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Authors: Rick Hautala

The_Demons_Wife_ARC (7 page)

BOOK: The_Demons_Wife_ARC
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“Go ahead,”
Samael said with a soft, kindly voice. “Touch it."

Shocked that
he seemed to be reading her mind again, Claire gaped at him. Her mouth dropped
open, and her vision blurred as her pulse started racing even faster.

“It doesn’t
bite.”

With that, he
thrust his hips up off the mattress and watched with her as his tail wagged
back and forth as if it had a life of its own.

Ever so
slowly, Claire reached out until her fingertips brushed across the fleshy
member. Its heat all but seared her fingers as an electric shock traveled down
her spine to her crotch. A slow, throbbing ache filled her groin, and all she
could think was:
I really am going to go to Hell for this
.

“Go on,”
Samael urged.

Claire glanced
up at him and saw his face, flushed with pleasure and anticipation. He smiled
at her wickedly, the sensuous, shimmering glow in his eyes as intense as an
acetylene torch. It flared when she finally found the courage to wrap her
fingers around it and squeeze it ever so lightly. She shuddered with pleasure
when the tail twitched and swelled up like a pressurized hose.

“Oh my God!”
she whispered. “It’s so…responsive…”

Samael snorted
and said, “It’s best if you not use that name.”

“What name?”

“That name…the
one you used just now. It kinda spoils the mood.”

“Oh, you mean
Go—…Sorry.”

“’S okay. I
can take it.”

His tail was
still quivering in her hand, swelling so much she feared she’d lose her grip on
it. The skin was oily, and she could feel the rigid muscles beneath. A heavy
throbbing deep inside it was keeping time with her rapidly increasing pulse.
She tightened her grip all the more and then, without thinking, started running
her hand up and down the length of it. She felt compelled to put it into her
mouth but resisted that…at first.

Samael was
making the most peculiar moaning sound she’d ever heard as he lay back on the
bed, rolling his head from side to side. His eyes were narrowed to slits, and
he licked his lips with his forked tongue. In a deep, resonant voice, he said,
“Please…use it…any way you want to.”

She knew
exactly what he meant by that, and she also knew that she should stop this
right now.

The truth was,
she should never have let things go this far, but she was too far gone to care
now. She kept running her hand up and down the tail until she stopped with her
fist clenching to the top of the shaft just below where it flared out into a
fleshy point. It felt like it was about to burst. Flushed with heat and moaning
softly, Claire parted her legs and lowered the tip carefully until it was
probing inside her.

It was as if
his tail had a life of its own. As soon as the tip entered her, the entire
length stiffened and thrust forward so hard and fast it surprised her and
brought tears to her eyes. She let out a strangled shriek and began to cry, but
they were tears of pleasure as well as pain as he thrust deep inside her. It
touched places inside her she didn’t even know she had.

Before long,
the pleasure became so intense she could feel herself slipping away…drifting
into—not unconsciousness, but a state of mind that was trippy and terrifying
and amazingly satisfying in ways she never could have imagined.  Samael’s tail
kept thrusting in and out…in and out…full…hard…and deep. Claire had no idea how
long she remained in that frenzied, dreamy ecstasy. Her mind was filled with
exquisite pleasure.

What
mattered…the only thing that mattered was that she and Samael were connected
and moving as if they were a single being.

 

~ * ~

 

“That was…”
Claire was panting hard, her body slick and glistening with sweat and other
bodily fluids. She licked her lips as she lay on her back on the bed, her hands
laced behind her head. She stared up at the ceiling until her eyes went
unfocused. “I…I can’t tell you what…what that…” She heaved a sigh. “That was
unbelievable.”

“I know,”
Samael said with a light, lilting laugh.

Claire wasn’t
sure if he meant that the same indescribable thing had just happened to him or
that he had done the same thing to uncounted numbers of women before today.

She lay there
and listened to their synchronized breathing for what could have been
minutes…hours…or even days, for all she knew. After a while, she became vaguely
aware of life going on around her. As usual, the sound of traffic and
pedestrians passing by on Congress Street came through the window and at some
point—she had no idea when—she was sure she heard someone…Sally, no doubt…enter
the apartment. She started banging around a bit, but then she left shortly
after that. The diffused light that bled through the window shades was
lemony—the way it got late in the afternoon. She could have turned her head and
looked at her alarm clock, but that would have taken too much effort. Besides,
it would bring an element of reality into the situation, and that was the last
thing she wanted.

It was much
better simply to lie here in bed and dreamily run the palm of her hand all over
Samael’s chest and stomach. The muscles below the skin, cushioned by his flesh,
were like curved, metal plates. As sensual and erotic as all of this was, she
still felt strange about touching him…down there…where the junction of his
thighs and abdomen was as flat and smooth and hard as the rest of him. On some
level, the idea of a man not having any external genitalia freaked her out
whenever she thought about it, but she kept reminding herself that Samael was
no man…

He was so much
more than a man.

They lay in
bed side by side, listening to the silence and breathing in unison. Claire kept
dozing off and then awakening with a start. From time to time, Samael would
raise his hand and touch her, stroking her long red hair, brushing his fingers
through her curls and petting her, rubbing her hips, her belly, her thighs, her
breasts as if she were something rare and precious.

“We have a lot
to talk about,” she whispered after a long while.

His breathing
continued unabated, and she wondered if he had drifted off to sleep, or if he
was faking being asleep so he wouldn’t have to talk.

Does he ever
need to sleep…He is, after all, a supernatural being…so what are the rules?
They say Evil never sleeps.

