Personal Demons (21 page)

“When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind, But sigh'st my soul away,” he said, startling her.

“What?”

“For godsake hold thy tongue, and let me love.”

“Is this part of your seduction?”

“Yes. Be quiet. ‘She is neither white nor brown, but as the heavens fair; There is none hath her form divine In the earth or in the air.'”

“Who wrote that one?”

“Sir Walter Raleigh. I haven't gotten to the good stuff yet, this is just a warm-up.”

“Does this usually work?”

“Yes. Don't you like it?”

“I didn't say that.” In fact, she did. No one had ever quoted poetry to her before. “I just wonder where you picked those lines up.”

“I went to college. I have a degree in English literature. Did you picture me at home, poring over anthologies in order to lure women into my bed?”

“Actually, yes.”

“How little you think of me. I enjoy the poems. I don't need them.”

“Oh?”

“No.” Before she knew what he was doing, he'd stopped and taken her face in his hands. “If you prefer a more direct route, I'm happy to oblige.”

Even expecting it as she did, the kiss still made her legs weak. She fell forward, into him, clinging to his shoulder like the only steady thing in a world that swayed and tilted and rapidly became nothing more than a vague, unimportant buzz in her ears.

He rested his forehead against hers. “Now come on.”

She liked that he didn't wait for her reply. She liked that he led her off the floor with his warm hand enveloping hers. It made her feel, for the first time in a long time…safe. Wanted.

She knew he could be thinking the same things most of the other men she'd taken to her bed had been thinking. “I hope she goes down.” “I hope she doesn't want to spend the night.”

There was every chance in the world that Greyson was thinking those things. But this time, she didn't know about it. She didn't feel his rejection in her mind before it had even happened. For the first time she could remember, she felt hope. Nervous excitement. The feelings she imagined every other woman in the world felt when a man took them home to bed.

Brian was deep in conversation with an attractive brunette and barely noticed when she told him Greyson was giving her a ride. Her boss Richard had already left.

Dante led her over to where Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud chatted over a table full of empty glasses. “Take the rest of the night off,” he said. “Miss Chase will be with me.”

G
reyson ushered her into his apartment and followed, closing the door behind him. Megan caught only a glimpse of light through tall windows on the wall opposite before he grabbed her and pulled her to him, his lips hot and hard on hers.

His hands slid up her waist, under the wrap draped over her shoulders, pushing the fabric off onto the floor as they tumbled sideways into the wall. The wrap lay in a puddle under Megan's feet. She didn't care. Didn't care about anything but the hands now skimming her collarbones, her shoulders, and down her arms. She reached into his open coat, intending to remove it, but she got lost in feeling his chest through his shirt. Under her palms he felt so broad, solid. Like she could rest herself against him and never, ever fall.

He yanked his coat off, leaving her skin cold without the touch of his hands. She reached for his tie, her fingers fumbling until he swatted them away and undid the tie in one quick, smooth movement. Her fingers were drugged, clumsy, while the rest of her body felt lithe and weightless, an electric wire humming with power. His power. Her power. It didn't matter.

Together they struggled with his buttons hidden under a panel on his tuxedo shirt, their fingers twining together and getting in the way, until Greyson finally growled and ripped the shirt open. He seemed to be moving on air, so lightly, as he scooped her up and carried her into the darkness with his shirt sleeves still around his arms, his mouth still devouring hers.

His power slid into her, feeding the energy. The room outside her closed eyelids lightened and when she opened them she discovered tiny flames dancing in the air, like fairy lights under the high ceiling of his bedroom. They cast smudged shadows into the corners and made her think of cathedrals, of silent places that no longer existed in the hard, bright modern world.

Their wavering light emphasized the sharp bones of Greyson's face. He looked outlined in gold as he set her down, her feet sinking into soft carpet. His eyes were opaque, black, save for the reddish glow from the reflected flames.

Or was that reflection? She peered at him, only to have him blink and lower his face. “My eyes…demon's eyes…they go red sometimes,” he said. More than the intense throbbing of her entire body, more than the burning desire to see him naked, that insecurity in a voice that had only ever been confident made her melt.

She raised her hand to his jaw and pulled him back to her, answering his unspoken question.

He made a sound low in his throat and found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down, sliding his hands across her bare back as the dress fell to her ankles.

“…the liquefaction of her clothes,” he murmured. Megan smiled. She knew that line. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but his fingers stroked along the top of her strapless bra cups, raising goose bumps on her skin and stealing her breath.

