5. ISAAC

Chapter five

ISAAC

T he demon— I really ought to learn his name if he's going to be a semi-permanent fixture in my home —was still in my flat when I returned, and thankfully, nothing was on fire or broken. He was, however, wearing significantly less clothing than when I'd left him. It should have been an impossible feat considering he'd only had a robe on this morning. But there he was, in my living room, lounging at one end of the sofa with a book in his hand, showing his wares and seeming entirely unbothered about it.

I was no prude, but come on.

That had to be grounds for eviction, surely?

Gone were the drapes of fabric hanging from his hips, and the long, veil-like shawl that had been covering his shoulders when he'd arrived. Even his waist-length ginger hair was swept out of the way, tied into a high ponytail between his horns to show off the shimmering jewels that adorned his thin, pointed ears .

His robe, at least, had covered everything bar his collarbones, ankles, and wrists. It had been indecently figure-hugging, leaving little to the imagination, but still something . His current outfit had no such wiggle room. He wore a silk vest, cropped at his ribcage, displaying the delicate chains dangling around his waist like a body necklace, the silver a beautiful complement to his brown skin. It was also sleeveless, revealing his toned arms and the bejewelled bangles cinching his biceps. His harem pants sat low on his hips, cuffed above the ankles but slit up the outsides to show his long legs.

He was a vision, that was undeniable, and from where I stood in the doorway, it was as if he was posed just for me, like the subject of a renaissance painting. His relaxed demeanour screamed royalty, so poised and perfect. He was still out of place in my bland shoebox flat, but he looked more at ease in his surroundings than when he'd descended on me like a pretentious, sassy hurricane.

I let out a soft laugh.

Seeing him like that had me wondering if maybe it wouldn't be so bad having him around. He'd definitely liven the dreary walls up a bit, and he'd obviously had no trouble adjusting to our predicament after such a small acclimatisation period, so why couldn't I? Sure, he was an immortal being who most likely antagonised people for fun, but it wasn't as if he could get up to too much mischief here—hopefully—so he wasn't exactly in the way .

Saying any of that out loud, though, would have felt like admitting defeat. Or at least admitting I'd failed at fixing one more thing life had kindly thrown at me, and I wasn't very good at that, so I'd just have to think it instead.

"You know…" the demon said without looking up. He didn't have all of his metal claw-cuffs on, only the pointer finger and thumb, and I found myself mesmerised by the way they flexed as he flipped the page. "It's rude to stare, pet."

I cringed, realising I'd been fully ogling him. "Sorry," I said before stepping further into the room—deciding it best not to linger in the doorway like a creep. "I didn't mean to."

Finally, his eyes lifted from the page and fixed themselves to mine, a wicked, fang-filled smirk on his lips. "Don't be, I like a little rudeness."

He curled his legs closer to himself, presumably to make room for me on the couch, but I was too distracted by his bare feet to sit. Or rather, by the pretty jingle of his anklets as they moved.

I stayed standing.

"What, er—" I coughed to clear my throat. "What have you been doing since I left?"

"Snooping, mostly." Least he was honest about it. "Which took less than thirty minutes, what with your house being so small." Arsehole. "I also took it upon myself to set some wards since security is extremely lax here. I'm far too important to be left vulnerable and unattended."

"You? Vulnerable ? Somehow, I highly doubt that. "

He pouted. "I am a delicate flower who needs a handsome knight to keep me safe and protected at all times." Shrugging, he tacked on, "But since you haven't yet fallen for my wit and charm, magic shields will have to do."

Nope, I was wrong. Having him here would be as terrible as I'd first anticipated.

"Mhm."

"Unless you'd like to change that right now?" With his book clasped in one hand, he began idly rubbing at his collarbone with the pads of the unarmoured fingers on the other. His bottom lip was pinned between his sharp teeth, and his legs were ever so slightly parted.

