Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(48)

She was the first woman he’d ever brought into his private space. The first to sleep in his bed, and to lure him into sleep right next to her. Never get fully naked. Get out fast. That had always been his usual MO … until her. Things with the sexy witch never went according to plan. It should worry the hell out of him, but the man and demon in him felt too damn good to give a crap.

He polished off the last of his coffee before brewing a second pot so Rose had fresh fuel when she woke up, and then headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. Realizing he’d forgotten his clothes, he turned and nearly collided with a gorgeous—and fully dressed—Rose.

His hand shot out, banding around her waist to prevent her from flying back.

“Sneaking out?” he teased. “Just so you know, the third step on the stairs has a squeak loud enough to be heard at Jones Beach.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

He gestured to the shoes clutched tightly in her hand and the guilty look on her face. “Could’ve fooled me, babe.”

“I heard the shower water running and I thought—”

“You’d make a quick break for it and avoid a Walk of Shame moment.”

“Yes. I mean, no.” She sighed, throwing him a glare. “I’m not ashamed of what happened. We’re two consenting adults who had consensual sex and an underlying agreement without any hidden caveats or small print.”

He leaned against the wall, smirking. “Are we talking about a prenup or the fantastic sex-fest from last night?”

“The sex-fest.”

“If you’re not sneaking out then why are you tiptoeing out of here like you’re making away with my most prized possessions?”

“Because I wanted to avoid the awkwardness of a morning-after conversation. And that’s not the same as a Walk of Shame,” she added sternly. “I didn’t want you feeling as though you owed me morning coffee or breakfast in bed just because we snuggled.”

“Ah. Well, there’s fresh coffee brewing for you right now—to make sure you get your three-cup morning quota—and as for breakfast, help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. I had actually planned to make some omelets or something, but for some reason, I woke up late and the animals aren’t as forgiving about not having breakfast.”

She blinked, studying him with her gorgeous caramel-brown eyes. “You were going to make me breakfast?”

He shrugged, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. “It’s not a big deal. I eat, too … normally. But not this morning because—”

“Animals. Yeah.” She bit the corner of her lip as she reluctantly met his gaze. “So … about last night…”

He waited. “About that…”

She waited.

He waited longer, failing to withhold a knowing grin.

When he made no move to finish his thought, either, she sighed. “You’re making me say it, aren’t you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what the hell is going through your head, but I’d really like to.”

She rolled her eyes, obviously annoyed. “Last night was good.”

He cocked a questioning eyebrow.

“Okay, it was great.” She altered her sentiment. “Mr. Wiggles has nothing on you … the way you moved your mouth when you…” She blushed, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I don’t see why this can’t be a regular, or even a semi-regular thing.”

All words flew right out of Damian’s head because of everything he’d expected her to say, that was at the bottom of the list. “You already want a repeat performance, little witch?”

“We’ve both established that relationships aren’t in our future, right? It’s a logical compromise. You’re more than welcome to troll the city for your next conquest if that’s what you want to do,” she added after his silence, “but I figured I’d offer up a different arrangement.”

“A fuck-buddy arrangement.” He rolled her proposal around in his head, digesting her words. “That’s what you’re suggesting, right?”

“That sounds a little crass.”

He smirked, unable to hide his interest. “You want a sexual relationship and only a sexual one … to call one another in the middle of the night for late-night sex-snacks. That would be a fuck buddy, babe.”

He’d never once considered having that kind of arrangement with anyone.

He pushed off the wall and slowly advanced until she bumped against the closed bathroom door, steam from the now-hot water slipping out through the cracks.

Her gaze flickered from his eyes to his mouth to his eyes, her heart beating so fast he could see its flutter at the base of her throat. “Then that’s what I’m proposing. What do you say? Are you in?”

He should be so out, every one of his internal alarms—the ones that had kept him alive through years of Hunting—blaring like a damn tornado siren in his head.

“I say yes,” Damian heard himself answer, “but with one caveat.”

“Let me guess … no emotions involved? Pretty sure that’s the definition of an FBA.”

“That, too, but I should warn you that shifters aren’t the only Supernaturals who are territorial with their Mates … or their toys.”