He yanked his mouth free. “Fuck.”
“Please,” she moaned. “Yes.”
“Can’t. No condom.” How could he have been so careless? Had he really believed he wouldn’t find his way back to her?
She yanked on his hips, lifting her body toward him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a demon.”
“You’re more than that.” He kissed her again, hard and fast.
She moaned against his mouth. “You’re an angel-man. I trust you.”
“That’s sweet, but if you trust me, I can’t betray that trust.”
“Never mind then. Betray me.”
“No.”
She thumped her head back on the pillows in frustration. “I’m betting you don’t sleep around, and I can’t get pregnant.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You’re still wearing your ring.”
“I mean why can’t you get pregnant?”
She turned her face away, pressing her cheek into the pillow. “There is nothing to quicken. This is a body with no soul.”
He touched her chin, easing her back to him. “You are its soul now.”
She stared up at him, clouded eyes even wider than before.
Then she surged up against him. The surprising force of her knocked him backward, and for a heartbeat, he thought she would leave.
But instead, she pushed him over the rest of the way, her palms flattened across his chest as she straddled his thighs. “Angels say the damndest things.”
She shimmied down the lengths of him, her fingertips trailing over his nipples, her mouth… She smiled at him.
“You first,” she murmured.
And then—ah!—her mouth found the hard length of him. He couldn’t stop the jerk of his hips as she closed her lips in a tight suction that brought blood surging toward the tip of his cock where her tongue swirled. He sprawled back on the pillows.
God, too bad he needed his angel to kill a djinn-man or he just might let her suck out his soul.
Chapter 9
Mirabel had blown a couple guys at the club for drugs. Bella had done it just once when she tricked the club owner—the trickery hadn’t be that tricky, being second nature to a demon—into selling her the business. But this was the only time it had ever felt…right.
She curled her hands around Cyril’s cock, her fingers and his flesh interlaced and somehow beautiful. This was something the imp could see in vivid detail, this atavistic surge of blood and hunger, a force beyond the merely mortal realm.
She wanted him so badly, wanted to milk the brightness from him, to coat her fingers and her tongue, to drown the old, bad memories with his desire for her.
He shuddered under her touch, his breath rough but his hands gentle on her head, guiding her down. He gasped as her mouth enclosed him.
Under her stroking tongue, she felt the rising rush in his flesh, and she quickened her pace. His grasp on her hair was a little less gentle and she wanted to laugh, but he pulled her down and his cock nudged the back of her throat. She took him, and he groaned her name, so she took him deeper yet.
His hips lifted from the bed and she gripped his shaft with one hand, his tight-strung balls with the other, pulling him in.
“I’m going to come,” he warned.
She hummed her acquiescence and that was the end of him.
She choked, almost withdrew, then closed her eyes and took him another inch. He spasmed again, his whole big body racked. The hot spurt filled her senses with musk and man and the faintest hint of honey.
She lifted her lips slowly, easing over each ribbed vein of his swollen flesh. He gasped and tightened his fingers in her hair another notch. She paused with her mouth just fitted over the tip of his cock and hummed again, gently. His arms fell limp to his sides.
She tucked herself up under his arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He laid one heavy arm over her waist and pulled her closer.
He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry if I was rough. It’s been awhile.” He kissed her head again. “How do you manage to keep your hair up like this?”
“Evil magic.” She reveled in the squeeze of his arm. “Also crazy hair gel and bobby pins galore.”
He grunted. “More magic.”
Abruptly, he rolled away, and she made a sound of protest. But he grabbed her hand and tugged her across the bed. “Come on.”
“What? Where are we going?”
“Shower. Double showerheads. I’ve never used them. Speaking of magic.”
“If you’ve never used them, how do you know?”
“My imagination just kicked in.”
The white marble bathroom was as barren and unnecessarily big as the rest of the house. She spread her hands ahead of her to traverse the featureless space. “It’s like a cold storage locker. You need to add a decorator to your cleaning service.”
“I don’t need anything. You brighten up the place just fine.” He cranked on the shower and steam began to fill the room. “Now come here. I think I made a deal with a devil, and I want to pay.”
Under the hot spray and his hotter hands, she tilted her head back while he banished the bobby pins from her hair and the stressed kinks from her shoulders. She might wish he could banish the demon too. Then there’d be nothing left for the tenebrae to hunt, nothing left at all. But for now, if she wanted to feel him, wanted this moment, she just had to live with what she was: a masquerading monster hiding in the light.
Enough, she reminded herself. He wanted to forget and so did she. Then his mouth found her secrets and she surrendered herself to this one night—however long it might be.
Thin winter sunlight pierced like a sword between the white curtains, and Bella rolled over with a groan. The formerly pristine sheets wafted up the scent of sex as she pulled a pillow over her head.
How long was the night? Not long enough apparently, although they had used every single moment of it.
But today would be the shortest day.
A hand slapped her ass, and she groaned again, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
“Rise and shine.” The pillow was tugged back from her resisting fingers.
She glared at Fane through the curtain of her tangled hair. “You didn’t just say that.”
“I did.”
“I should have sneaked out in the middle of the night.”
“If you’d left, we wouldn’t have—”
She yanked the covers back over her head.
“Fine. Peace offering.”
The covers a little farther away tented, and she was about to goose whatever flesh he was sticking toward her, when the glorious perfume of coffee wafted between the sheets.
She sat up carefully, pushing back her hair, and reached for the cup Fane held toward her.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
She took the first rejuvenating sip. Now she felt almost human.
Almost. “Cream and sugar. How did you know?”
“I’ve seen how you drink. You don’t do half measure.”
She huffed into the cup. “How are your hands?”
He showed her his knuckles, still red but not blistered. “The healing power of…” When she raised one brow, he finished, “…ice. Your eyes are like lake ice.”
She took another sip to cover her sudden nervousness at his intent focus. He was sitting on the bed between her and her glasses on the side table. Between her and the door too. Not that she’d planned to run away in the middle of the night. No, she’d planned to wait until just about now…