Demon Chained (Shadowfae Chronicles) (18 page)

"That's right."

"And do you always come out looking like that?" My bones judder at the carelessness my excitement has wrought.
Looking like that.
Tam, you really know how to flatter a girl.

She smirks. "Got a problem with that? Don't like what you see?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I don't . . ." My face stings at her naughty expression. She's teasing me. I get it now. Sharp, that's me. "Whatever, okay? What I meant was: can you make other shapes?"

"Shapes? Like what?" She's still laughing at me.

Funny is good, right? Girls like funny. "I don't mean a fucking banana or something. I mean, do you have to look like you?"

She falters. "I . . . I guess not. What did you have in mind?

A happy grin creeps up from my guts and spreads itself on my face like a wet pancake. "Darlin', you're gonna love this."

***

Chapter Eighteen

He finished talking, and a sweet, dirty grin alive with mischief crept onto his face.

I gaped. "You can't be serious."

"Why not? It'll work. Do you think you can do it?"

"I guess so. I don't see why not. But—"

"But nothing. You love it. You know you do. You're hanging out to try it. Admit it."

"You'll have to say my name."

He shrugged, sheepish but bright. "Doesn't count, right? I'm gonna have to say it or this'll never work. I promise that'll be the only time. Come on, say you will. It's a killer idea."

My pulse thrummed, hot. Okay, so it sounded wild. He made me feel wild, the passion I read in his face when he talked like this. He couldn't hide the color in his skin, the brightness twinkling in his eyes, and sorrow pierced my soul that he didn't look that way when he thought of me. This was what he lived for, and I wondered if the family Gavain told me about ever saw Tam like this before they were taken from him.

I flushed, my guts watery. I didn't know what to do. I'm used to obsessing my masters. I feed that passion, that lust for new sights, other people's things, more at all costs. And now I'd enslaved myself to a thief, who cared more for the stealing itself than for the things he stole.

I'd made myself redundant.

Could I forget him? Use him to steal my lamp back, and then simply go on my happy little way? Maybe it'd be better like that.

He must have seen something on my face, because the wild delight in his eyes froze, and shutters slammed down so fast I felt the breeze. He unfolded his legs from the chair and stood. "Okay. I'll, umm, go get what I need, yeah? I'll see you in a few hours. I don't want to get in your w—"

"You hungry?"

He halted.

"I am. Wanna eat? Must be something lying around in here." Before he could reply, I fled into the kitchen. I didn't want him to leave. I couldn't make him stay. Here's hoping he wouldn't just walk out on me.

I opened a drawer at random and shuffled through it. Utensils, cigarette lighters, a metal rotary grater with suspicious green fragments clinging to the cutters.

I sneaked a glance over my shoulder. He hadn't left yet.

Next cupboard, a couple of empty cereal packets and a—

His fingers brushed my arm, and I leapt halfway to the ceiling, boxes tumbling. I hadn't heard a thing as he approached. He must have been silent as a ghost before he died. My pulse subsided, but warmth still filtered like smoke through my blood. So deft, so quiet. Maybe there was something to this thieving thing of his after all.

He squatted before the cupboard, his spine popping. "Yeah. I'm starving. What ya got?"

Ten minutes later, I sat on the couch and poked my fork at the orange-speckled mess in the bowl, the most delicious salty aroma watering my mouth. My nose lusted for more, and I couldn't help inhaling the fragrant steam again. I'd forgotten how ravenous I was, how much I craved flavor like this. Still, food this tasty didn't come from plastic bags, last time I looked.

"What did you say this was called?"

Tam glanced up from where he sat at my feet, his half of our dinner in a similar bowl in his lap. "Instant noodles. Hey, that's all there was. If you don't want it—"

"I didn't say that." I snatched my steaming bowl away from his thieving hand, and greedily surveyed my feast. Moist, hot, succulent, delicious oil shining like an invitation. My mouth ached with anticipation. I wound a fat, dripping tangle of noodles around my fork and lifted it to my open mouth, teasing myself with the scent, and pleasure tingled down my spine. Finally, I couldn't wait any longer, and slid the food into my mouth.

