Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “I’m glad we had this talk,” I said, disgruntled as I ate a piece of cheese. “I don’t want to move up here into your overgrown apartment with no tombstones or vampiric mice.”

            “Maybe I need to talk to Jenks,” he said, his lips quirked as he scooted closer and put his head in my lap. “See about renting out Hodin’s room.”

            “Yeah?” I huffed as he reached up and played with my hair, smoothing it. “You wouldn’t last a week in the church. There’s nowhere to park your cars, for one.”

            “Mmmm.” He sat up, his gaze on my hair as he arranged it. “I can do small living. I spent four years in a tiny condo with two witches and a Were when I was at school. I can handle anything you and your pixy can dish out.”

            His touch in my hair had shifted my thoughts in a decidedly different direction. Eyebrows high, I looked him up and down, then finished my cheese. “You think so, eh?” I reached out, running my fingers across his stubble, enjoying it. I leaned in, and he met me halfway. Our lips met, and my breath caught at the haze of energy trying to equalize, tingling where we touched.

            He was beautiful before me, his thoughts on how we could spend the next half hour obvious. “You roomed with a Were in college? Why wasn’t he with his pack?”

            Trent pulled me closer, and I snuggled in, the warmth of our bodies touching familiar. “He said he was a loner, but I think my dad was paying him to watch me. All our classes were the same.”

            “Nice,” I said, remembering getting beat up for being different—until I was strong enough to beat them back.

            “Nice? No. Hart was a big pain in the ass.” Focus distant in memory, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Lights off,” he said, and then, when nothing happened, “Lights off!”

            The room went dark but for the glow of the fire, and I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Trent’s smile was loving, and his touch held an obvious question.

            “Oh, I like this,” I said, answering him, and a certain something seemed to drop to the pit of my soul, making my pulse fast with a coming need. “Ah, how sure are you that an inspector isn’t going to come through here?”

            “It’s Friday.” Trent tucked his head beside mine and breathed, his fingers gripping my waist sending a delicious shudder through me. “I’ll be lucky to see anyone by Tuesday. Besides, why do you think Bis and Jenks are out there spitting across the street?” Love was in his gaze as his hand brushed through my hair. “You still have mystics clinging to you.”

            “Yeah, they’re like that. They tend to hang around things they think will amuse them.”

            But a shiver took me when they pulled away under his touch, the tiny draws of energy cutting through me like ice. My eyes closed, and I reached to find his ear and tugged on it, my lips gentle. “You got a working three-piece bathroom up here?” I whispered.

            “Check,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Anything else?”

            “Nope.” My hands went around his neck, and I nibbled on his ear. “That’s good for me.” Relaxing, I sent a ribbon of ley line energy through him, delighting at his new tension. Head on his shoulder, I undid one, then two of his shirt buttons to send my hand across his chest.

            “Mmmm,” Trent whispered, and my pulse quickened in anticipation when he tugged my shirt up and off, tossing it to the chair behind us.

            Buttons . . . I wanted to pop the damn things and rip his shirt right off, but I wasn’t sure he had another shirt, and I struggled to concentrate, to get them through the holes as he lifted me up onto his lap and nuzzled my breasts, tugging, pulling . . . demanding.

            My legs wrapped around him, ankles crossed, and when I squeezed him, he pinched me hard, sending a spasm of desire through me as sharp as a whipcrack.

            “Crap on toast, I can’t get this off . . .” I muttered, and then I gave up, shoving him over to trap him between me and the fleece. He grinned at me, and I reached for his zipper.

            That, I could manage, even when his touch continued to play over me, rising to my back, tracing down my spine, curving suggestively to my front. I quivered, my lips finding his when he reached my zipper and clicked it down one agonizing tooth at a time.

            Bet I can get him to quicken this up, I thought as I dipped a hand under his tighty-whities and found him. My lips quirked devilishly at his intake of breath, and then I gasped as he grasped my shoulder and rolled me over, pinning me between the soft fleece and his demanding presence. Imprisoned.