Matched With A Demon Page 12

  It wasn’t enough. Her shirt rasped against his chest, but he wanted to feel her skin on his. Warmth to his coolness. His fingers clawed and he ripped an edge, using two hands to tear it from her body and throw it to the floor. Next, went her bra and then finally, he could feel her.

  She was as hot as he knew she’d be. Her mouth still tasted like strawberries, and he swept his tongue inside, circling and curling it, savoring each flavor.

  Her chest vibrated with her moan and he shivered, feeling her nipples pebble against his. He shifted, then lowered her to the thick woven rug on the floor so he could stare at her. At first, her hands scrabbled for his, clutching at his body to pull him back over her, but when she met his eyes, she paused.

  Fingering the button on her pants, he began to speak, “This means something to me, Lucia.”

  Her hands covered his, smoothing up his arms and rasping the rough hair on his arms. “It does to me, too.”

  “I don’t know what will happen.” He stared at their hands, flipping his palm over to entwine their fingers.

  “I’m not afraid.” Her chin lifted, taking on the stubborn set he was coming to love and fear.

  “I think I’m afraid enough for us both,” he whispered, glancing away and then back to her.

  Her hands went to his shoulders, pulling him down to her. She didn’t kiss him, but laid his head on her chest and stroked his back. “We’re stronger together, Armaros. It will all work out. Trust me.”

  He did. He trusted her. For the first time since he and his sister fell, he put his faith in something bigger than himself and knew it wouldn’t let him down.

  20

  Lucia

  Skin. Hands. Muscles. Armaros.

  None of the other thing mattered if it wasn’t with Armaros. Lucia had never felt this alive before, this ready for anything.

  Beneath her fingertips, Armaros’s power hummed. She wondered if he knew she could feel it, or that it happened at all. His skin was cold, which made the zinging and tingles all the more pleasurable. It was like when she went ice skating as a little girl and her feet would freeze. As they warmed, they tingled with heat, blood rushing through her veins. There were times she cried out in pain, and others where she laughed, the nerve endings responding to the sensation like tickles instead of hurt.

  She couldn’t stop moving. Like a cat, she rubbed against him, wanting every exposed piece of skin to touch his. Her legs wrapped around his waist, hands slipping down his back, the seat of his pants, cupping his firm butt in her hands.

  Damn, it was hard. She squeezed each cheek, amazed there was no give. In the name of science, and test-retest reliability, she squeezed one more time.

  Armaros tore his mouth from hers. “What in the world are you doing?”

  Her faced heated, and she buried her face in his neck. He smelled good there, so, she licked the cord of his neck to his earlobe. Sucking it gently into her mouth, she nibbled the soft skin and whispered, “You must work out. Your butt is like…” without thinking, she squeezed again, searching for the right descriptor, “… marble or something.”

  “You’re so weird,” he said, and then gasped when her tongue traced the shell of his ear. “But I like it.”

  “You like it?” Nibbling down his neck, she moved to his chin. His skin was rough, the beginning of stubble growing over his face. Her tongue snuck out and she licked a line up his throat. “You taste good.”

  He stopped her. One hand reached behind his back to remove first one hand and then another. Lifting them above her head, he held them fixed in his, fingers tightly around her wrist.

  Her position left her chest arched, and from the look on Armaros’s face, he appreciated the view.

  She was glad her body pleased him, because in no way could she compete with his beauty. Her job often left her grabbing food and running between classes and the library. Rarely, did she work out beyond lifting heavy historical tomes off shelves.

  But the way he watched her…it infused her with confidence and pride. Whatever she was, it worked for him and her body seemed to be the icing on the cake.

  “You’re beautiful, Lucia,” he whispered, confirming her suspicions and making her breath catch. He lowered his head, nose grazing her jawline. When he reached her chin, he lifted his head, blue eyes boring into hers. “Are we doing this?” He was unsure, hopeful, but nervous.

  “God, I hope so,” she answered. “I thought the licking would be enough to show you how much I want you. Apparently not.” With that, she reached between them, skimming her hand along the waist of his pants before dipping below the band. Her fingers touched the head of his erection. Here, he was hot, burning her palm. Rotating her hand, she encircled him, twisting her wrist gently and pressing downward.

  He groaned, thrusting into her touch. A slow, smile grew on his face, making his usually icy eyes shine brilliantly. With a smile, he was younger. Still inhumanly beautiful, but reachable. His grin changed, becoming a little wicked. A flash of black appeared in his eyes before he got it under control. Shaking fingers tore at her pants, ripping them from her body completely and surprising her enough that she jerked, slapping her hands onto the floor to keep from rolling onto her side. She laughed aloud, loving the desperate way he growled and struggled with the material, tearing it away and throwing it over his shoulders like it offended him.

  His figure blurred around the edges, he moved so fast. He had her legs draped over his shoulders before she knew what was happening and his tongue licked a long, slow swipe along her cleft and over her clit.