It burned. I didn't care. Glorious salt and spice, flavor bursting through my taste buds like a hot fleshy flood. Delight exploded in my mouth, the noodles wrapping my tongue, coating the insides of my cheeks, sticking on my teeth as I chewed. My eyes watered in pure satisfaction. I wanted to chew forever, to prolong that orgasmic taste, but my throat hungered for the feel of food and my stomach clenched in anticipation.

I swallowed, muscles rippling in my throat, and the soft fullness of food scraping down made me ache all the way inside. I hadn't eaten for fifty-seven years, and it felt as good as sex. No, it felt better than sex. Hot flushes swept up from my belly to caress my skin all over, and my thighs quivered. A little shudder trailed through me, and I exhaled, deeply pleasured.

And that was just one mouthful.

I opened my eyes to devour the sight of what remained, and greed caressed my belly like a lover's sweet fingers. I'd barely consumed a fraction of it. By the time I got to the bottom of the bowl, I'd need a cigarette and a nap . . .

Oh, hell. Was he watching me? I didn't want him to see me like this. He'd think I was . . . well, he'd think I was desperate, or something.

I flicked my glance up, dread heavy like lead in my limbs. But he wasn't watching me.

Probably hadn't even noticed me.

He was eating—no, inhaling. Devouring. Swift and messy and thoughtless, oily juice dripping down the fork onto his fingers. He stuffed more noodles into his mouth before he'd swallowed the first lot, like he couldn't get enough, or get it fast enough, to satisfy his need. I remembered the nightclub, the way he looked at me, like a creature starved of life.

I jabbed my fork into the noodles, and gorged myself.

By the time we'd finished, moisture slicked my face from the steam, my tongue stung like I'd swallowed boiling water, and immense satisfaction swelled my belly. I hadn't felt so good all day, screwing not excepted. I wiped salt-sticky fingers on my skirt and flopped back against the couch, sated. "That was great."

"Yeah." He let his head fall back onto the cushion with a sigh, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His breath came swiftly, and light sweat shone on his face, like we'd just had hot dirty sex. Hell, it was good for me, anyway.

He twisted his neck to look up at me, and thick black hair tumbled onto the sofa, not quite touching my thigh. "Guess you didn't get to eat much in that lamp, huh."

"Nope." I pushed my bowl aside, itching with awareness. Go on, move closer. Put your head in my lap. This is where we talk about this, get to know each other, let our barriers down. Don't be afraid. "You're kinda hungry yourself, if you don't mind me saying."

He blinked at me for a moment, and then he gave me that fingernail-tingling smile. "Yeah. I kinda have to eat while I'm . . . you know. In good shape. Otherwise there's no point."

No point in eating? I remembered the cold walls of my lamp, pressing me in, decades of nothing but empty dust. How I'd craved light, sound, a whiff of air, anything. I wondered if death was like that, and I shivered, a ghost creeping under my skin. "Can you taste it? The food, I mean."

He swallowed, his gaze never leaving mine, and for an instant, deep loss shadowed his eyes. "Not always."

How long since he'd really felt? Since he'd touched a woman? Tam, you stubborn sweetheart. I shifted my thighs. "But today you did."

"Yeah. Today I did." He licked his wounded lip, like he wanted to say something else, but he just wriggled to his feet with a wince and a pop, shaking kinks out of his legs. "Look, I really should go get—"

"Tam." I leapt up and touched his arm, halting him. His skin felt soft and warm under my fingertips, inviting, like skin feels after sex, and nerves throttled my composure. I wanted a hole to open in the floor and swallow me. But this might be my last chance.

His elbow twitched, and I let go, but he didn't jerk away. "What?"

"Thank you." My voice shimmied, brittle.

"You're welcome. What the hell for?"

