Wicked Game by Bethan Tear Read Free Book Online Page A

fridge, knowing it would taste as good cold as it did hot.               They went upstairs, Kaden following her, still silent, still sullen. She noticed he looked even more rugged, even more irresistible when serious, with less of the maniacal gleam in his onyx eyes that made her feel so nervous. She wasn't sure if she preferred him teasing her, at least then she knew what he was thinking...and what he might do next.
                  Hazelle left him to try on his new clothes while she showered and changed into her pyjamas. She took her time in the shower, enjoying the solitude after having been shadowed by a sex starved demon all day. She'd never used so much soap and shampoo because something about his intense, dedicated, dark gaze made her feel so dirty, as if he could sully her soul with just a wink. She brushed her teeth, combed her hair and knocked quietly on her bedroom door.
                  “The underwear is too tight,” he grumbled through the door, “You should have gotten the extra-large.”
                  She sighed, exasperated.
                  “Are you decent?”
                  “Yes.”
                  She opened the door, whirling away when she saw he was wearing nothing except the too small boxers. He hadn't been lying, in that moment she had seen the black material clinging to his large package, emphasising it. Her memory hadn't been exaggerating. He was the biggest man she had ever seen, in more ways than one.
                  “I asked if you were decent!” she snapped, annoyed and mortified. Was everything he did a plan to piss her off?
                  “Our opinions on decent must differ greatly then.”
                  “Put a shirt on,” she ordered, her back still to him.
                  “Its not like you haven't seen it all before.”
                  She picked up one of the new shirts, still with the price tag attached to it, and flung it at his face. He caught it and grudgingly did as he was told as she turned away again. She could see his reflection in the mirror from the corner of her eye and bit her lip, trying not to stare, trying not to dwell on the thought of his tawny, thickly muscled thighs rubbing against her bare buttocks as she mounted him.
                  This wasn't like her at all. Where did such lurid thoughts come from?
                  She decided it was all his fault.
                  When he was half decent she turned back to him. The shirt looked good on him, though she was willing to bet anything would look good on him. He had such a rare, innate, formidable masculinity that nobody could fail to notice his presence or admire him, even if it was from afar, even if he never noticed them. As far as she knew she was currently the only one who got to look and touch.
                  He watched her every move, like a tiger stalking its prey, his face half in shadow and unfathomable as she moved around the room, tidying. When she drew back the blankets on her bed he stepped forwards eagerly.
                  “Oh, I don't think so buddy,” she scoffed, plumping one of her pillows, “You can sleep in the spare room. By yourself.”
                  He glowered at her, rage crackling in his eyes like a living thing, like electricity, like something that was about to be evoked, a power he had, thus far, left untapped. The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly, drastically, and her heart beat faster from it, pounding like the drums before a great battle which made the difference between life and death. Until now he had behaved, as best a demon could. Was he about to give her a demonstration of his true power?
                  Apparently not.
                  With a growl of frustration he turned away abruptly and marched from the bedroom,