  What left her mouth was not at all elegant or articulate, but it was all she could formulate. A series of vowel sounds most closely resembling a dolphin squeak. He laughed against her core, setting off a tremor that began at her spine and exploded outward. Perhaps, she should be embarrassed about how quickly she responded to his mouth, but the sounds he made were so delectable, so hot, she didn’t care.

  Grasping his head, she dragged him up her body, fixing her mouth on his. Her legs went around his waist again, pressing herself against his length. He groaned, easing forward gently to fit his tip into her entrance. He pushed, the thick head breaching her. Her muscles expanded and contracted, but he held himself steady.

  Her body was wild, she needed him inside her. All the way inside. Like, yesterday. “Move,” she demanded and he laughed, plunging inside.

  He stopped laughing as soon he was seated in her. Then his face became serious and his eyes burned. The blue disappeared completely, darkening until all white and blue were gone and they were black as night.

  His first withdrawal, the slow drag of skin against skin, had her arching her back and winding her arms and legs around him as tightly as she could. She forgot about his eyes, all she cared about was how he felt inside her, how he sounded as he moved desperately.

  Beneath her fingertips, his skin changed, losing the cool temperature, growing hotter and hotter the faster he moved. The room was filled with their panting and moans. He whispered in her ear, words she struggled to make out. Things like, beautiful, and soft, and love. The last word was her undoing. She detonated without warning, clenching and shaking.

  Her flame ignited his. The cool floor was no longer at her back, and his skin transformed, his magnificent wings erupting from his back, flapping once so they lifted into the air as he erupted inside her. It burned her, warming every inch.

  Her hair blew around her face as his wings stroked the air, slowly lowering them back to the floor. Allowing her head to fall back, she caught his face in her hands. At first, he tried to jerk away, but they were beyond that now. They wouldn’t hide from each other.

  His eyes remained black, and his bones more pronounced, though, he held onto his human skin. “Let me,” she whispered, reaching for his wings. Eyes closing as she caressed the edges, rubbing toward their center, he moaned low in his throat.

  “So beautiful,” she breathed, amazed a creature like him could exist and choose someone as regular as her.
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  “Yes,” he answered, opening his eyes and leaving her no doubt he thought the same of her.

  I love you, she thought, exploring him. She wanted to touch the bones in his face, examine the planes and ridges of his wings. It would take an eternity for her to get her fill of him.

  21

  Armaros

  Armaros had stood in the presence of the divine and it had not moved him the way Lucia did. Nothing in his existence prepared him for her. No power, no rush, could touch the sublime experience he just had.

  It transformed him. It was if he’d fallen to Earth, and then lifted back to Heaven. In fact, if that were to occur, if the Creator were to take him back to Heaven and tell him all was forgiven, it would pale in comparison to Lucia.

  Finally, he understood what his sister felt when she left him. It would be easy to abandon everything for Lucia. If his sister loved Delia’s father with the tiniest echo of the growing feelings he had for the girl in his arms, he understood and forgave her choice.

  Shifting a little to find a more comfortable position, he began to withdraw his wings when a short breath stopped him.

  “Not yet,” Lucia muttered, squeezing his arm and sitting quickly. She shifted, straddling him, and then moved behind him. “I want to see them.”

  Awkwardly, he stopped, sitting up straight. His wings trembled in anticipation of her touch, but it didn’t come. Her breath tickled them, and she made a sound of amazement. For a moment, he could feel the heat from her hand, hovering over the appendages, but still… nothing.

  “Can I touch them?” The words ghosted over his back and he shivered.

  “Please.” He was dying for her.

  The first contact of her skin against his wings had them shooting out, extending as far as they could go. His response was purely instinctive, it had nothing to do with conscious thought. “Are you all right?” If he turned too fast, he could injure her. His wings had the ability to be soft and pliable, or hard and razor sharp. In battle, he could cut through steel and stone.

  When the first tentative brush touched him, they flared to life. Perhaps, subconsciously, he preened for her. Like a peacock.

  He had to be more careful. Humans were fragile, and Lucia, with her small size and tiny bones could be crushed by his thoughtlessness. For a moment, he saw the worst. His wings cutting through her skin, dead eyes fixed on the sky, blood pooling on the ground.

  It was too much and he retracted them before she could hazard the action again.

  “Armaros,” she breathed in disappointment.

  He turned, catching her hands in his and bringing them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t risk it.”

  Her face was confused, eyebrows drawn together, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “My wings,” he began, dropping her hands to hold her face. Her eyes fluttered closed and a deep red flush climbed her neck to her face and cheeks. Beneath his skin, hers warmed and her chest lifted with each breath. He kissed the hollow of her throat. “They’re weapons, Lucia. Every part of me is designed for battle.”

  Shaking her head, she pushed at his shoulders until he reclined on the floor. She threw a leg over his body, her core lining up to his rapidly hardening length. “No,” she argued. Lowering her head, she kissed his lips, small kisses she didn’t deepen. “You told me once, when I asked about Heaven, and about your purpose. And you were not made for war.”

  Her lips left his, trailing down his neck and chest. At his waist, her tongue traced the hollows and planes of his stomach while her hand encircled him, pumping him with long, strong strokes.

  “Huh?” For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what she was talking about.