"For not abandoning me." God, I had so much to say. I'd thought about him so much, his image and his hot black scent burned into my senses, the magical pull between us too strong to shake off. That's what it is to be owned. Obsession, longing, this desperate need to please. And he'd understand none of it.

My face tried to crumple, and I tried to pull it straight, and the result was tear-streaked, swollen, surely un-pretty. Damn it. This was the second time I'd cried for him today.

He watched me, dark. "This means that much to you? I . . . we, that is . . . it means that much?"

I sniffed and wiped my cheeks. It meant everything. "God, I hate this, Tam. I hate being so fucking helpless. I wish I could just . . ."

His gaze flashed dark, painful. Raw. "You deserve better than me. I'm sorry."

And then he did it. He touched me.

Nothing alarming or provocative, just the brush of his fingers on my cheek. But it wasn't to make a point, like the other few times we'd touched. It was just for me, and I melted. Our gazes met, and he let his fingers linger, gentle.

Now or never.

My hand shook as I slid it over his, cupping his palm against my cheek.

He flinched.

I tightened my grip, catching his fingers between mine. "Don't be afraid."

"What are you doing?" He tried to step away, but there was no room.

"You know what." I caught him with his back to the kitchen doorframe, his body hot against my hips, my belly. A memory flashed, that smoky nightclub, the cool metal wall rough against my back. I'd wanted him then, like any woman wants a man. I wanted so much more from him now.

His warm scent sparkled over my skin, dark electricity. His slow heartbeat jerked against me, and a jolt of sensation speared deep into my chest. His eyes fixed on me, bright and stunned, hypnotized.

I could see the darkness in him, hiding just beneath his skin, a hint of color outlining his cheekbones and defining his bleeding mouth. A mottled bruise shadowed his cheek below his right eye, yellow at the edges and the deep grey shade of midnight in the middle. I wanted to touch it. So vulnerable, so flawed. So beautiful.

His fingers tensed on my cheek. "Look, you don't understand. I—"

"Tell me you don't want me, and I'll stop." I knew he wanted it. He could have pushed me off him, walked away any time. But his body yearned for me, quivered against me with the effort of restraint. I didn't want his restraint. I wanted him drunk, crazy, demanding. I wanted him to feel the way I felt.

I traced my fingertip along his cheekbone, across that tempting bruise, hot and damp like summer sweat. God, I loved sweaty sex, being immersed in a man's essence, bathing in his scent. Passion swelled between my legs, and I shifted closer, tighter.

He caught his breath . Blood seeped beneath his nose, a tiny dark drop, and he didn't wipe it away. "Jewel— shit. Sorry. I mean—"

"It's okay." Daring, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the bruise. His skin tasted sweet, cloying, almost flowery with a hint of bitterness, and my head swam with need.

His hand twitched on my face. He was still holding back. I wanted him to touch me, grab me, force me. Own me like he should.

I brushed a kiss over his lashes, soft and ticklish between my lips. I opened my mouth on his cheek, my breath moist on his skin, releasing sweet flavor like caramel. I tasted my way down to his mouth, and when I got there, he made a sound like a confused puppy's whimper. "I don't get it," he whispered.

I shuddered as his bloody lips brushed mine, ripe and taut like they'd burst. "What's not to get? I'm yours. I want you. Take me. While you can still feel it."

"Oh, I can feel it, all right." He slid his hand up my cheek, into my hair.

My scalp tingled. I parted my lips, encouraging, testing his lips with my tongue. His wet warmth tantalized my mouth, and my head lightened at the taste of him, as dark and rich as  cherry chocolate.

I thrust my tongue in harder, finding his teeth, his hair whispering through my fingers. Come on, sweetheart, don't be shy. Let me drink you up. "Kiss me, Tam. Please."

I felt him swallow against me, and then his fist tightened in my hair and the next thing I knew, the back of my head cracked into the doorframe.

Pain freshened my skull. He'd spun me around, and now he trapped me. Dizziness swirled in my head, delicious drunkenness, and if he hadn't crushed his body hard against mine I'd have fallen. Instead, I melted into him, and he grabbed a second handful of my hair and kissed me. Deep, hard, heartbreaking, like he'd starve in an instant without me.

