The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(60)

Still I couldn’t get enough.

It had been a while since I’d orgasmed from men I’d slept with. Those college guys with their misguided mood music and fumbling chivalrous “No, you come first” that became an obligation I faked my way out of. Mild levels of happy tingle generally constituted a win for me. But here? In this park, with this arrogant boy and his waves of unbridled hostility?

I bucked violently, coming harder than I ever had. Shattering and uncertain that I’d ever be put back together properly again.

The irony? His stunned look and the fierceness of his convulsion made me think he’d experienced the same thing.

The girl with the lightning eyes and the boy with demons in his soul.

Shivers burst across my skin like a mirror shuddering into a thousand pieces. Everything went dark and silent and then the hum of the city rushed back into stereo surround, snapping the bubble of us. Just as I realized I’d fallen against him, one of his arms holding me up and holding me close like the gentlest band of steel, he pulled out. I almost pitched forward at the lack of contact.

Rohan stepped away to strip off the condom and tuck himself back into his pants. He was mere feet away but might as well have been miles.

I tugged down my dress with a wriggle, stuffing the remnants of my underwear into the trash, and struggling to understand how something so tawdry felt anything but.

Disoriented, fluttery, I didn’t know if my dizziness stemmed from euphoria or something else I couldn’t name. I pinched my cheeks, grateful for the biting pain.

We straightened out our clothes, both so careful not to look at each other. Generally, I was a pro at the après. At bantery fun time that took any weirdness out of the situation and made it clear that I had no expectations. But this? This was awkward beyond all salvaging.

I tried to take a deep breath but I swear my lungs had filled with cold water and it came out as a stuttery hitch. In theory I’d just experienced my dream encounter. So how come I wanted to puke?

“Let’s get you home,” Rohan said in a flat voice.

Mercifully, I flagged down a taxi as soon as we left the park. The driver didn’t even look up when we got into the back seat which was good, since he may have refused us entry had he seen our damp, demon gunkified selves. Apparently reeking of sex didn’t matter.

There was no talking on the ride back. I kept sneaking glances over at Rohan but he stared straight ahead into the darkness of the backseat, the occasional slither of passing streetlight over his face letting me know that he wasn’t any happier.

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, my dress drying from soaked through to a more-disgusting clamminess.

No sooner had the taxi pulled up to my front curb than I shoved some money at the driver and bolted inside the house. Thankfully, my family was asleep and I was spared questions and more screaming at the sight of me. I pressed a hand to my cheeks, feeling their warm flush. Probably coming down with a fever. I had to get out of my wet clothes but first I made myself some Neo Citran–perfect for cold symptoms and knocking me out so I couldn’t lay there thinking all night.

By the time I got out of my shower, the warm lemony liquid was already kicking in, leaving me groggy. Grateful for the miracles of modern over-the-counter medicine, I crashed. Hard.





16





I woke up Friday morning to the hangover god smashing me in the head with his evil hammer. Groaning, I pressed a hand to my temple, regretting the last four shots.

Wishing I regretted the entire evening.

My mouth tasted of dirt. I scraped my tongue with my teeth but to no avail. That particular flavor was gonna require hella mouthwash to kill.

Ari rapped on my door. “Want some help packing?”

I closed my eyes briefly. Moving day. “Yeah. Give me ten minutes, okay?”

“I’ll grab containers,” he said, his footfalls getting fainter.

I flung off the covers and stumbled into the bathroom for my morning pee. Awesome. My period had arrived and it was so heavy my vag looked like a CSI outtake. The brutal squeezing cramps along my thighs were no great delight either.

Forget looking pretty. Today’s fashion highlight? Another pair of black sweats and a faded red Harry Potter tee with “I solemnly swear I am up to no good” spelled out in spiky black letters.

Bedding got stripped and hauled down to the washing machine. I wanted my own sheets with me at Demon Clubhouse.

I popped a couple of much-needed Midol, knowing I’d be fine in twenty minutes when they kicked in. Too bad Rohan found me fifteen minutes later, still in pain and taking a stitch ripper to my bras to savagely yank out all the metal underwire. “Not one word,” I said, as I pitched another lacy number into a large Rubbermaid container.

“I’m just the help,” he said. “What do you want packed up first?”

I exhaled. There’d be no rehashing of last night. Cuntessa shot me the metaphorical finger at the fact that there would probably be no round two either.

“I only need my clothes and my laptop.” Between it and my phone I’d have my music, and digital copies of any books and photos I cared about. Damn it. My phone had been confiscated while they waited for my new encrypted model, with my laptop to follow today.

Rohan hesitated. “You’re sure that’s all you want? Who knows how long you’ll be living there.”