A Deal with the Bossy Devil by Kyra Parsi

24

Three unsexy Mississippishad been the plan.

I was supposed to touch his mouth with my mouth for three boring, awkward, and unsexy Mississippis, prove to myself that this morning had been a fluke brought on by (literally) raging hormones, and peace the hell out of Adrien Cloutier’s life forever.

The exact opposite of that happened, and it was all his fault.

I mean, how were his lips so unrealistically soft? Did he moisturize them twenty-four times a day? And how much electricity did his body produce, exactly? Was he a scientific marvel on top of everything else? Because there was a concerning amount of zips and zaps shuddering through my body and… how exactly…

Wow.

My knees wobbled as I slid my arms around Adrien’s neck, my awareness zeroing in on three things. One, he tasted like mint, fire, and forbidden fruit. Two, he wasn’t touching me. Three, I very, very desperately needed him to be touching me.

I stepped closer, pressing my body to his as my mind slowly shut down. I could feel how hard he was, how his muscles vibrated if my tongue caressed him the right way. Still, he continued to keep his hands to himself.

I curled my fingers around his collar and pulled him closer as I tried to deepen the kiss. Tried being the operative word.

“Sanchez,” Adrien murmured as he peeled his lips from mine.

I didn’t realize he was capable of saying my name with such soft… tenderness. It sent a tremor of warm pleasure through me, and I had to stop myself from pushing him onto the bed.

I kissed him again.

“Ria.” He tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth; punishment for not listening.

Except I didn’t want to stop.

Stopping meant talking. It meant coming to terms with what had just happened and admitting things I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

And, most undesirably, it meant putting distance between our bodies.

So I kissed him harder. Until I was drowning in his scent, his groans, and the overwhelming feel of his hard body against mine. Our limbs were vibrating, our movements growing heavier, harder, rougher.

But he still.

Wasn’t.

Touching.

Me.

He’d broken me. He’d broken my brain, shattered my willpower to bits, and still had the audacity to maintain enough self-control to keep his stupid hands to himself.

I wanted to break him.

I wanted him to lose every ounce of composure and restraint he possessed, to be engulfed in the same irrational, all-consuming fire he’d drenched me in. I wanted him to feel as frustrated and out of control as I did... which was exactly why I broke the kiss and took a step back. Then two. Three. Four.

Because what the hell?

I pressed the back of my hand to my tingling lips, trying very hard not to show Adrien how much I was trembling.

“I think… I think that’s enough data.” I didn’t know whose voice that was but it sure as hell didn’t sound like mine.

Adrien’s hooded eyes stared back at me for a few moments, foggy and dazed. His fists were stuffed in his pockets, his arms and shoulders rigid.

Neither of us said anything for a solid minute, until Adrien finally cleared his throat, straightened his spine, and asked, “And?”

I shifted on my feet. “Um… it wasn’t… horrible.”

Technically not a lie.

“Be more specific,” he commanded.

“You were there, you know what it was like. Why do I need to—” I cut myself off when he scrubbed at his face in frustration, my fingers curling into my palms. “Fine. It was… good. Or, like, great or whatever. About as good as kissing can get, I imagine. Or better than what I could imagine. I don’t know.”

Okay. Shush. That’s more than enough.

Adrien dropped his hands, the tightness in his features easing as he studied my blazing cheeks. I averted my gaze.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you blush, Ria. It’s unreal.”

Something about that specific comment, said in that specific tone, accompanied by that specific look, caused a central wire in my brain to snap in half like a stale breadstick.

And everything went to shit.

“Welp,” I practically bellowed, startling myself. “Now that that’s been established, I’ll be on my way.”

And then I saluted him.

…

I saluted him.

And I didn’t know which one of us was more shocked by it, me or Adrien. His lips parted as he watched me, his brows arching.

My idiot hand was frozen midair, and I gaped back at him as my entire body turned into a Flaming Hot Cheeto.

Good god. What the hell are you doing?

My palm slammed to my side, and I stiffly marched toward my suitcase, determined to make my exit as swift and uneventful as possible. But Adrien stepped right in front of me, blocking my path.

“Excuse me,” I said in a strangely polite tone, attempting to step around him.

“Sanchez,” the bane of my existence purred, once again blocking my path.

“That’s me.” Was it just in my head or did I suddenly sound like I’d inhaled a bunch of helium?

“Are you flustered?”

My heart tripped. “Crikey. I don’t phink so, mate. It’s just a bit hot in ‘ere, innit?”

My teeth snapped together, my face prickling in complete and utter horror. What in the ever-loving fuck was that accent? If Steve Irwin and Moira Rose had unprotected Essex, their lovechild would pop out of the womb wailing in that accent.

