“Again, not kidnappers or stalkers,” Iceman puts in unhelpfully before turning and striding out of the room. Like good little school children, the others follow behind him in a line. Crux reaches down and grabs my hand this time, tugging me forward. His grip is firm, not letting me squirm out of it, but let’s be real, I don’t try that hard, because feeling him hold my hand like this is kind of nice, and where the fuck am I going to go otherwise?
I’m not eager to admit it, and if asked I would deny it vehemently, but I’m kind of curious too. As much as I’ve been trying to ignore it, there is a part of me that questions whether this is all legit. Not that they’re demons, for some reason I have no issue accepting that now, but the fact that I might be one too—that’s what’s really fucking with me.
If they’re right, where does that leave me? And if they’re wrong...that option feels overwhelmingly scary too. No matter how I debate it in my mind, I can’t seem to decide where I want to land in this whole Hellgate cluster fuck, so it’s probably time to just know one way or the other.
We follow behind as Iceman leads us to the very back of the house and through a door onto the patio. I let the guys’ presence distract me from the fact that we’re heading straight for a Hellgate. I gotta say, the view is really good from back here.
“Stop checking out Jerif’s ass while I hold your hand,” Crux chides.
My eyes fly up from where they were indeed checking out Jerif’s ass, my face immediately blooming with a blush. “I wasn’t!” I hiss.
But Jerif spins around to face us, his face stony as he walks backward. “You can check my ass out all you want. Seems only fair, since we all saw your naked ass over breakfast. Let me know when you’re ready for me to drop my pants.”
“You’re flirting with me?” I ask him incredulously. “What happened to you being a pissed off Hot Lava demon who hates my guts?”
“Hot Lava,” Crux snickers beside me.
“I don’t hate your guts, and I’m not flirting with you,” Jerif tells me. “I just don’t think you can handle being a Gate Guardian with us. Even with your demon blood, you might as well be a boring human because you don’t know shit. And for the record, you can’t handle the Gate or my ass.”
“Yes, I can!” I say vehemently, but then I want to smack myself for that thought flying out of my mouth like a naughty drunken butterfly.
Jerif shoots me a dismissive look before turning to face forward again, like he just won the last word. Gobsmacked, I look up to Crux and watch as he tries and fails to hide a smile. I can’t tell if these fuckers are playing with me or if Crux just finds everything amusing.
“I can handle it. I’ll show you,” I announce as I mentally net all my thought butterflies and scold them for fleeing in my time of need. I mean, if a girl can’t fall back on a steady supply of snarky comments, there’s just no point in carrying on.
“Yeah, I guess we’ll see,” Jerif says over his shoulder.
“What are you waiting for?” I taunt.
Crux gives me a strange look. “Uh, we have to walk there. You know, for someone who just declared that she didn’t want to go to the Hellgate in an epic three-year-old tantrum fashion, you sure are impatient to see it now,” he teases.
“No, not the Gate. Hot Lava’s—I mean, Jerif’s ass. He said I couldn’t handle it. I can.”
Crux unexpectedly stops mid-step while I keep walking, but since he still has hold of my hand, I get snapped backward. He recovers quickly from my body check and homes in on my eyes.
“Pardon?”
“You heard me, Nancy the Nun. He challenged me, so I’m taking him up on it. Why should my moon be the only one to wax and wane up in this bitch? Let’s see it, Jerif!” I call ahead. “Show me whatchya workin’ with.”
I do my best Mystikal impression and start singing “Shake Ya Ass.” I get a little too into it, and I’m halfway through the first verse before I notice that everyone has stopped walking just to stare at me incredulously.
I get sucked into Jerif’s glittering fire-dancing eyes like a moth to a fucking flame as he regards me. “You sure you can handle it, Warrior Princess? ’Cause I got an ass that don’t quit.”
The declaration, and the even, serious delivery of such a ridiculous statement out of Jerif’s cantankerous self forces a snicker to fly right out of my lips. Geez, humble much?
Before I can call him out on it, Jerif turns around, unzips his pants, and pulls them down.
Wow. I didn’t think he’d actually do it.
My drunken butterfly thoughts stay right where they’re supposed to be, and I snag one, ready to make fun of his hairy ass or joke about how asses in general just don’t do it for me. But of course, Jerif has to have the perfect ass. It’s so round and juicy that I want to take a bite out of it, and that’s saying something, because I usually reserve those kinds of thoughts for apples or maybe a steak.
There’s no creepy hair or annoying stretch marks, just smooth onyx skin that for some reason makes me think of satin sheets that smell like sex and feel like heaven. He wags his ass for good measure, and I see a hint of balls, but even that doesn’t freak me out. Balls are not cute, but instead of activating my ick alarm, all I now want to do is coax him into turning around and showing me what he’s got in the front. He may be a total douche, but I know it’s going to be impressive.
Somehow, I blink back into reality and rein
