Demon (27 page)

I swallowed. My heart was hammering, and I tried to remember tricks I had learned, ways to slow my heartbeat and my breathing, ways to calm my body. I tried to picture a cool, glassy pool. Another button gone. Imagined lying in a field of green, looking up into the blue, blue sky, watching the clouds chase each other as birds sang noisily. Another button, and I didn’t think there were many left. I wasn’t going to look down—that would make things worse. I closed my eyes, humming in my mind, some nonsense song to try to drive away the feel of the cool air against my suddenly hot skin. He reached the last button, and it was all I could do not to jump away from him.

I could think of nothing to distract me as he pushed the jacket off my shoulders, letting it slide down my arms and onto the floor, so that I was standing there in a loose tank top, the drawstring pants, and nothing more. The Fallen didn’t seem to believe in underwear, and I’d had to insist on the tank top to wear beneath the clothes, despite Allie’s arguments. He surveyed me for a long moment, tilting his head slightly as his heavy-lidded gaze washed over me.

“Try counting to one hundred in Latin,” he suggested affably, reaching for the hem of the tank top. “That might work.”

I glared at him. I’d forgotten he could occasionally read my thoughts. “Do you know how annoying that is?” I said, trying to work up a good head of steam.

“I don’t care.” Before I realized what he was doing, he’d skinned me out of the tank top and tossed it on the floor, leaving me half-naked.

Okay, he’d already seen me that way. My nipples tightened instinctively in the warm room, remembering his touch on them, his mouth on them, sucking, and I—

I wasn’t going to get aroused. Cool water, I thought, mentally letting it wash over my heated skin. He didn’t touch my breasts, when I was expecting him to, had steeled myself against it, and somehow that was even more arousing. The anticipation was making the blood pool everywhere it needed to. Blood, I reminded myself, trying to cool the heat in me. For some reason it only made me hotter.

He was going to unfasten the drawstring next, and the pants would go sliding onto the floor and I’d be naked, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. Not without going back on my word. I waited, impatient.

But he didn’t. Instead he picked me up, and at his touch I froze, remembering his arms supporting me against that wooden door, remembering his strength, remembering his betrayal. Wanting to cry, when despite my lack of demonhood I still hadn’t been able to summon tears, only dry, racking sobs when no one was around.

There would be no tears in front of Azazel. He carried me into the bedroom, even though I was stiff as a board, and set me down on the huge bed. A second later he followed, kneeling over me.

“Uh, don’t you think we ought to pull down the covers?” I said nervously.

“Why? Do you think we’ll mess them up?”

Asshole
, I thought, glaring at him.

“Green fields and blue skies, Rachel,” he said. “Lie back and think of England, remember?”

I lay back, more to get my breasts out of his way than for any other reason. I was still expecting him to pull off the loose pants, but he did nothing, and I wondered if he was going to bite me first.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, my broken voice edgy.

“And which question was that?”

“Are you going to bite me before or after sex?”

His bright blue eyes met mine. “During,” he said, and put his hand between my legs.

I arched off the bed, surprised, aroused by his
touch through the fabric. Reflexively I tried to close my legs, but he moved one knee between them, keeping them apart, as his long fingers moved between my legs, touching me through the light cotton. “Why are you wet, demon?” he whispered. “You’re not supposed to be liking this.”

“I’m … I’m not a demon any longer,” I said in a tight voice, trying to fight the insidious feelings that were sweeping through me. His touch was light, but even I could feel the dampness as he slid the cloth against me.

“No,” he said, leaning forward, one hand braced on the bed, the other still between my legs. “Only to me.”

I felt sorrow and disappointment begin to overtake me, but he brushed my lips with his, so softly that it felt like a benediction. “You have become my own personal demon. You haunt me, tempt me, drive me mad with wanting you, and I can no longer blame prophecies or powers or fate. It’s just you. I have chosen you, because I cannot imagine ever wanting anyone else, ever again. You possess me, obsess me; you’re everywhere inside me and I cannot get rid of you. And worst of all, I don’t wish to.”