Yes. More. Harder. Delight and brute lust consumed me like some fifty-years-caged monster, and I opened my mouth and took whatever he wanted to give.

His lips felt swollen, tight, so ripe and demanding, just the way I wanted it, and smoking desire ignited like fuel in my veins. I knew it. I knew he'd want me like this, knew he'd see reason. This was how it was between us. The lamp's spell made it so, and there was no escape.

His tongue fought mine, his flavor bloody and jagged in my throat, and when I sucked, he swallowed on me, searching deeper. He tugged my hair tighter until it hurt and I whimpered, hot and alive with need.

He worked his thigh between mine, pushing my dress up into my lap where I was naked and already wet, and my breasts hurt deep inside, urging me to take him. I grabbed his hips and held him there as we kissed, savoring my master's desire like the sustenance I'd been so long denied. My nipples strained against my dress, yearning for sensation.

God, he felt wonderful, his every muscle and swell and tight curve springing my body alive. He tasted so rich and real and honest, like nothing I'd known. Sure, there was blood, but it was his blood, his essence, and it only made me want to taste the rest of him. The thought of kissing and sucking and pleasuring his body only inflamed me more.

I fumbled at his clothes, ravenous, sliding my fingers up under his shirt to feel that smooth, ravaged skin, those brutish male shapes he'd tempted me with all day. I caressed his taut hip, his curving waist, the wet rawness at the base of his spine, earning a shudder and a groan that sizzled in my mouth like delicious spice. God, even the lines of his muscles excited me. This was how it should be. Not just any man would do. I was his, and he was mine, and I wanted him to show it.

Ragged breath hitched in my throat, and I pulled back a fraction, my wet lips still sliding on his. I didn't want to stop. "Take me, Tam. Say my name."

***

This is so wrong.

I've lied to her. I've stolen from her. And tonight I'll rip away her heart's desire, and force her on a demon for eternity.

But I can't help it, not with her hard little body panting next to mine and her gorgeous hair plastered on my hands and her mouth open and begging under my lips.

Her tongue searches for mine, sucking, and I can only give it to her. I kiss her so hard my lips splits again, slick iron seeping into our mouths, and she just groans and pulls me closer. Christ. I don't know where this came from, her wanting me. I don't care. I only care that she's kissing me, tasting my blood, touching my skin without squirming away in disgust. I can't believe it. Maybe she's crazy like Gavain, or sick. I don't care about that either. I just want her.

But I'm damned if I'll say her name to make it happen.

"No." God, it's a wonder I can still talk. She tastes incredible, of fire and ash and honey all in one intoxicating mouthful. She feels incredible, too, her little breasts molding onto me, her body quivering and burning me even through we're still dressed. So wild and free, so honest in her want, her hands caressing my skin so desperate.

If I didn't know she'd already satisfied herself with Luke the Slut, I'd think she was just so horny she'd go for anything. Maybe she still is. I was envious then. I'm jealous as hell now. Any second now, she'll snap out of her trance and shove me away.

Her nipples rub against my chest, so hard and puckered that I can feel them through my shirt. I want to touch them, tease them, make her squirm for me. I mold my hand to her shape and drag my thumb over her nipple, make it even harder through her dress and she chews her lip and groans like she's enjoying it. "Yeah," she whispers. "More."

Rough lust heats my skin, sparking painful current along my nerves. I press closer, harder, lifting her with my thigh, crushing her against the wall, and she groans again into our kiss and doesn't fight me.

I drag my mouth down along her throat, over her sweet collarbone. Nuzzle her cleavage, so soft and warm. Bite her straining nipple through her dress, it's wet from my mouth and I can almost taste her, almost feel her skin on my tongue. She yanks my hair tight, pulling me onto her.

