Demon Fire (Angel Fire #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,62
Changed up her tactics. Kept him guessing. She hoped.
Flinging one side of her robe open, she strode into their bedroom. Leo was on his side, facing away from her as usual. His wings were tucked closer around his body than normal, as if he hoped they were an invisibility cloak.
Pursing her lips, she crossed to the drapes and flung them as wide open as her robe. There was a rustle of bedding as she let her eyes become accustomed to the bright sunshine.
Leo didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask her to shut the curtains. He didn’t protest like the first couple of times. He was silent.
Push him harder. She let out a nervous giggle. “Oh my goodness. I should tie my robe shut or I’ll flash the entire neighborhood.” She spun around, a fake smile plastered all over her face.
And found that he had his back to her, his wings forming a shell around him.
What the . . . When was the last time he’d rolled over that fast?
She narrowed her eyes. “They might see my breasts.” He didn’t twitch.
Her confidence wavered. How was she going to get through to him? Were orgasms really going to be enough to tear down the protective barrier his gray wings made?
Touching herself was all well and good, but she had a mate right here who could touch her whenever he wanted. The point of all this was to get him to want to do something, anything, at all.
She tilted her head. Touch.
When was the last time she’d touched him?
After he’d finished healing, he’d become self-competent enough to keep her at bay. She didn’t bathe him. She didn’t comb his hair. She didn’t help him get in and out of bed.
Summoning all the courage she had left, she sauntered to the edge of the bed. He couldn’t see her, but she didn’t care. She rolled her shoulders in a way that made her breasts jiggle.
What did humans say? Fake it till you make it.
She brushed her hand over the feathers of his wings. He jerked like she’d gut punched him. Feathers fluttered as a ripple passed through Leo’s body. “I’ll get us some breakfast.”
He didn’t respond.
Had she gotten through to him? She went to the kitchen. Odessa had brought several bags of groceries from Earth earlier in the week. A loaf of bread Millie made yesterday was on the counter. Strawberries and blueberries were in a container next to it. Oranges. Eggs. Even a jar of a dark spread called Nutella. Millie had never had the chocolate hazelnut concoction, but Odessa swore it was an orgasm for the taste buds.
Leo usually wanted dry toast and water. He’d been indulged too long. He’d get used to her touch—and to pleasant flavors and sensations.
She cut some bread and spread Nutella over it, then sliced the fruit and made fresh orange juice. When she was walking upstairs, she passed a vase that Odessa had stuck red and yellow tulips in. Plucking one out, Millie put that on the tray next to the food.
She breezed into the bedroom, only now realizing her robe had been open the entire time. At least one of them was getting used to the new her.
Setting the tray down, she curled her fingers gently around the crest of a wing. “Breakfast, my love.”
She left him to eat. The minutes ticked by slowly. She paced the entire main floor of the manor. Would he sample anything? Gobble it all and realize how much he deprived himself?
Finally, an hour passed and she jogged up the stairs. He had rolled to his other side, but his face was still buried under feathers.
“All done?” She couldn’t suppress her grin when she went to the tray.
Her smile faded. Nothing had moved. The orange juice was full. A small gasp escaped her. The flower was crushed, like he’d fisted the delicate petals and squeezed.
No words came to her. She grabbed the tray. Juice sloshed over the glass as she stomped out.
She muttered under her breath the whole way to the kitchen. “Stubborn male. Stubborn, pigheaded, thick skulled—”
She was about to push over the vase with the unwanted flowers when a gong rang through the house. Snatching her hand back, she steadied the tray in her grip. That was probably Bryant. She stuffed a hand through her hair and cinched her robe as tight as she could.
She was back to her serene self when she answered. “Bryant. Welcome. You can go right up.”