| 21 | Breakfast for the Demon King ||


“Hmm?” She pulled the second tray of bacon out the oven. The space was filled with smelly, hairy, ravenous men eating. She was there, but none of them seemed to really be paying her any attention. Half of them were recalling their fantastic tales in Atlantic City, while others were talking about her mixer. Apparently, she missed a lot after she went off with Devlin.

Her mind drifted back to the previous night, and she shivered. She was just starting to relax as the series of events that transpired a mere few hours before shook her. It had little to do with the two additional women that somehow got dragged into her and Devlin’s strange dance. What would not leave her mind was his intensity; the longing in his stares, the need, the restraint. Just when she thought she understood him, she saw a glimpse of him that she never knew was there.

She cleared her throat and with it her thoughts, and focused on her task. She looked around at the loud men and smiled. She liked the company.  It gave her an opportunity not to think. What better way to not think than to cook.

“Could you please take Prez, uh, Devlin, some food before these heathens eat it all?”

She looked at the man talking to her and frowned. He was handsome. More put together than most of the other men. “Why can’t you do it?” Yep, she was being a chicken shit. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face Devlin. Would she ever be ready?

He laughed. “Because you look so much better in an apron than I do.” The man they called Stitch smirked at her.

She nodded with a forced smile, heat running from her core around her body at the thought of seeing Devlin. She hated it but revelled in the torture of her mind’s argument.

She piled food on a plate, going over in her mind what she was going to say to him. The last time she saw him, some other woman was sucking his penis. The time before that, he stormed into her mixer, angry as a bull, and the time before that, he was bleeding in her shower.

What a roller coaster. Seemed like fate and happenstance didn’t understand that, perhaps, this wasn’t meant for her. Once in the hallway, the noisy kitchen sounds started to grow distant, and her palms began sweating. She paused halfway to the office door and closed her eyes, leaning on the adjacent wall.

The passion that ignited in her was ― made her ― lose all thought. She hated it, hated what just the thought of his touch did to her and was drawn to it like a moth to flames. The firelit scene from the previous night flashed before her eyes. She traced a line from the bottom of her lip, down her chin, neck―

She jumped when she heard the beast of a man shouting from the other side of the aperture.

“What the fuck am I paying you for?! You’re supposed to make sure my shipments get through customs! DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!”

She swallowed, waiting until she heard the phone slam down on the receiver before she knocked on the door. A grunt sounded on the other side that she wasn’t sure if it was an invitation to enter or a warning to stay away. He obviously wasn’t in the mood for company. It was probably wise for her to come back a little later. She’d cover the food to keep it away from the others―

She screamed and teetered backwards when the door whipped open simultaneously with Devlin’s angry, heavy voice. “Are you going to lurk-.” His words stopped in his throat, and his arms darted out to steady her. He held her in silence for an extended period of time, each looking into the other’s eyes. His were dark and brewing. As he took in her features, his softened, if anything on Devlin Sinn could be considered soft.

She swallowed, took a few steps back, and he released his hold on her arms.

Don’t stare, Lacey, and try not to look in his eyes. She broke their connection, dropping her gaze to the door jamb.

“Breakfast?” She offered the plate up like a sacrifice to a god.

When he didn’t take the offering, nor say a word, desperate eyes found his, calm, dark and assessing. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he opened the door and she could feel his gaze hot, searing. He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.

“Are you hungry?” He wanted to know when she squeezed past him through the small space he allotted. His strong body did not go unnoticed, even though she tried to act unaffected.

He closed the door behind her and strolled into the office.

“No, I’m fi-.” Her damned stomach chose that moment to belt its own concerns.

He paused and glanced back at her over his shoulder. “You should leave lying to those who are good at it.”

“There’s plenty of food―”

Her words stopped when his eyes demanded her silence and cooperation.

She ran her sweaty hands down her apron then quickly removed the ugly messy thing. Honestly, she was shocked to find an apron in a place packed to the gills with roguish bikers, to begin with. Then again, Devlin did know what a doily was and Oxyclean. Her mind imagined him wearing the ridiculous apron, pulling a freshly baked pan of cookies out of the oven. She laughed to herself, tossing the apron over the back of a chair that set with many others around a menacing wooden table.

He set the plate on a desk and took the seat behind it. “Eat with me.” He moved some items on the desk aside, creating a space for her.