  Her rhythm faltered and he peered down at her. She smiled at him, equal parts wicked and innocent before she lowered her head and licked him from root to tip. “You were also designed for worship.”

  She sucked him into the warm cavern of her mouth and he thrust forward, crying out. “Worshipping the Creator, Lucia,” he corrected.

  “I prefer to believe you were made for me to worship,” she whispered, her hot breath chilling his wet skin.

  Then her mouth was on him again, sucking and pulling. His hips arched, but when he moved to pull her up, she stopped him, holding his hands in hers while her mouth continued to torture him. He easily could have freed himself, but he didn’t want to. Being at her mercy was where he wanted to stay for eternity.

  As she sucked, her tongue stroked him, pressing against his skin. She pulled one hand away, reaching between his legs to massage his sac and then pumped his length along her mouth.

  “Lucia,” he warned, heat flaring inside him. Energy zipped along his nerves, though, he tried to keep himself from exploding. He wanted this to go on, to keep hearing the noises of pleasure she made.

  She began to move faster, harder, and he was done. He roared and the cottage shook around him. Somewhere a window shattered and an icy cold wind whipped across his superheated skin. Lightning fast, he had Lucia in his arms, covering her body with his to protect her from the gale.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

  Her hand covered his mouth before he could go further. “Shut up. You’re extraordinary. Watching you come apart—” Her lips replaced her hand. “It was the single sexiest thing I’ve seen since you first took your shirt off and said, ‘I have bread.’”

  His laugh echoed off the walls as he rolled and wrapped her in his arms. “You.”

  “Me,” she answered as if she understood completely what he was trying to say.

  “You,” he repeated, nuzzling her neck and squeezing her against him. “Are you tired?”

  “No,” she answered, but undid her answer a moment later by yawning. “I’m not.”

  “Sleep,” he directed. “We’ll look for Delia when you awaken.”

  “Delia.” Guilt laced her voice. Unacceptable.

  “We’re going to find her. And she’s okay. I know she is.” It was the truth. Something inside him told him he’d know if something happened to the girl, if she was in danger or needed him.

  Turning her head, Lucia studied his face. Whatever she saw reassured her because she nodded. “Okay,” she agreed, settling her head on his arm and wiggling her butt against him.

  “Lucia,” he groaned, thrusting against her tempting backside.

  “What?” she asked, faux innocence. “I said I’m not tired.”

  Who was he to argue? Especially against such a persuasive argument. Lining himself up, he pushed inside her. From this position she was tighter, and her wet heat squeezed him.

  “If you’re not tired, then I will make use of this time we have together,” he whispered in her ear, withdrawing, and then slowly inching forward.

  “Please.” Arching, she turned to kiss him.

  His lips covered hers and he was lost. Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except where he was, and how he felt, and how he never ever wanted to lose it.

  22

  Lucia

  Something tugged at her. A string wrapped around her spine and yanked her, waking her from a sound sleep. Lucia placed a hand on her chest to calm her racing heart. Next to her, Armaros read, one arm propped behind his head, the other slowly stroking her arm, her movement unnoticed.

  It happened again, and she flopped like a fish, falling out of Armaros's arms to be dragged across the rug and stone.

  “Armaros!” she cried out. The connection between her and whatever was at the end of that string grew stronger. She was a puppet, limbs at the mercy of some other master.

  He dove for her, hands clasping her outstretched fingers and pulling her into his arms. His eyes were wide, confused. Inside her, the sensation of being controlled grew until the string thickened, becoming arms, a body, legs. Her body contorted painful, pushing at Armaros’s to extract itself from his embrace.

  She wanted to ask what was happening, but when she opened her mouth, what followed was a string of words in a langua
ge she had only ever read, and never heard spoken. “This one is mine, Fallen.”

  Immediately, Armaros’s eyes deepened to black, his body shifting into the form he once tried to hide from her. “Mine,” he growled, voice distorted by overlarge bones and teeth.

  A laugh, caustic and cruel, erupted from her throat. Her fingers curled, and lifted to her face. Her nails were short, but they scraped against her skin as they dragged gashes down her cheeks.

  “Mine. Though, I should thank you. Without your intervention, I could never have found her, or entered her.” Laden with innuendo, the words sickened Lucia, and she wanted to escape. But it was her mouth that formed the words and her lips smiling.

  “I challenge you,” Armaros ground out. “She is mine.”

  The thing inside her twisted gleefully, enjoying the pain it inflicted on her body, but more so the helplessness evident on Armaros’s face.

  Lucia fought. She screamed. She tried to push against the entity, but it pushed back and it was stronger than she was. Her essence, her soul, whatever it was that made her, her, the being gathered.

  Inside her mind, a great black chasm opened. She could feel the entity inside her, dragging her to the chasm. It wanted her to disappear, and if she fell into that blackness, she would. While she kicked and screamed and clawed, it relentlessly towed her closer and closer to its goal. One final shove, and the darkness was all around her. She was floating, unanchored, in nothingness. Her body gone, there was no sound and no sight, and no sensation. Nothing.

  23

  Armaros