It was horrible.

Adrien’s mouth began to spread into a slow full-faced grin that made me think of the cat from Alice in Wonderland, but a lot sexier.

“Oh my god,” he said, voice airy with amused disbelief.

“I’m gonna leave now.” My declaration was followed by another failed attempt at making an escape. I rolled my lips and glared up at him stubbornly.

“You’re so flustered,” he observed inaccurately.

Did I become weirdly polite, forget how speaking worked, and turn a medically alarming shade of blotchy purple when I was extremely flustered? Yes.

But did Adrien Cloutier possess the power and ability to make me flustered? Absolutely fucking not.

“I told you, I’m not flustered,” I responded coolly, threatening my tongue with ghost-pepper sauce if it even thought about rolling a single one of those words into a non-Canadian accent.

His eyes searched mine, softening. “Well, this is unexpectedly adorable.”

I didn’t know his voice could go all gentle and tender like that when he was talking to me. And I definitely didn’t realize someone calling you unexpectedly adorable would be so butterfly-inducing.

I wasn’t sure how to respond so I shifted on my feet and put my hands behind my back, clearing my throat.

“Sanchez,” he said in that confusingly gentle way, taking a step forward, “how about that truce?”

I stepped back and leaned lightly against the wall, trying to come off as casual as possible despite the ruckus in my chest. “Why are you so dead set on this truce thing?” I managed.

“Why are you so against it?”

“I asked you first.”

Adrien pinched his lips together and tilted his head. “I have a theory.”

I eyed him. “Okay. What is it?”

“I think you and I are a lot more…” He paused, presumably trying to think of the right way to phrase it. “I think we might be more compatible than we realize.”

I blinked at him. Did he know what the word compatible meant?

“In what way?” I asked dubiously.

“In every way.”

My lips jerked, my faculties returning to me one by one as the ridiculousness of his words set in. “You’re joking.” Surely, he was joking.

“Nope.”

“Adrien, we despise each other,” I reminded him.

“Right.” He paused again, this time to wet his lips and clear his throat. “Except for the part where I don’t actually despise you.”

A solid ten seconds passed before I asked, “What?”

He shrugged. “Despise is a strong word. I’m not even sure I hate you.”

Had a shooting star crashed through the roof and boinked me on the head I’d have been less flabbergasted. Was he serious?

“And I’m not convinced you hate me, either,” he went on.

Uh, wrong. I opened my mouth to tell him just that, except what came out was, “What? Why?”

“A hunch.”

A hunch? In what distorted version of reality had I given him any indication whatsoever that I felt anything toward him other than pure contempt? Other than the whole kissing thing, but that was new and didn’t count.

Also, you could hate someone and still want to kiss them. Case-in-point, me and Adrien. Right here, right now.

Did my eyes keep flicking to his not-so-mediocre mouth against my direct orders? Yes.

Were my fingers twitching with the desire to grab his collar and yank his body to mine again? Sure.

Did I still want to strangle him? Abso-fucking-lutely I did.

Or wait… no. Strangulation was maybe a bit too violent. A kick to the shin would probably yield more appropriate results, as long as it wasn’t hard enough to break a bone, since he’d probably use it as an excuse to pull me into another absurd agreement as payback.

What would be next? He’d force me to actually marry him? I’d have to plan a whole wedding and walk down the aisle in a white dress? What then? I’d accidentally moan during the “you may now kiss the bride” part without realizing it? In a church? In front of a priest?

Wait. Why was I thinking about marrying Adrien? How did I get—

Real-life Adrien said my name, yanking me back to reality.

“Huh?” I inquired eloquently.

“You went all quiet.”

“I…” I swear to Mother Gaia herself, if you blurt anything about marrying him out loud, I’ll hurl you out the window. “I do.”

No.

Wait.

I shook my head as Adrien quirked a brow.

“I do. Hate you, I mean. I do hate you,” I clarified quickly, trying not to pay too much attention to any flaring sensations around my nose.

He wasn’t deterred. “You know, people who hate each other generally don’t enjoy making out.”

“You can hate someone and still be physically attracted to them,” I argued. “Unfortunately, those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“So you admit you’re attracted to me.”

“Believe me, no one is as disappointed in me as I am,” I said gravely.

“I’m not disappointed. And what do you propose we do with the immense amount of physical attraction you feel toward me?”

“First of all, no one said anything about an immense amount of anything.”

“It was heavily implied.”

“Second of all,” I went on, ignoring him, “just because we’re attracted to each other doesn’t mean we have to act on it.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“If I say no, will you listen?”