Her heart was racing. Thoughts of all the ways his words could be twisted into something else, mostly her bent this way and that over the desk, on it, the chair, the window ledge behind him, hanging off his body while he pounded into her soft flesh, the possibilities were endless!

She perched on the edge of the desk and took a deep breath, trying to keep her focus on the plate. “Huevos estrellados. Fancy way of saying fried eggs.” She laughed a bit. “The pancakes are my mother’s recipe.”

“Where’s your mother?”

She looked into those dark eyes, and hers trailed down his face. Took in his groomed facial hair and tempting lips. “Uh,” She broke the trance. “She died a couple years ago in Mexico, her homeland.”

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded, her chest clenched at the concern in his voice, in his eyes.

He forked a huge piece of egg and bacon wrapped pancake into his mouth, chewed and presented a grunt of approval. “This is fucking good.”

The corner of her mouth pulled up. For some reason, she was getting immense pleasure in satisfying this man’s appetite.

“Eat.” He demanded.

“There’s only one fork.”

He held it out to her. “I’ll just use my hands.”

She took it and watched in awe as he did just that. It reminded her of the chicken cordon bleu that he devoured in five seconds flat, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

They ate in silence for a long time until he broke it. “I read the journal.”

“Hypothetically or literally?”

He smirked, meeting her eyes from under his long, dark lashes. The way he looked at her told her he thought she’d forgot their little chat back at the coffee shop. She was certain it was impossible to forget anything about the man.

His attention moved back to the plate.

“What did you find?” She nibbled on the pancake, not really caring about it. She was more focused on the man before her. “When you read it, what did you find?”

He shrugged. They ate in silence for a period of time before he started talking again. “I’ve always embraced my likeness to Lucifer. Hell on wheels. Okay with not giving two fucks about much. It was kind of passed down to me by my dad and his before him. Devil’s sons. Who knows how it actually all started.” He leaned back in the chair and took a long sip of orange juice. “I related to his independent and rebellious nature to live life the way he fucking wanted. I also understood all the bullshit that went with it.” He took a deep breath, pulling his fingers through his hair. “I was okay with that part of me because I still had Emilia Sinn in me. She was the light to my father’s darkness. She was the Michael to my Lucifer until I―” He broke off, crossing his arms. His attention was focused on the desk in front of him, but she could tell his mind was far away.

What the hell did he find in that journal? What had him so deep in his darkness that he saw no hope? This, for some reason, pulled her closer. She rested a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to her. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

His handsome dark brows pulled together as if she spoke a language he didn’t understand. His eyes darkened, if that were possible, and a malicious smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth. There was no humor there, and a zing of fear raced through her. Her sluggish instincts told her to flee, but all she was able to do was stand when she was confronted with a dark body. She didn’t have time to stop the moan from slipping past her lips when he grabbed the nape of her neck and pushed her back to sit on the desk.

“You don’t understand.” He grabbed her thigh and wrapped her leg around his waist, forcing her to lean backward where he was holding all her weight. She heard the fork clang on the desk, and her arms clasped his shoulders for support.


He covered her face with his, cupped her sex, eliciting a groan from her and she arched her body into the play his hands made on her pussy through the cloth of her pants. He used his weight to lay her on the desk.

“You just don’t get it, Lacey.” She used him to pull her body closer to the edge of the desk closer to him. She inhaled his scent that clung to the sheets she’d been wrapped in the night before. The covers were a cruel memory of the real thing.

“Devlin I―”

“She killed someone!”  He smashed their faces back together, his damned fingers working miracles. “I know you don’t want me.” He pulled the shirt over her head and traced down the sides of her bare torso. “I know you wish we never met.” She arched her back, nearly coming undone at the feel of his rough hands on her soft skin, at the tickle of his facial hair as he pressed kisses to her neck.

Her nipples stretched toward the fabric of her bra, the only barrier between them and freedom. They yearned for him. For his touch, for his kiss, his attention.

The stimulation of his hands was so overwhelming, it took a while for his words to percolate in her head.

Killed someone? What the hell made him think she didn’t want him? Want had nothing to do with it. It was everything else that was the issue. She pushed on his hard chest, “Devlin.” She couldn’t think straight in her current state. She needed air, room to breathe, space to think about something besides wanting to feel his intrusion. “Devlin, stop!”

He backed away from her, his dark eyes a churning black ocean of raw emotions. A pain ran through her chest when she saw the hurt in his face, the depth of his pain. How could her demon king be so pure, yet, so dark all in one moment?

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