I was breathless, staring up at him. “For a declaration of love, that leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I don’t love you. I won’t love you,” he said, and
his gently moving fingers found the center of my pleasure, and I jerked, sliding down on the bed. “But by the time I’m done with you, you won’t notice the difference.”

He put his hand behind my neck, drawing my mouth to his as he slid down beside me, and his tongue silenced all my useless words of protest. He was wrong. Afterward I would remember the difference. But right now the burgeoning sensations were so powerful that I couldn’t fight them. Pride had gone out the window. I was starving, ravenous for him. I would take what I could get.

The wet cloth that separated his deft fingers from me was maddening. I felt him push inside me, but the fabric prevented him from all but the slightest penetration, and I made a low, moaning sound of frustration against his mouth, arching my hips in mute supplication. He lifted his mouth, and his eyes were bright blue in a room that now seemed full of shadows. “Ask me,” he whispered.

I clamped my mouth shut, determined not to say the words, and he let his tongue play along the seam of my closed lips, teasing, tasting, until I wanted nothing more than to open to him. Stubbornness and frustration were warring with one another until I wanted to scream. I slid down farther on the bed, arching my hips against his hand. “Ask me,” he said again, a finger brushing against
me, sending sparks of desire shooting through my body.

I was panting now, and the friction of the damp cloth against the most sensitive part of my body was exquisite, almost to the point of pain. I needed so much more, I needed release, I needed it now. I closed my eyes as he leaned over me, his lips teasing mine; but as the arousal built to an almost unbearable point, I opened them to stare into his, not bothering to hide the rage and hurt that were filtering through the heat.

His own eyes had been slumberous, half-closed, but they opened and met mine, and in a different creature I might have seen regret. His hand moved from between my legs, and he hunched forward, cupping my face, his thumbs brushing my lips before he leaned forward and kissed them. “All right,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

I’d never thought to hear those words from him. I thought of my ruined voice, the scars on my body, and then I let go. Hating and loving him was tearing me apart. I could no more stop loving him than I could stop breathing. So I had to stop hating him.

His mouth moved along the line of my jaw, kissing, nipping lightly, gliding down my throat till he tasted my pulse, and I knew a moment’s wonder whether he would take my blood now, but he
moved past, down, and my breasts were tingling, waiting for his touch, waiting for his mouth. His hands slid down, covering them, and I cried out with the sensation, a raw, rough sound, and then I made no sound at all as his mouth closed over one taut nipple, drawing it in tightly, his tongue dancing across the beaded top as he sucked, and I wondered if I could come simply from his mouth at my breast. And then I remembered his hoarse, one-word command, “Come,” and my body went rigid as a small climax caught me.

I fell back against the pillows, panting, shocked by the intensity of my response, but he’d already moved to my other breast, the climax this time almost immediate.

I tried to catch my breath as he slid the loose pants down my legs, and then his hands slid up them, up the insides of my calves, my thighs, strong hands. He was going to take me now, I thought, part of me rebelling. I didn’t want him on top, controlling me; I didn’t want to be mastered. His hands touched me, and I knew I was wet and ready for him, and I told myself I could do this, I could lie still for him. I waited for the sound of his zipper, the rough rustle of jeans pushed down, but he leaned down and put his mouth against me.

I knew people did this, of course I did. I had
inspired men to do this to their wives, in my demon life. But no one, absolutely no one, had ever done this to me, put his mouth between my legs and licked me, tasted me, sucked at me, until a muffled sob broke from my throat and my hands came up to his head, wanting to push him away. It was too much, I couldn’t bear it; but his long hair flowed onto my hips and instead I threaded my fingers through the silky strands.

The touch of his tongue was more subtle than that of his strong fingers, luring me into a dark, strange place where such delight existed that I hovered, frightened, as his tongue circled and flicked. He slid a finger inside me, and I arched off the bed, but before I could sink back he’d withdrawn it and pushed two inside, and I could feel my toes begin to curl. And then three fingers, and I was done, a silent scream coming from deep inside me as my entire body convulsed into darkness.

He was inside me before I had even begun to come down, pushing, his cock deep inside me, and I panicked, bucking, fighting him, trying to throw him off me.

