do it softly, either. I yank his hair and he spins, falling backward onto the couch. It’s a move he shouldn’t have made, because I lock my arms and legs around him with an iron grip and he’s now a turtle on his back. I expend a burst of precious energy launching him off the couch, facedown on the floor, and revel in my moment of triumph before he starts fighting back.
“Get off!” He rolls us, but I’m scrappy and I’ve been storing up my energy all day with bonbons and Real Housewives. He’s stressed. His mother has called his office fifty times. I’ve got an edge on him.
I’m straddling him now and I’ve got my hands on his throat. “Give me my phone!”
He throws my phone at the armchair across the room. I consider diving for it but my elbow still hurts from where he squished me against the wall, so I pull his shirt up over his face like a fifth-grade bully and pinch his nipples. Nicholas shouts.
Eyes obscured, he fights for use of his arms and smacks his own glasses askew when I yank his shirt back down. “Lie still!” I command. “I deserve to win this.”
“You deserve tapeworms.” His face is red and he’s struggling more than he’d like to admit. I feel a rush of power to know that I’m actually a decent foe here.
“You bumped me into the wall on purpose.”
“I did not, you little goblin.” I bounce up and down, which makes him wince. “You’re not a goblin, actually. You’re a changeling. You’ve taken over the body of that nice girl I met.”
“Her name was Naomi, wasn’t it?” I say, tilting my head. “Too bad for her.”
“Yes. Too bad for us both.”
“You’ll never see her again.” I shift for better purchase on his squirming lap, and a jolt of surprise electrifies me when I discover he’s hard.
All the air punches from my lungs as I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, why?”
His cheekbones burn. “Your top is low and you’re writhing all over me. What do you expect?”
I expect him to be single-minded in his quest to end me, is what I expect. I’m amazed by man’s ability to think about vengeance and penis contact at the same time. What I’ve been regarding as a savage WrestleMania showdown has been more like foreplay for Nicholas. I should have known. Men are trash.
The harder I laugh, the more I unintentionally rub on him, and the further into darkness his eyes slip. He’s incredibly turned on and absolutely furious about it. At this moment, I have more control over his body than he does. The delicious power trip goes straight to my head.
His hands shoot out and catch me in the ribs. I have approximately one second to wonder if he’s going to kiss me or kill me when he draws a wild card and starts tickling me. My hands are still around his throat, but when he tickles all my weak spots it’s like pressing an eject button. I flop over onto my side, flailing uncontrollably.
“Ahh, stop!” I gasp. “I’m very ticklish!”
“Are you? I couldn’t tell.” He’s getting back at me for making him horny and embarrassed.
I kick his shin and wriggle away, making a break for my phone. He seizes my ankle and pulls me back, but the smooth motion of gliding across the floor against my will is like an amusement park ride and instead of irritating me it just makes me laugh.
The laugh dies when Nicholas pins me. His hair’s hanging down on either side of my face, breath fanning over my lips. He holds very still, just watching, closer than he’s been to me in ages. My body remembers him and shivers.
His eyes are so black, I think I can see hell in them. For someone whose gaze has the power to compress souls into diamonds and diamonds into dust, I know he’d taste like spun sugar if I licked across his tongue. He’s the poster boy for high-fructose corn syrup and I want to take a bite out of him. Peel off his shiny wrapper. Count how many of my teeth marks I find beneath.
The air is mountaintop-thin. “You’re a demon,” I tell him.
“And you’ve been a ghost,” he breathes. I need the upper hand here, but I’m smaller than Nicholas. I use one of the only weapons at my disposal: surprise.
I reach between his legs and give him a firm, not unpleasant squeeze. His eyes widen, and the