The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(66)

“Sure. But I fully support rudeness.”

I reach down to his jeans and undo his belt, untuck his shirt. There’s something about the sight of him like that—dressed, zipper beneath my fingers slowly sliding down, that I find irresistible. “Drew,” he says, a warning in his voice, “fuck. Don’t. Not if someone’s coming in here in a minute. I don’t have a condom anyway.”

I slide to my knees, dragging the jeans down with the boxers beneath them. His erection springs up, swollen and lovely, begging for my mouth.

Which I provide.

“Oh Jesus,” he says. I look up to see his head fall backward as if it pains him, but only a moment later he’s opening his eyes again to watch. Dark, drugged eyes at half-mast, mouth slightly ajar, watching as I lathe his cock from top to bottom, before dragging it into my mouth, letting suction do the work.

I’m so wet my panties stick to my skin. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next hour aching like this.

His eyes start to fall closed. His head sways back as if he’s drunk. “Drew. God. I’m gonna come.”

My fingers sink into his hips to hold him in place and with a gasp he lets go. His body sags against the door with a groan he can’t stifle, his thighs trembling. I rise to my feet, wiping the corners of my mouth like the classy little lady I am.

“I feel like I got the better end of this deal,” he says with a shaky laugh.

I take his hand and pull it between my legs, beneath my panties, so he can feel what it did to me. “You did get me the brioche. But you’ll be making it up to me, I promise.”

That drugged look is in his eyes again already. He pushes my panties to the side, spears me with his longest finger, pressing it to exactly the right spot.

“Oh,” I whisper.

“I can probably make it up to you right now,” he says, dropping to his knees, pushing my legs apart. He looks up at me from the floor, eyes hooded and hungry and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. He buries his face between my parted legs, his tongue flicking in small, hard strokes against my clit while that incessant finger of his slides in and out.

Someone bangs on the door. “One minute!” I cry, my voice regrettably strangled. He laughs against my thigh. It’s the exact kind of situation in which I would normally be unable to come—people right outside the room, pressure, chaos. Instead, it all seems to swirl around me, and the sight of him groaning against my skin is my only focus. “Yes, yes, yes,” I whisper like a prayer, and somehow he knows this means more, faster, harder. I fly right over the edge, tugging his hair, my knees giving out until I’m on the floor, too, and the two of us lie down on the carpet and laugh.

He’s already hard again. “You have no idea how bad I want to fuck you right now,” he whispers in my ear.

“No condom,” I remind him.

“I’d fashion one. I’d turn into fucking MacGyver and create it from a shoe lace and my driver’s license.”

I laugh. “Sounds hygienic.”

The doorknob rattles aggressively. A fist strikes it. “Drew, it’s Davis,” a voice announces unnecessarily. “I need you out here now. The natives are restless.”

“I’d like a quick word with your manager,” Josh says, his nostrils flaring.

I smile. Though part of me would love to watch him put Davis in his place, it will only make things worse. “No thank you. I’ve seen how your quick words work out. I don’t need another Come repeat that on shore, asshole moment right now.”

Slowly, his mouth curves and he looks at me, his palms on either side of my face. It’s different than his previous smile. It’s not as if I’m the girl he just went down on, but someone he adores. I want to stay here forever.

This must be what it’s like to fall in love, I think. Huh.

We stand up and Josh fixes the straps of my dress, tucks my hair back behind my ears.

“Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to buy condoms,” I whisper, moving toward the door. “And Josh? Buy a lot.”





37





JOSH





She snuggles against me, tiny and soft. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” she replies. Her eyes are still closed but she smiles. And then she laughs.

I don’t even have to ask why. She met me last night at her hotel and promptly grabbed one suitcase and her guitar and told me we were leaving. Apparently, Davis would just stroll right in, otherwise, which still enrages me.

It was only once we’d checked in across the street under a different name that she left Davis a message, canceling her interviews for the day, and she’s been laughing about it ever since.

“Davis is, at this exact moment, exploding,” she says. “Like, I think his brain might be literally exploding.”

I push the hair back from her face. “I have the somewhat troubling suspicion that you’d like to watch that.”

She hitches a shoulder. “Don’t act like it comes as a surprise. You know what I’m like.”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling her on top of me. “I might need a reminder though.”





The midday light is thin. Through the windows we look at the rooftops of Paris, covered now with a fresh layer of snow. “I could live here,” she says, pushing the room service tray away.