“Unlikely. And I think we should act on it.”

I mimicked his signature lizard-blink, regarding him with vague disinterest. “Hands down one of your worst ideas. And that’s saying something.”

“Would it help change your mind if I grew a man-bun and painted my skin blue?”

“For the last time, it’s cinnamon roll, not cinnaman-bun. And you literally couldn’t be farther away from the archetype if you tried—wait,” I interrupted myself, my brain stumbling back a step. “If I said yes, would you do it?”

He didn’t answer right away.

…

He didn’t answer right away.

“Shut up. Would you actually do it?” An unexpected bout of excitement rushed my bloodstream, my imagination running wild with image after image of a blue-skinned Adrien sporting an atrocious man-bun.

He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

Holy shit. “Would I be able to take pictures?”

“Would you post them anywhere?”

“On the internet? No. On my walls in the form of life-size posters? Yes. I’m extremely cultured and have always been really big on art. It’s so important.”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t think that counts as art, Ria.”

“That’s because you obviously don’t getart, Adrien.”

He laughed, his eyes doing that new thing again where they went all soft and gooey. So weird. “Guess not.”

And because the molten gooeyness was doing more funny things to my insides, I diverted. “Also, quick reminder, the aliens have horns and tails and fangs. So make sure you include all those things.”

Adrien shook his head in amused exasperation, his eyes crinkling in their corners, dimples fully popping.

And he said I was annoyingly attractive.

He stepped forward, chin tilting down as mine tilted up. “You’re staring again, Sanchez.”

I swallowed, and his gaze dropped, tracing the movement.

“And, as usual, you’re staring right back, Cloutier.”

“Can’t help it,” he claimed, smile waning slightly. “Believe me, I tried. Especially at the beginning.”

“The only thing you did at the beginning was glare at me,” I told him.

“There was a lot of that, too,” he admitted.

“There still is.”

“Less of it.”

“Barely.”

His head tilted. “Do you always have to argue with everything I say?”

“Yes.”

“Brat,” he said softly. Almost affectionately. Like this was just our thing; what we did.

Seriously. What the hell had gotten into him all of a sudden? And what the hell had gotten into me? Why was I enjoying this so much?

My blood was thrumming, my heart galloping. And my gaze kept gravitating down to his mouth, no matter how many times I tried to stop.

“Ria. You have to stop looking at me like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised I wouldn’t touch you until you asked.”

I licked my lips, my stomach flipping. “I’m never going to ask, but I give you my consent. You have it, so… you can touch me if you want.”

There. Ball was in his court.

His brows furrowed, his dark eyes bouncing between mine. “But is it what you want?”

“Would I still be here if it wasn’t?”

“I’d still like to hear you say it,” he insisted.

I folded my arms across my chest. “And you have the nerve to suggest we’re compatible.”

“We are compatible.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or if you’re actually that deluded.”

“And I honestly can’t tell if you really don’t see it or if you’re in active denial because you don’t want to see it.”

“Do you remember this morning? At breakfast? With the raisins and the foot stomping?”

More amusement. “I do.”

“Newsflash, Adrien: people who are compatible—people whodon’t despise each other—don’t do shit like that.”

“Anger isn’t the same thing as hatred. Neither is pent-up frustration.”

“I never said it was.”

“So you don’t think things between us would be different if we’d met under normal circumstances?”

“Do you?”

“Hell yeah, Sanchez. Look at us. Right now.”

“Yeah. We’re bickering. We bicker about everything, Adrien. Every single thing.”

He grinned. “We’re quite good at bantering, I agree.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what I heard,” he countered. “But that’s only part of what I was referring to.”

“What’s the rest?”

“The fact that you find me immensely attractive, and I find you aggravatingly beautiful. The part where I think you’re smart, funny, and charming when you’re not actively trying to pick fights with me.” His gaze turned molten. “I can show you the rest when you finally cave and beg me to touch you.”

I pressed my lips together, pushing a lungful of air out of my nose. “I’ve given you my consent. It’s enough. I’m not going to beg you to touch me,” I said adamantly. I had far too much pride for that.

His mouth curved into a cocky little smirk. “That’s too bad. I really think you’d enjoy all the unspeakable things I’ve been wanting to do to you.”

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

“Like what, exactly?” I asked, my crossed arms tightening. “The last time the topic came up, you said you planned on punishing me for everything that’s happened.”

“I did.”

“And which of the depraved punishments in your twisted, evil mind do you think I’d enjoy?”

“All of them. Every single one.”