He caught my wrists easily, slamming them down on the bed, his hips pinioning me. My struggles were useless, yet I couldn’t stop, terrified.

He lay on top of me, holding me down. “Stop
it,” he panted in my ear. “Stop fighting it. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. There’s no other choice.”

His words were barely making sense. All I knew was that I had to stop him, had to reverse him, had to be on top, not beneath him; but he was too strong, and I couldn’t dislodge him. He wasn’t trying to continue, merely holding me there like someone trying to break a skittish mare, I thought with sudden, almost hysterical amusement.

“No,” I pleaded, my pride vanished. “Please, no.”

He put his face next to mine, rubbing gently, an almost animal gesture of reassurance. “We have to, Rachel,” he whispered. “Just this once, I have to take you this way, so that I can take your blood.”

I kicked, trying to throw him off, but he was too strong, his possession too deep, deep inside me, filling me. “You can reach my neck if I’m on top,” I managed to choke out.

“No.”

“Standing up.” I couldn’t believe I was suggesting such a thing, after the last, devastating time that had turned into such a betrayal.

“No,” he said between gritted teeth, and his body, his naked body, was slick with sweat, and for a moment I was distracted from my
mindless terror, wondering when he’d taken his clothes off, wondering what he felt like, naked against me.

I tried to get my elbows between us, but his strength was unbelievable. It was like beating at a brick wall—nothing could break his hold, his possession—and slowly, slowly, I stopped struggling. I lay still, panting, my body covered with sweat, covered with Azazel. I raised my eyes to meet his, and I could see real regret in his eyes.

The shadows had leached all color from the room, the only exception being the deep blue of his eyes, and I was remembering the trap of the Dark City once more, the trap of his betrayal. He was sorry, I thought, miserable. He regretted this. He didn’t want this. He was being forced—

“Shut up,” he said, releasing my arms to cup my face. I had worn myself out fighting him, and I could do nothing but lie beneath him. He kissed my mouth, my eyelids, my nose. “I’m sorry that I must force you to lie beneath me. How many times do I have to tell you? My need for you is so powerful I’d agree to anything you want. But it has to be this way. Do you understand?”

To punctuate his words, he withdrew partway, the thick penetration releasing me, and then thrust back in again, hard, hard enough to push
me back into the mattress, and I shivered, trying to still the panic that swamped me.

I could feel his skin against mine, warm, damp, his muscled arms around me, his mouth pressed against the side of my face. His long legs against mine, the shallow penetration, his cock inside me that wasn’t enough.

Slowly, slowly, I lifted my legs to wrap them around his narrow hips. Slowly, slowly, I put my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as I let go, let go of the ancient need born out of stubbornness and transformed into a vicious curse, let go of the memory of the thousand demons who had taken me this way, night after night, tearing me, hurting me, destroying me. Gone, it was all gone, and there was only Azazel, the smell of his skin, the cool ocean scent of him, the warm flesh, the taste of him in my mouth as I licked his shoulder, the steady thrust of him, touching someplace inside me that made me wild. And I was the one who kissed him, arching up to meet him, joining him in this mad dance of lust and love; and it wasn’t about him controlling me, conquering me, it wasn’t about who was on top and who was on the bottom, it was just the two of us, the joining, thick and hot and wonderful; and my climax, more powerful than ever, was coming closer, and even though I wanted to hold back to prolong it, the
feelings were too shattering, and I let go of the need to control, let go and simply existed in a sea of pleasure.

I could feel his own need rise, his cock swelling inside me when I would have thought that was impossible, the slamming speed of his thrusts that shook me, shook the bed, and I cried out for more, for what I wanted, needed; and as I hovered on the crest, as I felt him begin to spurt inside me, his teeth clamped down on my neck, his teeth piercing my skin, and I shattered. The pull of his mouth at my neck, sucking, drinking, lost in my taste, the sweet hot rush as he filled me were too much. I was dying, and I didn’t care. We would die together, destroyed by a desire that was elementally wrong; they had warned us, and neither of us had cared. I was dying, and I was in his arms, and that was all that mattered.