Deals With The Devil's Spawn

Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls

"You can't make me go," I growled at the big stubborn giant staring down at me with a glare that was being betrayed by the amusement in his blue eyes.

"Try me," he replied, crossing his arms across his chest, the cookies he'd insisted we bake long forgotten as he focused his energy entirely on me.

"Brayden, I'm not going to say this again," I started, leveling a glare on him, my hands planted firmly on my hips. "I'm not going to the stupid thing, and you, know matter what you do, can't make me."

He sighed, tiredly, and I held back my satisfied smile, knowing damn well that the prick trying to force me to go to the farce of a gallery, wasn't that easily defeated. He definitely had something up his sleeve.

"Fine," he mumbled, absently, his eyes traveling to the counter to my left, and as I followed his eyes, I realized what the hell he had planned a little too late when a handful of flour was suddenly shoved down the front of my shirt.

Gasping, I pulled the shirt away from my body, and stared down the inside at my now covered in flour, black bra. "What the fuck, dude?"

Looking up, I found him staring back at me, a bored look on his face, like he hadn't just doused me in flour. "You left me no choice."

My jaw went slack as I looked up at the big dummy trying to fight a grin that fell into a glare, when I reached for the partially-done cookie dough, and smeared some of it on his chest, his hand coming up to stop me too late.

"Is that how you wanna play this?" He glared back, grabbing a handful of flour and flinging it right in my face, a sputter leaving my lips as I quickly blinked to avoid any of it getting in my eyes.

Wiping the flour off my eyes, slowly, I peeled them open to give him my best death glare. "That is it."

I was flinging myself on him as soon as the words were out of my mouth, catching him off guard, and making him stumble back, losing his footing, and falling flat on the ground, with me falling with him.

Wasting no time, I used his shock against him, and straddled him, grabbing a handful of flour off the counter and shoving it into his slightly opened mouth. "Say you'll drop this, and I'll stop force feeding you flour."

Coughing and sending flour flying out of his mouth, he tried to bat my hands away, twisting and turning beneath me, trying to get away.

"Say it," I demanded, slapping his hand away when he went to grab onto one of my arms.

"No," he choked out, trying once again to grab the hand that was currently curled into a tight fist that held flour that still managed to find it's way out.

"Fine, then eat flour, bitch," I growled, shrugging.

"Enough," he growled back, giving me a hard glare that sent shivers down my spine. The kind of shivers that made me want to forget this whole thing, and lean down and crash my lips to his.

God, he was just so fucking hot.

And I, apparently, was a masochist.

Grabbing my hands, he lifted his knee, and flipped me off of him. Gently rolling me onto the kitchen floor, he climbed over me, and positioned himself in much like the position I'd used to hold him down a minute ago.

Loosening his hold on my wrists, he brought my arms down, gently resting my hands on his bent legs, and brushed the back of them with his thumbs, before his eyes met mine.

"Why don't you want to go? You're finally getting the recognition that you deserve," he whispered, his eyes imploring.

Avoiding his blue eyes, I stared at his chest, nibbling on my bottom lip. "I just don't, okay?"