My blood slithers, heat bursting in my veins. Already I burn to take her, throw her on the floor and thrust into her, flip her over and spread her legs and fuck her against the wall, and for once my body's keeping up with my imagination. Satisfaction sears through me, even though I'm blazing for release. This is the third serious hard-on I've had today. It's almost like being alive again, this burning wash of sensation, this gut-twisting need. If she doesn't say no soon, this might actually happen.

She's making a mess on my thigh. I can feel her easing it against me. My vision fogs like a hot steamcloud, and I rip my mouth from her while I can still talk. I have to be sure. "Tell me you want to."

She drags my hand between her legs. Her nails cut soft moons into my wrist. Her voice is tortured, rough. "Touch me. I want you to. Please, touch me."

I flinch. I shouldn't put my dirty hand there, but my fingers twitch with greed for the feel of her and she's begging so hard, I don't have the strength to deny her. I slide my fingers into her gorgeous wet folds. She shudders, her beautiful mouth falling open. Her tiny clit pulses, hard and eager when I stroke it. I reach further. Her entrance tightens around my fingertip, so delicate, so tempting that my breath scorches my throat. "God, you're gorgeous."

"More. Do it." She bites at my lip, a fiery sting.

I want to take it gently, but I can't. I push two fingers deep into her, hard, and it's so beautiful I gasp along with her, my heart thudding.

Her warmth caresses me, enfolding my fingers like fire-warmed velvet. She's so wet, so needy, there's no resistance all the way in. Her thighs clench and shudder, and her heat washes over my palm, stinging in my ripped flesh. The smell of her sex coats my mouth, delicious. She whimpers, and I imagine entering her like that with my cock, plunging into her over and over, making her groan and beg and gnaw that pretty lip in insane delight.

Okay, so I flatter myself. But she's hot and aching for it, and so am I. We'll manage.

My blood rushes, as quick and fresh as ever it was, and my muscles jerk as one, crushing her tighter between me and the wall. Her flesh is so soft, so smooth. I stroke inside her, searching for her pleasure, and she whimpers again as her muscles squeeze around my fingers.

"See," she whispers. "You know me already. I'm yours."

Damn, I want it to be true.

I burn to own her. I can't fight it. I don't know how. There's some weird bond between us since I stole her lamp, a creeping passion in my hellbound soul, and now she's in my hands, I don't know how to fight it. That old possessive impulse savages my veins, and I want to make her mine, tease her, make her scream for me.

But I don't know what she wants, apart from getting herself off, maybe me too. Does she really want this? Or is it just a dirty magic trick, some evil poison spreading inside her, a compulsion she can't fight no matter how much I sicken her?

Already she's impatient with my clothes, dragging my shirt away so she can press her greedy palms to my skin. A rabid shiver grips me, hot and bright like fever. God, she's perfect, the way we fit together so tightly, mouth and body and sex. Like something I don't deserve, shouldn't ever have.

Sharp guilt shreds my nerves. I shouldn't. I can't. She'll never forgive me, not after tonight.

Her hands slide to my hips, popping the buttons on my jeans. She wraps hot fingers around my hard-on, stroking me, and pleasure spikes straight to my balls and I can't help but shudder and take her mouth again.

She grins into our kiss, breathless. "Say it, Tam. Say my name. I can be good to you."

Tension curls my fingers inside her, and her sweet muscles twitch. God, it'd be so easy. But not like this, not under some bizarro magic spell. Can't, shouldn't, mustn't . . .

Blood clamors in my head, my guts, my cock, a mist of scarlet lust swamping my reason, exposing the mindless beast inside me, the one that wants only to fuck, devour, consume . . .

But it's too wrong. I just can't. Somehow, slowly, I pull my fingers from her, that wonderful heat sliding away, and the hungry thing inside me howls in frustration.

But she's not giving up. She peels my jeans from my hips and grasps my cock to pull me between her legs. Her thighs grip my shaft, her inner heat pouring over me, mixing my male scent with her freshness. She digs sharp fingers into my butt, pulling me in. "Say my name. I want to be yours. I'll do whatever you want."