I wasn't made of steel—his seductions were unbelievably convincing, and a subtle yet deliberate tilt of his hips almost had me giving in, but I couldn't. It wasn't a ‘save myself for marriage' situation, or that I was waiting for the right man to come along and sweep me off my feet. Not really. It was just sort of… nerve-wracking. I'd delayed so long that the thought of finally taking that leap scared the shite out of me, and the added pressure of doing it with someone as fit as him made that feeling ten times worse. I mean, next to him, anyone would have felt inadequate, and without sounding too self-deprecating, I ended up disappointing everyone, so why would this be any different?

Better men probably would have said ‘fuck it' and knelt at his feet already, but I had no experience in this department. Everything we did would be awkward and fumbly, and that only served to add another medal of embarrassment to my extensive collection.

No, it was best to resist, and save myself the bloody stress.

Even if the temptation was killing me.

Swallowing thickly, I tore my gaze away. "I'm good."

His sly grin as he returned to his book made me shift from foot to foot. "Was your outing fruitful?"

"No." Needing to busy myself, I slid my coat off and hung it up on the rack by the door. "Guess you'll be living here for the time being…"

"Did I not already prepare you for that outcome?"

I ignored his snarky interruption. "So, treat the place like your home. Do whatever you want."

He hummed. "I appreciate the permission, though I already was."

The fucker wanted me to bite, but I refused to give him further satisfaction. "What is your name, anyway? If you're going to be around, I can't keep calling you demon ." I lowered my voice to add, "Or arsehole."

His back stiffened, his smile wavering briefly before it returned. I'd almost missed it. "You may call me Ash. If it pleases you."

I frowned at his reaction. "Not your real name?"

"It is a… nickname."

I wouldn't pry, though I would file it away for later. "Very fitting, what with you being a phoenix demon and all. "

"Astutely observed, pet," he cooed mockingly, and I couldn't have restrained the glare I sent him, even if I'd tried.

"Right. Well, help yourself to anything." I turned on my heel, heading towards the bathroom. "I'm going for a shower."

"What is yours?" he called, making my steps falter.

"Huh?"

Ash peered up at me, eyebrow cocked. "Your name."

"Ah… Isaac. Though, if your snooping skills are even half as impressive as your audacity, you already knew that."

The smirk on his face confirmed that assumption, but he dipped his head in polite greeting, anyway.

"Pleasure to be meeting you, Isaac Miller." To my instant mortification, a blush spread across my cheeks at the sound of my name on his tongue. I'd have to get a handle on that, pronto. "Before you leave, I found something of yours that interested me."

Heart skipping and mouth suddenly dry as desert sand, I drifted back to the sofa, curious and nervous in equal measure. "Hm?"

Thankfully, when Ash clicked his magic fingers, the still-boxed Fleshlight I'd purchased a few months ago and hidden under my bed didn't materialise. Instead, it was the leaflet for the Flower Festival. "You should enter."

I exhaled, long and slow. "Oh, er, I'm not ready for that. Someday, maybe. But not yet."

"Why not? "

"I'm almost ninety-nine percent sure it would solve all of my business problems."

He frowned, rightfully so. "That sounds like the opposite of a bad thing."

"The top three winners get massive cash prizes." I carried on as if I hadn't heard him. "But also, recognition. That's TV time, news articles. The guy who won last year just opened his third shop."

With a sigh, Ash put down his book and sat up straighter, angling himself fully towards me. "I'm failing to see the point you're obviously attempting—terribly—to make."

"It's a big deal . Thousands of florists apply from all over the country, but since there's only so many spots, the selection process has to be particular. Brutal. The winners are always very experienced, and very well-off already. It would be pointless for me to even try."

"Why?"

"Didn't you just—"

"I heard your slew of irrelevant points, yes, but why don't you think you're experienced enough?"

"I've only been doing this a couple of years." I shrugged. "I'm a tiny fish in a massive pond. Not even a fish, I'm a grain of salt."

"You're talented at what you do, yes? And once upon a time, you believed in yourself enough to set up this business—a feat that not many achieve." He tilted his head. "Where is that belief now?"

"That' s not—" I ground my teeth. "I have to be rational, and rationally, I'm not at that level yet. You should see some of these people, the creations they can pull out of their arses. I'd never win, so entering is a waste of time."

One of his brows ticked up. "You are a fortune teller now? How quaint."

"You know," I said blandly. "You may actually be more of an interfering pain in my arse than my brother."

