Page 71 of Interior Design for Demons
With a huge sigh that vibrates through the bed, he puts his head down. One wing flares out, gliding across me in the dark, settling over me like a leathery blanket.
“Damn it, Apollyon,” I whisper.
A low moan reverberates through his body—the aching voice of a lonely soul. An echo to the cry of my own heart.
I crawl toward him, under the drape of the wing, and I settle against his side. His lungs rise and dip, carrying me with every breath. His panting slows, taking on a calmer cadence.
Tears trickle from the corner of my eye, drizzling onto his scales. “Why?” I whisper. “Why do I still feel this way about you, after everything?”
He doesn’t react. Maybe he can’t understand me right now.
Emboldened, I murmur, “You think I don’t understand you, but I do. And maybe that’s what really scares me. I’m mad at you for using me, but at the same time I can’t really fault you for it. I don’twantyou to turn into a dragon for good, and lose yourself. Ilikeyourself. I just—I always yield to the guys in my life. I kind of want someone to protect me and take care of me, and I know that sounds anti-feminist but sometimes I can’t help it. I’m just so tired of being strong and taking care of myself.”
More tears slide hot from beneath my lashes. Apollyon’s side lifts and falls, a soothing, gradual undulation. His scales are smooth and cool beneath my fingers, kind of like a snake’s skin.
“But you can’t take care of me, can you?” I run a finger along the circumference of one scale, exploring the places where it overlaps with others. “And I can’t take care of you, not really. Because I have a terrible feeling that I’m going to be eliminated soon, and then… well, you’ll have to find yourself another cure.”
A rumble vibrates through his body, a growl of dissent. Maybe he can understand me, at least partially.
I murmur more words to him, silly intimate things, soft sad things, accusations and endearments, until it all muddles together in my head and I fall into the gentle dark.
I wake to the brush of silky scarlet hair across my shoulder and a warm, sculpted chest at my back. One lean male arm is wrapped around me, across my breasts, pinning me close. I’m so exquisitely comfortable I don’t want to move.
Apollyon is breathing slow and faint, like he’s still asleep. I adjust my position slightly, and my rear shifts against something hard. A white-hot thrill floods my skin.
It’s impossible to have five-minute orgasms with a demon and not want more, even if being together isn’t the right solution for either of you.
I move again, feeling that unmistakable roll of hard flesh against my backside. Part of me wants to ease down my panties, arch my back, and slip him inside me. Of course I’d need to wake him up first, to find out if he even wants this. He might not even be aware that he came to me in dragon form.
Carefully I twist in the circle of his arm, until I’m facing him. And I almost start crying again, because the sight of his face makes my heart swell, bigger than my chest, uncontainable. I love him with a love that’s bigger than me, and all my pride and protest melt away. I’ll be his antidote, his tether, his savior, for as long as I exist. He thinks himself so unworthy, but that’s not how I see it. Trapped in this demonic existence, he forged a place for himself, climbed the ranks, and managed to retain a bit of his humanity, a core of passion and beauty and kindness.
I slide my hands along the sharp slant of his jaw, the smooth planes of his cheeks, and I kiss one cheekbone, and his eyelid, and his nose, and his chin. His dark red lashes blink apart, unveiling those luminous blue eyes.
I’m crying, urging myself closer to him, and his arm tightens around me. “Grace.”
“I don’t care what you do, or what happens to either of us,” I choke out. “I just need to be with you. Always.” I sow tiny cherishing kisses across his lips, and he starts to return them, cautiously, then hungrily, with a broken whimper in his throat. His leg arches over mine, and we’re grinding close together—it’s more than a sexual hunger. It’s the age-old ache between two souls who feel as if they once were one, and they must be one again.
The room is still gloomy, but my eyes latch on the ticking clock over Apollyon’s shoulder and I startle. “Apollyon,” I hiss, batting at his arm.
“Hmm,” he groans into my neck.
“We can’t do this now. Look at the time! Rath will be coming to get me—they’re going to tell us what the Round 6 challenge is.”
“Fuck,” he moans, rolling away from me. “Fine. I suppose we need to talk anyway, before we do this.”
“Very mature of you,” I tell him. “But I did most of my talking last night, to your dragon form. Do you remember?”
“Sort of?” He starts plaiting his long red hair. “It’s a little hazy. I wasn’t myself.” He pauses, looking away, but I can see the strain in the cords of his neck, in the muscle flexing along his jaw. He was afraid last night, and he still is.
“I know.” I cup his cheek with my hand. “And I want to talk about it with you, to sort all this out. But that has to happen later. I’ve lost ground in this competition because I wasn’t myself either. I have to stay focused during this round, and then we’ll make it all right. You hang on for me, okay? Don’t go completely dragon. I may sleep with demons, but I’d have to draw the line at screwing an actual dragon.”
He grins. “Tell me you didn’t check out my dragon’s equipment, though.”
“I didn’t!” I say indignantly. “It was dark, and the way you were lying on the bed, I couldn’t see it.”
“I’m just saying—keep an open mind.”
“No.”
