“Do you have a headache?” I asked, putting away the supplies.
“Not at all, strangely enough. I guess I’m lucky.” Sighing, he lay back on the chaise and closed his eyes again.
There was music coming from downstairs where Lolita and Boymeat were hanging out. I figured I should go join them and let the poor guy sleep, since that was what he needed.
“Here’s a cushion for behind your back.” I brought over a soft, round pillow, but he had trouble sitting up. “Your ribs are hurt. Why didn’t you say something?”
He winced as he lay back with the pillow in place. “It’s no big deal.”
“Let me see.” I pushed up his T-shirt, my palms brushing against his stomach.
He tensed, and our eyes met. He felt vulnerable. It resonated more intensely than anything else I had felt from him.
I sank to my knees, instinctively putting my head lower than his, making myself less of a threat. My hand rested on the tightened muscles of his stomach. “Let me see,” I repeated softly.
All of his defenses were raised, but he took a deep breath and relaxed back as I told him to. I slowly slid his T-shirt up his chest. Where my hands grazed his left side, shooting pain cut through him. I skimmed off the worst of it, dulling the throbbing as I absorbed the radiating energy. I stole only a feathery brush of his relief.
“You’ve got a bad bruise here.” My finger outlined the blue and purpling flesh. “I should probably tape your rib cage.”
I got out the wide tape and helped him sit up so I could wind it around his middle. He had tight abs and a strong chest, toned through years of manual labor, softening only slightly with age. His shoulders weren’t overbound by muscle—he had the smooth movements of a runner rather than a weight lifter—but his biceps bunched thick when he bent his arms. There was a dusting of dark hair between his pecs and much lower down, below his belly button.
He kept glancing into my eyes, which still had the flecked green and brown irises I was born with. Most demons would have turned them into a striking green, and they would have made their skin smoother and their breasts larger or smaller. Though I had tried to remain faithful to my human form, it was inevitable that I had perfected myself in hundreds of small ways—sculpting my body and face into what I wanted to see. But I didn’t want to be a parody of myself. I wanted to be myself, as impossible as that was, so I kept my eyes their human color.
As I cut the tape and smoothed down the end, Theo reached out to touch the wisps of dark hair against my cheek.
Surprised, I looked up at him.
“You’re being really nice to me,” he said. “You don’t even know me.”
“You saved my life tonight.”
He smiled. “That’s a fish story—it gets bigger with the telling. That guy wouldn’t have done much more than knock you around.” His hand brushed my arm where I had left the bruises unhealed. “Are you hurt?”
“No, not at all.” I glanced away. “Don’t mind me. I’m always a fool for the big gesture. I guess it’s my one and only romantic streak.”
“I’m sure you have others.”
I shrugged, feeling as if I had taken advantage of him enough. It was depressing that a stranger had saved my life, and I couldn’t even convince him of that. “Do you want to rest here for a while? Or would you be more comfortable on the daybed?”
“This is fine.”
“Is there somebody I should call to let them know you’re all right?”
“No, nobody’s expecting me.”
I arched a brow. Why didn’t this lovely hunk of a man have a wife or at least a girlfriend waiting for him? “Nobody at home?”
“No,” he insisted.
I almost pressed him, wanting to understand. But he was resistant, tensing up after all my hard work to relax him. I owed him his privacy, at the very least.
I reached over and turned off the light shining in his face. That left us in the comfortable shadows cast by the small lamp next to the daybed. The tiny shade was mostly gold, the color of happiness.
I went to his feet and began unlacing his worn leather shoes. Theo reached out to stop me. “Don’t; they’re so dirty.”
“You think I can’t handle a little dirt? I work in a bar.” The corner of my mouth twisted up as I drew off his left shoe. Then I unlaced the right one, taking my time, like a mock striptease, pulling the bow untied.
He laughed weakly. “Making fun of me?”
“Not really.” As I pulled off his shoe, I let my finger slide over his bare ankle, diving deep into his emotions, as I asked, “Hasn’t a girl ever undressed you before?”
His instant response washed over me; a wave of pure passion. He was suddenly raring to go, even as banged up as he was, practically pumping out testosterone as the driving, aggressive engine that powered him shifted into high gear.
So that was why he didn’t have a woman waiting at home for him. He was the kind of guy who’d probably had hundreds, maybe even thousands of women. He wasn’t likely to settle down with one girl and start doting on babies, not when he was out driving around in a smorgasbord every day.
“Is that what you’re doing? Undressing me?” His invitation was clear.
Without thinking, I shot back, “Are you offering me the chance to be another notch on your belt?”
He jerked back, as if I had punctured the air out of him. I had ripped off the soothing facade he used to protect himself and had said the truth out loud. It wasn’t a nice thing to do. It made people feel bad when they had to face their own shit.
I was supposed to be making him feel good. I owed him that for taking his energy.
Apologetically, I settled a chenille blanket over him, then knelt down to check on his head wound. I smoothed the creases in his forehead, stroking back his hair. I didn’t take any of his emotions; I just wanted to touch him. I wanted it to be pure, without any taint.
Without warning, I felt his confusion and despair flooding out. I couldn’t help sensing it, even though I tried not to feed. Such terrible pain. It seemed everything hard and ugly and cruel had been his to bear.
A silent cry of agony rose inside of him. He hated his weakness; he struggled against everything he felt. But for a moment he truly felt alive again, even if it was too much.
“It’s all right,” I murmured, stroking his hair. “It’ll be all right. . . .”
He turned, taking my hand in his so he could kiss my palm. His lips were hot against my skin. “You don’t know that.”
I was reeling. “I know you’re not a bad man. I can tell, believe me.”
My hand trembled, trapped between his palm and his lips. Theo spilled his relief into me, his eyes burning.
