The Devil You Know (The Grumpy Devils, #3)

by Elizabeth O'Roark

They think it’s a slur when they refer to me as a castrating bitch, but all it says to me is that they’ve finally realized I’m not someone to fuck with. I was someone who was fucked with a lot, once upon a time. It won’t happen again.

“You bring up my dick an awful lot.” His eyes fall to my mouth, and that traitorous devil inside me likes it. “I wonder if that means something.” For a moment I’m picturing him and it—together, obviously—and I’m so winded by the idea it takes a solid two seconds for my mean mouth to make a recovery. “I have always had a soft spot for the small and the weak,” I reply.

I want the world to be a different place for the women who come after me. And the only way to make that happen is to ignore the fact that it isn’t different yet. But I’m so goddamned tired of staying silent just to get the things I deserve.

I hang up, and Ben turns to me. “So who’s the lucky sixty-nine-year-old?” I roll my eyes. “Your dad.” He smirks. “My dad is dead.” “That,” I reply, “would explain why he’s been so pleasantly quiet in bed.”

“You took me by surprise.” “I should have fucked you then, too,” he says, eyes flashing, “just to see how else surprise makes you yield.”

Ben: I flew across the country and drove over an hour, only to see you. I’m heading to my room. #312. The door is unlocked.

“Gemma, I’m doing exactly what I’ve wanted to do for two fucking years.”

“I want to be someone you trust enough to invite home, Gemma. And I’m willing to wait for it.”

I reach for his belt, but he stays my hand. “Invite me over,” he groans against my mouth. “It’s late,” I reply. “We could be undressed in five seconds right here.” His lids close tight for a moment, and when they open, I see resignation there. “You know what I want,” he says, lifting himself off me. “And I’m still going to fucking wait.”

“You want to burn the whole world to ash, just to make sure every path she walks is cleared for her. I know the feeling.”