Arrows and Apologies (Monsters & Muses, #4)

by Sav R. Miller

You can’t save those who don’t see a problem.

The sudden urge to push her against a wall and ruin both of our lives hits me like a brick, and if I weren’t already seated, the force would certainly double me over.

“You’re hardly in a position to be negotiating,” he says, voice thick. “Should I get on my knees then?” His free hand finds the button of my jeans, pushing it through the loop. Hooking a thumb in the waist, he gives a small shake of his head. “I’d much rather be on mine.”

Undeterred, my kneeling stranger moves in. The first lick snatches the soul from my body; it’s a single languid stroke, wet and dirty, and he doesn’t give me time to recover before diving in completely.

He laps lazily, nipping my sensitive flesh. “All night, I’ve imagined how you’d taste, little thief.” Another lick and the flat of his thumb follows. “Imagined what this view would look like. How it’d feel to worship a deviant.” I shudder. “And?” Teeth nick my clit again, causing me to cry out. “Fucking divine.” As he finishes his sentence, his tongue spears inside me.

“Innocent lassies don’t come all over the face of a man they don’t know. They don’t strip bare in an alley and spread their delicious thighs, and they certainly don’t ask the monster to fuck them.”

“And what would you have done if I came inside you? If I pumped your sweet cunt full of my cum? So full that she’d leak for a week, and you’d have to walk around with the reminder of how deliriously good I felt every damn day.”

I’ll figure out what they are. In the meantime, I want to keep her just like this. Flushed and creaming around my fingers. Eventually, I’ll fill her again. Push my cock inside her, drain myself dry so she leaks like a broken faucet.

“You’re right, mate. She’s more than just an assistant, so if I hear you proposition her for sex again, I’ll have you fired and chased out of this fucking town. If she goes home with and rides anyone’s cock tonight—or any other night—it’ll be mine.”

“God doesn’t get on his knees to worship,” I mutter against her, taking her clit between my teeth. “You’re in bed with the devil, m’eudail, and I don’t think he intends on letting you go.”

Maybe that’s what you need for happiness to take root—not for someone to offer it on some silver platter, but for them to provide the soil and space for it to grow.

gray is my favorite color.

If it were possible, I’d crack myself wide open and stuff her inside. Let her live in my veins since she’s pretty much the only thing running through them these days anyway.