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Sometimes I wish I had just half the confidence that these creepy men wrongfully possess.
As a woman I know there’s a fine line between fending off unwanted attention and provoking aggressive behavior. It’s not fair, but it is what it is.
“My apologies. With how easily you handled Mr. Idiot back there I was expecting you to be more of a macho, pretty-body-empty-brain caveman type. Not, well, not whatever the hell you are. Some sort of goddamn unicorn.”
“Good girl.”
Dead. I’m actually fucking dead. I can literally feel the color leave my cheeks as the blood drains from my face.
These damn alpha cavemen idiots.
“Don’t worry, he won’t bite.” I try to laugh but it comes out as more of a choke. Apparently, Brent has never slept with Vincent, otherwise he’d know that the Devil does indeed bite.
“Who. The fuck. Is John.”
“We’re equal opportunity lovers. Why limit yourself to one set of naughty bits.”
The distressed look on his face suddenly makes so much sense. Only a man would treat a period like it’s a national disaster. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing.
His voice is low and lethal. “You’re right. I don’t know what the hell we are. I don’t know what to call this. But you? You’re mine. You hear that, sweetheart? You’re fucking mine. And I protect what’s mine. So, find a way to deal with it.”
My Devil in Shining Armor.
“Jesus creeping Christ!”