She had no
idea where to begin with her questions, but then her hand drifted a bit lower,
running along the ridges of his ribs and then lower…and lower until her fingers
ran lightly across the shaft of his tail again. It was lying across his thigh
like a large snake. She tightened her grip on it, marveling at its smooth, soft
power…its magic.

His tail
responded immediately to her touch.

“Ah-hah, so
you are awake,” she whispered with a laugh as she increased the pressure of her
touch and then wrapped her hand around his tail, pulling it up like running a
length of rope through her hands until she reached the fleshy, pointed tip. He
moaned softly as, once again, she was filled by an overwhelming compulsion to
bring it up to her mouth.

Which she did.

 

~ * ~

 

“So?” Claire
said sleepily. “What do we do with the rest of the day…or should I say
‘night?’”

Claire kicked
aside the tangle of sheets and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the drawn
window shade. She couldn’t begin to describe how she felt except that she had
never felt like this before.

Ever.

She was
completely, thoroughly pleasured in ways she had never even imagined or
considered possible. Every other sexual relationship she’d had before now paled
to absolute insignificance…even the ones she thought at the time had been
incredible, like when she dated Robbie Campbell. She felt both exhausted and
exhilarated, as if she had just run a marathon and emerged from a hot tub after
a full-body massage. When she stood up, her legs trembled underneath her, and
she had to sit back down on the edge of the bed to gather her resources. Her
injured foot throbbed with dull pain.

Mentally, she
was sharp, her mind amazingly clear. Even when she thought about what had
happened last night—that she had almost been raped—there was a peculiar clarity
about the incident that gave her a feeling of acceptance and yes, even
forgiveness and pity for the man who very well may have intended to kill her
after raping her. Claire had been brought up a Catholic, but had drifted away
from the Church as she got older. Kindness, charity and forgiveness were deeply
ingrained in her, nonetheless.

She got up
from the bed again, feeling a bit more stable on her feet, and began dressing.
All the while, she looked at Samael, who certainly appeared to be asleep. His
eyes were closed, and he was breathing with deep, regular breaths that had the
appearance of being asleep, but the thought crossed her mind that he was not
only not asleep, he could see though his closed eyelids and was watching her
even now as she got dressed.

Feeling
suddenly exposed and vulnerable, she turned away from him while she hitched the
clasp on her bra and adjusted it, pulled on her panties and jeans, and then
buttoned up her blouse.

“You want
something? Coffee, maybe?”

“I’m good,” he
replied without the slightest trace of sleepiness in his voice.

“I’ll be back
in a sec, then,” Claire said.

She walked out
barefoot into the kitchen, automatically looking for Mittens, who would demand
to be fed. She didn’t give it much thought when she didn’t see Mittens, and she
set about brewing some coffee as if it was early morning. While the coffee was
brewing, she grabbed a bowl, spoon, and box of granola. She decided to forego thawing
a cupful of blueberries she usually added to the cereal. She poured a bowlful
of granola, drenched it with milk, and then sat down to eat.

Moments later,
Samael strolled into the kitchen, stark naked. She couldn’t help but stare at
his unusual physiology. As casual as can be, he sat down at the opposite end of
the small table. He had a perfectly neutral expression on his face as he
propped his clenched fist under his chin, rested his elbow on the tabletop, and
stared—unblinking—at her.

“So,” he said,
drawing out the “S.”

“So, what?”
Claire replied, not sure where he might be taking this. She was still wondering
if she would ever get used to him not having genitals.

I will if he
keeps using his tail the way he did last night, she thought and couldn’t suppress
a small chuckle.

“What’s so
funny?” Samael asked, looking at her, his eyes glistening in the dim light like
wet marble. His skin looked brick red.

“No…Nothing,”
Claire said even as she wondered if he could really read her mind and was
asking simply to test her or to amuse himself.

“Well, it’s
gotta be something,” he said.

Claire tried
to avoid his steady stare because she knew—especially now—just how hypnotic it
could be. She felt as though she would do, say, or think anything to please
him, until she reminded herself that he was a genuine demon…as in one of the
meanest, baddest of the bad guys.

“No,” she
said, “I was just thinking…there’s so much we have to learn, to get to know
about each other.”

Samael smiled
in a way that made Claire wonder if he already knew all about her…no doubt, too
much. But before she could say more, her cell phone chirped. Irritated, she
grabbed her purse from the counter, fished around inside it until she found her
phone, and glanced at the Caller ID.

“Oh, shit,”
she muttered when she saw her parents’ number.

Samael smiled
at her. The two tips of his tongue flickered out between his impossibly white
teeth.

“Let it go to
message if you don’t want to talk to her,” he said.

That did it.
With that comment, Claire knew he had ways of knowing things about her that
were not ordinary. Even if he didn’t know it was her mother, how did he know
the caller was female?

Claire was
tempted to answer the phone simply to avoid talking to Samael for the time
being, but the phone chirped two more times and then went silent. It was still
in her hand, her palm so slick with sweat it made the plastic housing of the
phone feel greasy, when it beeped to signal that her mother—or father—had left
a message, something they usually avoided.

Maybe something’s
wrong? Claire thought.

Maybe
something had happened to one of them…or her brother, who still lived in
Houlton and worked as a mechanic at a local garage.

Her hand was
trembling as she placed the phone down on the counter. Then she took a deep
breath, held it, and turned, determined to confront Samael, at least on this
one minor detail.

“How’d you
know the person calling me was a woman?” she asked in a shaky voice.

Samael looked
at her, his expression all innocence.

How easy it
must be for him to lie, she thought.

“What’s that?”

“You said to
let it go to message if I didn’t want to talk to her. How’d you know it was a
woman…my mother?”

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