He beamed as if it was a compliment and barrelled on, undeterred. "What is it you humans say… ‘fortune favours the bold?' An interesting concept. A little naive, but not entirely without merit."

"And I can still be bold in a few years," I said, well and truly done with this conversation. "If I haven't sunk myself into debt by then."

"Or you could do it while you have the advantage of an extra pair of hands. Powerful hands," he said. He was persistent, I'd give him that, and also exuded more confidence than I would ever have. I was a little jealous. "Regrets are better left to the dying, my dear. Why force them upon yourself early?"

I didn't bother repeating that I hadn't yet shelled out for his assistance; I suspected he was well aware of the fact and was doing whatever the hell he wanted regardless. Or he was just positive that I'd break soon and was planning accordingly. To what end, I didn't dare ask. Some twisted game for his own amusement, probably. Either way, I was already learning how hopeless it was to contradict him .

Given the spoiled brat persona, he was the type who'd have an adverse reaction to the word ‘no' and would sign me up himself just to be spiteful. It was easier for everyone involved to let him think I was taking his suggestions on board. Even if I was already planning to rip up the leaflet and set it alight.

I took the offending item from him and nodded. "I'll think about it."

"Well, don't take too long, the cut-off is in three days." He picked his book up again, reclining on the sofa as if he owned it. "Oh, and I took the liberty of copying down the details, in case you have any funny notions of ridding yourself of the leaflet. Or are too slow."

I stared at the back of his head in suspicion, debating whether he could somehow read my mind or if I was just alarmingly transparent, before realising it was out of my control and not worth worrying about.

Throwing my hands up with a scoff, I finally left the room, but halfway down the hall, something made me hesitate, a voice in my head that urged me to scan the contest details once more with clearer eyes and reassess.

" Once upon a time, you believed in yourself… "

" Where is that belief now? "

The faintest smile tugged at my lips without permission. Shaking my head in disbelief, and before I could talk myself out of it, I marched to my bedroom, where I booted up my laptop and drafted a new email.

Fucking nosy demons.

First the robe, then the crop top, and now nothing but a towel and the water droplets clinging to his skin like morning dew. Ash was doing it on purpose. He had to be. He wanted me to cave, or to give me an aneurysm so he could leave, one state of undress at a time. Those were the only two theories I could muster as we both stepped into the hallway at, conveniently , the same time—me leaving my bedroom as he exited the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing behind him.

I'd slept decently for the first time in months, and all I'd wanted was to sneak into the kitchen, make my coffee, and drink it in peace before having to get ready for work. Ash had timed his interruption of my plans perfectly. It wasn't innocent—I'd wager nothing he'd ever done was innocent, not with that impish grin plastered to his face and those dark, enticing eyes meeting mine as if challenging me to make the first move.

But I was frozen.

My feet were rooted to the floor just past my doorway, and I gripped the frame for both balance and distraction. No sound came from either of us as we locked gazes, only the ambient noises of a lived-in flat—the fan in the bathroom whirring for its life, and the drains gurgling with every last drop of his bathwater. It was easy to drown them out, especially with blood rushing in my ears and my pulse racing.

Without a hint of shyness, Ash held my gaze as he unhooked the towel hanging from his waist and let it pool around his feet, leaving him completely bare. He straightened to his full height, the tips of his horns almost brushing the ceiling, chin raised as if inviting me to gawp at him, to take in exactly what I was missing. He didn't need to be naked for that. I already knew he was sin incarnate, but having the visual proof—ginger hair cascading like wet silk down his back, lean muscles reflecting the dawn's yellow light, and his cock, smooth and pretty, nestled between soft, toned thighs—drove the point home.

My dick twitched with interest. I couldn't help it. It was my first time seeing a man naked in the flesh, and he was flawless. Of course my body would react. But it wasn't just that. Ash's confidence was intoxicating. It was arrogance, a god complex that didn't seem entirely misplaced, and I should've hated it, but I couldn't. He was everything I wasn't. We were opposites in every way, and it both terrified and aroused me. It made me want to run for the hills, but also beg .

