Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
It was inconvenient to anyone who enjoyed their solitude.
My brother, of course, was unbothered.
Then again, that was Daemon’s whole personality. Unbothered. Reckless. Lazy. Far too easily distracted by a pretty face or great rack.
It was probably good for my relationship with all of the guys back at the house and the club to be away for a while.
“I can definitely give you some insights. I have it all up here,” she said, tapping her temple. “But, right now, I’m afraid I have a class to get to that I am already late and completely unprepared for,” she said, getting to her feet and gathering her things.
“Could we meet sometime later? Over food? Or back here, if you are more comfortable with that,” I added.
“How about we meet here, and then if the meeting goes too long, we can move to a location with food? It’s good that we have the books here,” she said, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was aware that she was stroking the cover of one lovingly when she said that.
And I did not—did fucking not—think about those fingers of hers roaming up and down my inner thigh. Or between.
The fuck was wrong with me?
I never thought I’d say this, but maybe my brother was right. Maybe my steadfast aversion to human women was starting to fuck with my head.
It didn’t feel like it had been that long since I’d gotten laid. But years were different when you had an endless supply of them. Maybe my body was keeping closer track to how long it had been than my mind had.
And since the human plane wasn’t exactly teeming with demon women, I guess I was going to have to cave and fuck a human eventually.
That, or get used to having weird fucking fantasies about a woman’s damned fingers.
“Sounds like a plan. What time is best for you?”
“My last class ends at three. Then I have an office hour. So I will be here around four, if that works for you.”
“I’ll see you here then,” I said, nodding. “Thanks for agreeing to help,” I added.
“I’m happy to,” she assured me, giving me a smile as she propped her glasses on the top of her head.
And I did not think about how hard I’d have to fuck her from behind to make them fall forward and topple onto the desk.
Because that would have been crazy.
CHAPTER THREE
Charlotte
There was a slight knock on my office door. Not the tentative, nervous knocks that I came to expect from my students who showed up to, invariably, tell me how confusing they found all the stories of the myths.
Not one of my students, then, I decided as I looked up at the frosted glass, seeing the outline of someone on the other side of the door.
“You can come in,” I called, rolling my neck to try to work free a crick that had been plaguing me since waking up on the library desk. Again.
“Hey,” a female voice said, making my gaze lift, and then immediately regretting it when my reading glasses made everything blurry, which only served to exasperate the slight headache thumping in my temples.
When my vision went back to normal, I was faced with someone I’d never seen before.
She was tall, but slight with a mass of wavy dark brown hair that framed her attractive face with greenish-gray eyes and a mouth that, even at rest, seemed to be pulled up in a sort of mischievous smile.
“Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had any paper,” she said, waving behind her. “I’m Professor Stan’s new T.A. and, apparently, the old one never refilled anything.”
“Sure,” I said, rummaging around under my piles of books because I knew I had a fresh stack of paper there, but I never really used anything loose leaf because I was too good at losing things. “Damnit damnit damnit,” I grumbled when a stack of books I was pretty sure I hadn’t even nudged started crashing to the floor, one of them—the largest, because that was how my luck ran—knocking me on the head before it made its way to the ground.
There was a tinkling little sound, almost like a laugh, but it was over before I could even be sure that’s what it was.
“Sorry to be such a bother,” the woman said as I straightened with the still-packaged stack of paper.
“Oh, you’re no bother. I’m just a slob,” I said, waving toward the disarray of my office.
It didn’t seem to matter how many times I spent an evening cleaning and organizing it. Invariably, within a week, it was back to looking like an entire herd of buffalo had stampeded through the space.
“Anytime you need anything, if you feel brave,” I added, grimacing, “you can help yourself to my office supplies. I have a bit of a… office supply problem,” I admitted. “So I have what would constitute a small stationary store at my apartment.”