Elira Firethorn

I swear, good men only exist in books. Specifically, books written by women.

I swear, good men only exist in books. Specifically, books written by women.

There’s something about the way he’s holding my head and fucking my mouth that makes me never want him to stop.

“See how good you taste? No wonder we can’t get enough of you.”

“Jesus Christ,” she whispers.

“Nope. Just a couple demons, making sure you end up in hell with us for all of eternity.”

“Here they come.”

“Ohhh, book boy looks especially nice today.”

“Order for Brooke,”

“Good morning, Wren. Ava. Have a good week?”

I’m about to turn away, but just then, he steps through the front door. Tall, well-built, and with eyes that pierce the soul. And he’s looking right at me.

Butterflies fill my stomach. Elliot is one of the three men who meets here every Friday morning for coffee. They’re always dressed in sharp suits, almost too perfect to be real.

Over the months, Ava and I have caught them staring at me on more than one occasion. But Elliot is the one I talk to the most.

I can’t help but blush under his gaze. He’s looking at me expectantly, like he wants a real answer, not a fake, “Oh, it was fine.”