Page 160 of Problematic

I leaned against the doorframe and let myself look at her. All of her. The rumpled shirt. The bare legs. The little bite mark darkening near her collarbone from where I had lost the argument with my restraint. Her mouth still swollen from mine. Her throat unmarked, for now.

Liv shifted under my attention. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you’re deciding where to start.”

“I already know where to start.”

Her face went red so fast it almost made me religious.

Almost.

“See?” She pointed at me. “Menace.”

“Yes.”

“You’re supposed to deny it.”

“My love, I would never deny what I am. I am nothing if not painfully aware of exactly how problematic I can be.” I crossed the room slowly, because she liked the slow approach. I knew that now. She liked having time to pretend she might run. She liked the warning. The pressure. The controlled danger of a monster giving her enough space to make the wrong choice on purpose.

She backed up one step and tried to hide the grin on her face when my eyes went dark and my body coiled, ready to pounce. I stopped in front of her, close enough for heat, not close enough for mercy.

“Are you scared?” I asked.

Her chin lifted, stubborn and flushed. “A little.”

I moved before she decided to get brave.

My arms locked around her waist and lifted her clean off the floor. She squealed, loud and offended, feet kicking once in the air as I hauled her away from the dresser like she weighed less than my self-control.

“Put me down,” she gasped, grabbing at my shoulders.

“No.”

“That was not a request.”

“I know.”

“You’re such a—”

I tossed her onto the bed. “I said I wasn’t done with you.”

I turned to the black chest near the wall, another new addition to my bedroom, and another fine example of why I should never be left alone with money, desire, and late-night shipping options. I pressed my thumb to the lock. The lid opened with a soft click, revealing custom toys, ropes, remote-controlled options, silk restraints, and several impulsive purchases made with my hand around my cock and her name ruining my judgment.

“Wha–” She choked. “You have a sex torture chest.”

“My succubus needs to be trained. She also needs to know she doesn’t need any other men to satisfy her hunger.”

“I am not a dog,” she bit out.

“No,” I said, agreeing. “But I am.”

I crawled over her before she could scramble back, catching her wrists and pinning them above her head in one hand. My other braced beside her ribs, keeping my weight off her even though every bad part of me wanted to press her into the mattress until she forgot every name but mine.

Her pulse hammered in her wrists. So did mine. She looked up at me, breathless, cheeks pink, eyes too bright.

“You like danger?” I asked.