Fire & Brimstone (Neighbor from Hell #8) - R.L. Mathewson Page 0,47
menu every now and then, and about a hundred other items that they should probably throw away, but the man who was seriously starting to piss her off refused to part with.
“Yes,” he said right about the time that she realized that he’d not only closed the door behind him, but was now unbuckling his belt and pulling down his zipper, cluing her into the fact that he was done ignoring her.
It really was too bad that she was going to have to bash his balls in with the paper napkin dispenser, she thought with a sigh as she grabbed the aforementioned item and stood up, more than prepared to make Lucifer sing soprano for the rest of his life.
Chapter 23
“Why are you holding that like you’re about to bash my brains in?” he asked with a frown as he stood there with his hand on his zipper.
“I was actually thinking of bashing in something a little more south depending on how the next few seconds played out,” she said, giving the napkin holder a little shake to emphasize the threat and making him roll his eyes, because this was just fucking pathetic.
“Keep your mind out of the gutter,” he said with a sigh as he finished pulling his zipper down, turned around and pulled his shirt off over his head to show her the reason why he was in here. Okay, so it was an excuse, but he was out of his element on this one and had to work with what he had.
There was a heavy pause before she mumbled, “Mojo?” and he could tell by the way that she’d said it that she was wincing. Not that he could blame her, because if he owned a psychotic dog that liked to tackle people to the ground so that he could drop down on top of them with the sole purpose of using them as a mattress, he would probably be wincing, too.
“Apparently he got out again,” he said dryly as he stood there, trying not to relive the memory of being used like a bitch by a two hundred fifty pound plus dog.
“I’m really sorry, Lucifer,” she said as he felt her fingertips brush softly over the cuts and bruises the large bastard had left behind.
One day he was going to turn that dog into a rug…
But, until that day came, he would use him as a means to get closer to the woman examining every mark her “baby” had left on his body. The cuts and bruises really didn’t bother him, but since they gave him an excuse to talk to her, he decided to use what he had. At least it would give him some time to figure out how to fix the fuck up that he now referred to as this past week so that she wouldn’t go off with some prick bartender.
“There’s a first aid kit in the break room,” she said, quickly stepping past him and opened the door, but since that really wasn’t going to work for him, he turned around and tried to look appropriately innocent.
“Oh my God! What the hell did he do to you?” she gasped as she placed her hands over her mouth, staring at the bruises covering his chest and stomach with something close to horror.
He shrugged, making sure to cringe so that it looked like the movement pained him. “He kept knocking me down,” he said, which was technically true since his asshole cousins and brothers had taken their turns knocking him down during a pickup game of football this past weekend as payback for banning them from the Fire & Brimstone. It hadn’t mattered if he had the ball or was even on their fucking team.
Assholes.
He really hated those bastards, he thought with a sigh even as he was forced to bite back a smile at the memory of knocking each and every one of those assholes down until they’d screamed for their wives and mothers to make him stop.
“These look like they really hurt,” she said, worrying her bottom lip as she took in one horrible bruise after another.
“They really do,” he lied, hoping that she didn’t notice that the bruises on his chest were a few days old since that would just wreck everything.
Still worrying that full bottom lip of hers that he’d imagined sliding up and down his shaft over the past week, she said, “Maybe we should put some ice on it?”