I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Honestly? She’s exactly his fucking type. Figuratively and literally. Walking face first into this encounter knowing exactly what to expect. And more importantly, what not to expect. Or, he could be reading too fucking much into it. Seems like the kinda bullshit he’s been on lately, at least.
His response to her sweetly delicate exclamation is nothing more than a narrowed gaze and the sneering curl of his lip. Not his goddamned problem if she wanted to give a shit about pointless things. Of course, that usually doesn’t stop him from mentioning it, but he’d have give a whole hell of a lot more damn than he currently does before he dug any further into that cesspit.
Though if they were talking about self control or having an actual personality that didn’t revolve around sex and violence, he is sure as hell the wrong guy for the job. Seems they had a lot more in common than what first met the eye. Not that they’d ever be likely to find out. After all, fucking one another doesn’t make them bosom beaus.
No, apparently you need a century of bullshit for that.
Her cooing suggestion draws a snort of amusement from him. The fucking furrow in his brow? Like hell. He doesn’t move in response to her invitation, but the dark gleam of his eyes suggest he’s more than a little interested. “And what the hell do you think my furrowed brow is telling you hmm?” he asks after a moment, his tone low and dangerous.
