudden urge to smack him—hard. “You don’t know ?”
“We did the security for Bacchanal and they gave us lifetime benefits. Haven’t been to the club in years. While I enjoy bondage and role playing, the Dom lifestyle’s not for me. Satisfied, missy?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m beginning to dislike the way you latch onto my thoughts.”
“Don’t.
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