He kissed a line down her throat from her ear to her collarbone while he opened the row of hooks down the back of the bra and let it fall. Another gasp escaped her lips when her hard nipples pressed against his chest, when he ran his hands firmly down the bare skin of her back to cup her bottom and press her closer to him. His insistent hardness beneath the slightly rough fabric of his trousers made her moan.

“Garters,” he said, his voice muffled by her skin. “I suppose the trappings aren't lost on you, after all.” His nimble fingers slid under the back of her panties and unfastened the belt. “Let's take these off.”

He eased her back onto the bed. Her own skin glowed before her eyes, soft and smooth in the flickering light. She'd never seen herself like this before, as if through the heat and desire he felt. Approval and desire were plain on his face as he untwisted his cufflinks, dropping them, removing his shirt all the way.

Her panties disappeared in one quick, smooth movement. The garter belt followed, the stockings leaving her legs with a whisper of silk. Megan had thought he would want her to leave them on. His preference for her bare skin made her flush with pleasure.

“
Re ngarla
,” he whispered, running his hands up her thighs, his thumbs stopping just short of the soft curls covering her mound. He loomed over her, eyes glowing, before slipping his hands up to her waist and bending his head, taking first her right nipple, then her left, into the heat of his mouth.

She arched her back, air hissing through her teeth. His bare chest pressed against her stomach, his hands held her fast. The scent of his shampoo, the smoky smell of his skin, filled her nostrils. She lost herself in it, in him. There was nothing in the world but Greyson's bed, no person in the world but Greyson as he suckled her so slowly and softly she almost sobbed with the need to have him. She burned, she ached, her body twisting beneath the solid heat of his chest.

She couldn't watch as he moved lower, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh over her ribs, over her hipbones. Occasionally his tongue darted out, tasting her skin. Nothing of his thoughts came through to her. Only the ragged hoarseness of his breathing told her what he felt, what he was thinking. His hands slid over her bare skin to her thighs, lifting them, and nothing but heat and desire transmitted itself. It was like hovering on the edge of a void, a place of darkness and silence and a deeper peace than she'd ever felt. When his lips brushed against the wet, tingling flesh between her legs she threw herself into the void with a soft cry.

Everything she'd imagined about the gentle fork in his tongue was true and he knew how to use it. He nestled the hard little bundle of nerves hiding in her folds between the twin tips and shifted it, rolled it. Megan danced for him, helpless to stop. He was so hot, his hands gripping her thighs, sneaking up her stomach to caress her breasts. His breath on her tender, swollen skin, his tongue delving into her secrets and pulling from her everything she'd ever hidden from anyone. Slowly he moved, then faster, then slowed again, until she trembled, balanced on the wire between sanity and abandon.

He slipped his tongue into her, exploring her. Her hands in his hair tugged and pulled without her conscious knowledge. Greyson shifted his grip, resting her heels on his broad shoulders, then sucked her swollen little bud into his mouth.

That was enough for Megan. Her back arched off the bed. Her heels dug into his shoulders, but she didn't know it, wasn't aware of anything but the climax ripping through her body and leaving her lost, crying his name, her eyes open but sightless. For what felt like hours she floated, lost in unbelievable pleasure, her body thrumming and howling as if her soul could escape it in one glorious burst.

He pulled away, kissing her trembling thighs, the muscles of her stomach heaving with her every gasping breath, her incredibly sensitive nipples, her throat, until his face hovered over hers again. His trousers rubbed against her skin, and she forgot any last vestiges of shyness she might have had as she reached down to tug at the button and zipper keeping them on, keeping his bare skin from her.

Without looking away he reached down to undo them, peeling them off his lean thighs. Megan looked down to see all of him, and found nothing in his nakedness to displease her. Quite the opposite. The perfection promised by the hard muscles of his upper body continued all the way down. Greyson Dante might have been a demon, but he had truly been blessed.

“I can't get you pregnant,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “I can't catch human diseases, or give them. But if you want me to wear something, I will.”

“No. But thanks.”

His response was to climb onto the bed, sliding her across the enormous silk-covered mattress until his body rested completely on hers. He kissed her throat, her forehead, her shoulder, one hand stealing under her back to grip her neck from behind. The other caught her right leg in the crook of his arm, holding her thighs far enough apart for the blunt, heavy head of his cock to find her entrance.

One smooth, hard thrust brought the entire length and width of him into her, stretching her walls, filling her. Not only with the hard heat of his flesh, but with his power, driving through her torso into her head, so strong it made her scream. Pleasure beyond pleasure, pleasure bordering on pain. She shook with it, already desperate for release. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this, nothing could. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him swallow her cries as he started to move inside her.