Like a molten river of gold, the precious feeling filled me up, the combination of his urgent need for absolution and the comfort he found in my touch. I wondered how this poor man could have erred so badly to need such solace. He didn’t know what true evil was—how could he, when he didn’t know about demons?
I cupped his warm cheek in my hand. His skin was hot and moist against mine, so human and alive. After I had been possessed, my flesh had perceptibly cooled. I was drawn to him like a snake basking on a sunlit rock. The image was repellent but true nonetheless. I was a dark creature living on the fringes of existence.
Yet here and now, I felt human again. I savored each slow kiss he left on my palm, one after another. His satisfaction sent pulses of delight through me, awakening my body.
It had been too long.
I hesitated, wanting to be sure before I leaped. But I had nothing to lose—nothing left to lose.
Leaning forward, I kissed him, wanting to feel his lips against mine. I sank my hand in his thick black hair, the ends curling around my fingers. His lips were full and firm as he kissed me slowly, savoring my plump lower lip and licking the tip of my tongue.
His fingers grazed my cheek, running along the hollow. His other hand went around my back, pulling me in closer until I was leaning into him, one hand against his hard chest.
I was as giddy as a teenager, back when I was kissing my boyfriend for hours on the beach, when everything lay ahead of us. Nothing had been so monumental as our budding love and fierce attraction for each other. He had been my first lover, though the reality of our short relationship hadn’t turned out nearly as wonderfully as the illusion I had created on the beach.
A little illusion can be good for the soul. . . .
I wanted the feeling of wonder and promise that a man’s touch could give me. In this man’s arms, I could be a girl again.
I didn’t have to deal with the consequences. There wouldn’t be any. This guy would be off and running come tomorrow morning. I could have him here and now, and not have to deal with anything else. I was capable, even ready, for so much more. But the lies involved made it impossible.
So that left me with this.
“Hmmm . . . ,” I murmured, relaxing against his chest as we kissed.
As if he had been waiting for that signal, Theo pulled me up onto the chaise, so I lay with him, our legs intertwining. His hands ran down my sides, curving in at my waist, then down to my hips. He pulled me into him, against the rigid shaft that lay against his belly.
My eyes opened wide—he was raging hard already. His torrent of passion was emerald green, the true color of fertility and desire. His need burned my fingers, but his lazy mouth and gentle caresses were under strict control, as if he didn’t want to scare me with his urgency.
I flung myself into him, losing myself as he bucked up against me, his teeth biting down on my lip. I moaned, my hands pressing his shoulders to hold myself away from his chest, not wanting to hurt his damaged ribs. But he ran his arm up my back and pulled me close to him. It caused a flare of pain and I soaked it up. There was so much more desire and need inside of him that it seemed insignificant.
“I must have you,” he whispered into my mouth.
I almost came at his words, spiraling into bliss. Nothing else mattered but him; his hot fingers tugging my T-shirt over my head; his calloused hand against my breast, squeezing the nipple until I gasped, then dropping lower to my belly. I cringed, instinctively protecting my core, but I didn’t want to stop him. For a moment it didn’t matter that this wasn’t really my flesh, that it was a simulation of what I used to be.
Most men told me that I was beautiful, but Theo didn’t. He seduced me with a touch.
He unfastened the buttons of my jeans, pulling them so they softly popped apart. His hand ran underneath the denim, burning across my tender skin. I raised myself up so I could slide them down, rolling away to kick free my legs. I helped him pull off his T-shirt, stopping him from raising his arms because of the tape around his chest.
Then he unzipped his pants, and his cock strained from the dark hair at his groin, reaching to his belly button. I couldn’t help myself; my hand brushed over the deep cut of the muscles above his hip, then down his heavy thigh as I pulled off his pants, my fingers coming within a hairbreadth of the shaft. He moaned.
Theo drew me down to lie against him, our bodies rubbing from our chests to our bare feet. His gaze went down to my right shoulder, to my tattoo. It was an ouroborus, a stylized circle. It wasn’t obvious at first, but if you looked carefully, you could see it was a snake eating its own tail. The tattoo was inked on the front of my shoulder, only a couple inches across. I could have created it there myself, but I had gone to a real artist not long after I had arrived in New York and got it burned into my skin. It belonged to the human part of me.
He gently kissed the tattoo as his hands pulled my thighs open against him. He rubbed himself against me, making my energy pulse in a different way, grounding me in my body even as I couldn’t help but feed, as his emotions poured over me.
Just rubbing against each other felt better than I had imagined, far more intense, sweeping me away in a flood of sensation as every nerve fired off. I still felt his need, but an animal urgency of my own was taking over. I rocked with him, matching his rhythm.
“I don’t know if I can control myself.” His head arched back as he tried to loosen his grip, to slow down.
I bent and kissed his chest, licking the salty sweat from the hollow at his throat. He buried his face in my neck as the tip of his cock pressed against me, barely entering me. He pushed in slightly, enough for me to feel how thick he was, making me cry out wordlessly as he teased me into opening for him. Like rich, crumbling earth, like deep, still waters, it cut to my very essence.
“Do you want it?” he murmured.
“Oh, yes . . .”
He pushed into me as I sank down on him, letting him fill me. I was so ready for him, that with his second thrust he buried himself to the hilt. I forgot everything—Shock in the next room, Pique attacking me—and writhed in abandon. All I cared about was moving against him, his strong hands bracing me as he steadily pumped into me.
Nothing else mattered but the feeling of being satiated, filled to my depths, fired with exhilaration as I’d never felt before.
I let go as I climaxed, my orgasm shattering all perception. All I felt was power, a roaring column of power that I rode on, shooting into the heavens.