For whatever reason, the way he said that made my heart want to beat itself into cardiac arrest.

I swallowed, my thighs clenching. “Give me an example. Just so I can tell you how much I’d hate it, and we can put this whole thing to rest.”

He braced a palm on the wall, right beside my head. Then he leaned in, stripping the air around us of oxygen. “They’re called unspeakable things for a reason. But I’m happy to discuss our likes, dislikes, and hard limits. Those are important.”

My chest was whirling, my skin felt flushed and overly sensitive. He was so close now that I could feel the kiss of his warm breath on my skin. God, he smelled amazing.

His smile widened. Dimples, dimples, dimples. “You’re so fucking pretty when you blush like that, Sanchez. I can’t handle it.”

My heart skipped. My breath shuddered. And I really needed him to touch me now.

When the hell had this happened? When had he gone from Man I’d Like To Choke, to Man Whose Dick I’d Like To Choke On?

Great. Now I was thinking about choking on Adrien’s dick. And I didn’t hate the idea. Not even a little bit.

What happened to you? To me. To us. We used to be so mentally stable.

My brain pointed a metaphorical finger at Adrien’s asymmetrical dimples. It was their fault.

He was smirking like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he knew exactly what he’d done to me, how he’d ruined me.

What I’d give to ruin him right back.

“Sanchez.”

If I had a dollar for every time Adrien said my name, I’d be the richest person in this room. Probably. I couldn’t really wrap my head around how much a billion dollars was, and according to the internet, he had a whole bunch of those, so.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmured.

My throat was starting to go dry. I tried to think of the sexiest possible way to answer him, but my brain had melted into lusty goo.

He tutted when I took too long to answer, like he was getting impatient with my rebellious little pauses. “Tell me how you like to be fucked, pretty girl.”

My heart stopped, my mouth slighting open.

Pretty girl.

The nickname fluttered through me, feeding the fiery ache between my thighs. I very much wanted him to call me that again. And again, and again, and again.

Before or after he makes you choke on his dick?

During. Definitely during.

What have you become?

“I’ll tell you after you touch me,” I managed.

“I’ll touch you after you ask nicely.”

I was so turned on it was starting to become uncomfortable. My hips and thighs squirmed, and his gaze dropped down to the motion, his jaw flexing.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I really couldn’t. The air had turned electric, my body was on fire, the planet was depleted of oxygen, and I was going to detonate.

And that was exactly what happened—I detonated.

I erupted in a way that stripped me of all rational thought and reason. In a way that could only end up backfiring. But I didn’t care.

He wanted to play this game? Fine.

In one fluid—and incredibly frustrated—movement, I yanked off my jacket and tossed it onto the floor. Then I went for my shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What you won’t do.” I threw my shirt on top of my jacket.

I was wearing a burgundy lace bra and matching thong, courtesy of the honeymoon lingerie collection Luke had so kindly picked out for me.

Adrien’s eyes went black.

Lighting. Thunder. Somewhere in the distance, sirens.

The hand he'd braced on the wall dropped to his side.

“Ria.”

It was in the look he gave me. The tone of his voice.

“You can run your smart mouth all you want, throw your punches, pick fights, continue to torment me however you see fit… but I get to respond how I see fit.”

And how exactly did he plan to retaliate if he wouldn’t even touch me? Hadn’t thought this one through very well, had he?

His demeanor began to shift; his earlier arrogance overtaken by blistering tension.

I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled the zipper down, slowly, slowly, slowly. He watched my every movement, jaw working, molars clenched tight.

I waited, allowing the tension to simmer, allowing him to look as much as he wanted. His fingers twitched toward my hips before he curled them into fists.

That was my cue.

I hooked my fingers underneath the waistband of my jeans, peeled them down my thighs, and kicked them off. Then I stood in front of him, half-naked, wearing nothing but two dainty strips of wine-colored lace.

He wasn’t breathing or moving anymore. A bunch of veins in his neck and forearms were protruding, his muscles bulged, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to fight me or fuck me. To be fair, I wasn’t sure which one I wanted either.

I toyed with the delicate hem of my panties, flicking it once. Twice. Three separate muscles in his jaw spasmed as he watched my fingers hungrily. His fists were white.

“I know,” I said. “I look great naked.”

His glare was lethal.

The silence even more so.

We were locked in a staring contest now, neither of us willing to back down.

And then he said, “Get on the bed.”

It was an order. There was no question about it, no room for argument.

Excitement shot up my torso. I leaned forward, my lips brushing his as I whispered my defiance. “Make. Me.”

Time stood still for exactly one heartbeat.

And then his hands were on me, and the world went up in flames.