His fingers curled into her neck, holding her still as he shifted his weight to delve more deeply. She matched the slow, steady circles of his hips as he moved, his lips still exploring her throat and chest, dipping down to capture her nipples while she watched the top of his dark, sleek head. The pressure in her pelvis already threatened to explode when he gave something, did something, and more power slid into her body.

She was made of fire, the same flickering fire hovering near the ceiling of the room, the same quick fire that consumed buildings and forests and everything in its path. She opened her mouth and hot smoke escaped with her cries of ecstasy. His right hand held her hip, but she did not need his encouragement to quicken her movements as she was consumed by him, made whole by him, as she lost herself completely in the sensation of his body meshed with hers. The delicate friction of his skin rubbing against hers inside and out as he shifted and thrust made her bite her lips, bite his lips. They writhed together on his black satin sheets while pale gold poured over their skin from Greyson's flames, now growing larger as the power between them built.

His skin was alive under her fingertips, his mouth so hot on hers. She stroked his back, digging her fingernails in just enough for him to feel it, then losing control and digging still harder. He growled and thrust into her with more force, pressing forward until her knee touched her upper arm.

Megan hadn't realized he'd been speaking almost the entire time, bits of poetry, snippets of the demon tongue, mixed in with English and what sounded like French. Now she heard it, both soothing and arousing. He said her name a few times like a mantra, a spell cast into the shadows of the holy place his room had become.

The flames flared higher. Her skin was sweaty, they were both sweaty, as they strained and reached for the pinnacle just out of their grasp. His hands moved, holding her face on both sides so their gazes could meet. She wanted to blink and look away but he dragged her back, forcing her to stay with him, to look at him, and it was in the red-black depths of his eyes that she found her own presence, the well of her soul. As he increased his pace she fell into it, his name on her lips, and when her body started to shake she climbed out, covered in the sweetness of him, and screamed as she shuddered around his swollen length.

He thrust again once, twice, gasping, groaning, before he swelled inside her. She felt him jerk and throb just as she throbbed around him, her arms struggling in vain to hold him even closer. His lips claimed hers in one final searing kiss and the muscles in his back shuddered under her palms. It was her turn to swallow his cries as flames filled her mind and Greyson came, claiming her as his own deep in her core and deep in her head.

 

S
HE WOKE UP
in the darkness some time later, her feet freezing without covers but the rest of her body warm where Greyson wrapped around her. The flames were gone, and only the faint light coming through the window illuminated the room. The reflective surfaces of the picture frames on the wall and the clock by the bed turned blank faces at her in the gloom.

Her mouth was dry. She started to slide sideways off the bed, hoping she'd find the kitchen, or at least the bathroom, to get some water.

“Megan.” The dreamy quality in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

“Just getting a drink,” she whispered, hoping he would stay in bed. Butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach, and she wanted to be alone, to try and figure out why without the distraction of his bare skin against hers.

“Kitchen's to the left,” he mumbled. “Don't be long.”

She padded her way across the soft, thick carpeting on the floor, scooping up his discarded tuxedo shirt and sliding her arms into it. Half the buttons were gone, and she blushed as she fastened the few that remained.

Once out of the bedroom, the light brightened. Here windows lined the walls, floor-to-ceiling. Greyson lived on the seventeenth floor. The only view she had from where she stood was smudgy charcoal sky, the lights from the city below keeping the stars hidden.

The cavernous room lay silent before her, revealing nothing of its owner's secrets. Megan couldn't even make out the colors, but she was reluctant to turn on a light. She'd be too exposed if she did.

Now why would she think such a thing? She couldn't think of a safer place in the city for her to be and in the next room slept a man who'd gladly kill to protect her. Not necessarily because of his feelings for her, but just because killing things didn't matter to him.

To her left she saw the kitchen and headed towards it, but something stopped her, turning her back towards the windows. The open shirt flapped around her thighs like limp, ghostly wings as she crossed the room, her heart pounding.

Greyson's name formed on her tongue but she refused to call him. No matter how good he'd made her feel, no matter how amazing it had been, she wasn't ready yet to hand herself over to him. She didn't even know if he wanted her to. “
Greyson isn't the relationship type at all,
” Tera said again in her head. So turning him into her knight in shining armor probably wasn't the best idea. Hadn't he said he wasn't interested in being a hero, anyway?

The curtains in her hands were made of thick velvet, soft and slightly prickly against her palms as she bunched them up and yanked them open all the way. The sheers were next, whispering across the curtain rod.

Cool air seeped in through the tiny spaces around the edge of the window, but that wasn't what made Megan cold. Her eyes widened, dilating, her muscles freezing as she looked across the street below to the roof of the building opposite.