Obviously impatient with my lack of decision on the matter, Ash stalked towards me, steps silent and calculated, movements sinuous. He towered a head or so above me, standing so close the heat radiating from his skin seeped into mine and his breath kissed my face. No part of us was touching—not even the obscene tent in my boxers grazed his leg, surprisingly—but I still felt pinned, bracketed to the wall by his self-assured posture and the hunger in his eyes.

My heartbeat quickened.

"I don't want to use you," I murmured, throat dry.

It wasn't a refusal, and with the way Ash's eyes flared in victory, he realised it, too.

"Then let me use you ," he purred before lowering himself gracefully to his knees, the sight enough to steal all the breath from my lungs. "Why keep denying yourself when we both know you desire me?"

Fucked if I knew the answer to that. Fucked if I knew anything . Not when his fingers were trailing through the coarse hairs on my belly before dipping under the waistband of my boxers. All thoughts in my brain grew foggy, and I had to close my eyes and steady myself as he lifted the hem of my T-shirt with one hand and peeled my boxers down my thighs with the other.

I was of average size, so I wasn't nervous in that regard, but being so raw and exposed in front of another person—especially someone way out of my league who wasn't unaware of it either—had my knees feeling weak and wobbly.

"I knew you'd be a pretty boy," he said, his voice thick with want, smile salacious. "I'll bet you taste just as divine."

To my utter humiliation, my cock throbbed against my stomach and a bead of precum dribbled from the tip, right in front of his face. My cheeks burned, and the look he shot me through his lashes was smugger than I'd ever seen him. It was also all the warning I got before he leaned forward, took every inch of me into his hot, wet mouth, and swallowed.

I saw stars.

My head thumped against the wall as my back arched, a hoarse moan tearing from my throat. The feeling was indescribable—electric, molten. It took everything in me not to fist his horns and buck upward, to chase that silken heat and seek relief from the tension already coiling at the base of my spine.

How was something so simple, so good? All he did was bump his nose to my pelvis and hold me there, all of me filling him, the tip grazing the ridges on the roof of his mouth, and it was the best I'd ever felt. Of course, he went ahead and proved that declaration rash by humming around me, the vibrations sending an extra jolt of pleasure straight to my balls, and fuuuuck me .

Forget the fucking stars. I'd never considered myself a pious man, but I sure as shite saw the pearly gates.

Ash drew back with a filthy laugh to lap at the now dripping slit, and the dual pressures snaking around the head of my dick was how I learned that his tongue was forked. It should have been alarming, a reminder of exactly who — or what— was sucking me off. But the way each point twitched and licked had me barrelling towards orgasm far too quick, the sensation boiling in my core, and I was too focused on not blowing my load like the fucking virgin I was to care.

I'd barely had the chance to fully enjoy it, to savour what should have been a gradual build-up, a crawl not a race, and it was impossible to dial back.

Such an embarrassment.

My toes curled against the carpet, my muscles beginning to clench hard. It was too intense. Too much, too soon, emotion and pleasure swelling like a storm, and I couldn't regain control over any of it, couldn't calm the rise of anxiety, couldn't hush the whisper nipping at my ear…

You're not good enough.

"S-stop," I said, my voice cracking, panic setting in. "Stop, I can't… I…"

Ash withdrew instantly, taking his spit-slick mouth and skilled hands away without hesitation, and I wanted to kick myself. I hated the cold air that hit my sensitive skin. I hated losing the warm suction of his lips.

But most of all, I hated how he stayed kneeling on the ground as he peered up at me, a furrow between his brows.

"Are you—"

"I'm sorry," I cut in, scrambling to tug my boxers up, cringing as the fabric fused with my wet dick.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Before Ash could respond either in words or expression, I retreated into my room, eyes fixed on the floor. "I, er… I have to get ready for work."

Ash rose to his feet without flair or fuss, and I closed the door instead of making eye contact, like a coward, not willing to risk spotting even a smidge of ridicule on his face. Several beats passed while I stared at nothing, willing my heart to quit thundering, overwhelmed with the urge to go after him, to try again, but knowing it was too late.

I'd already fucked up.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the wood, and let out a defeated sigh.

Bloody idiot.