Page 21 of Exorcise Me
Something shifted in his expression—hunger giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. He moved back up my body, his face hovering above mine.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough with restrained desire. “This is… more intimate than what we’ve done before.”
I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. “I’m sure. I want to know all of you, Lucien. Every part.”
The look he gave me then was almost reverent. “No one has ever said that to me before,” he whispered, and for a moment, I glimpsed the loneliness of centuries in his eyes.
I pulled him down for a kiss, trying to convey without words that he wasn’t alone anymore.
With careful patience, Lucien prepared me, using the honey from the jar in a way that made me laugh then gasp with pleasure. When he finally pressed into me, the initial discomfort quickly gave way to a fullness that felt like completion.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
“More than okay,” I assured him, adjusting to the new sensation. “Move. Please.”
He did, setting a gentle rhythm that gradually built in intensity as my body relaxed and pleasure mounted. I’d neverfelt so connected to another being—physically, emotionally, perhaps even spiritually, though I dared not examine that thought too closely.
Lucien maintained eye contact, his gaze holding mine with an intimacy that was almost more overwhelming than the physical act itself. In those amber depths, I saw centuries of loneliness, of being feared and misunderstood, of yearning for connection.
I see you,I wanted to tell him.I really see you.
Instead, I pulled him closer, deepening the connection, meeting his movements with my own. Words failed, but our bodies spoke a language older than any human tongue.
The pleasure built inexorably, like a wave gathering strength before breaking. When it finally crested, it was unlike anything I’d experienced before—not just physical release but something deeper, as if some fundamental barrier between us had dissolved.
Lucien followed moments later, my name on his lips like a prayer, his body trembling above mine. As he collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest, I felt a strange peace settle over me—a certainty that, whatever complications lay ahead, this connection was real and true.
We lay in comfortable silence for a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin, my head resting on his chest where a heartbeat steadier than any human’s marked time.
“Father Finnegan says demons can’t love,” I said eventually, my voice quiet in the stillness of the room. “He says it’s not in your nature.”
Lucien’s hand paused briefly before resuming its gentle exploration. “And what do you think, Noah Callahan, exorcist and scholar of demonology?”
I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at his beautiful face, now relaxed and open in a way it rarely was. “I think Father Finnegan has never met you.”
A slow smile spread across Lucien’s face, warming his eyes. “A diplomatic answer.”
“Not diplomacy. Truth.” I traced the line of his collarbone, gathering courage. “Can you? Love, I mean?”
His expression sobered. “What makes you think I don’t already?”
The question hung between us, heavy with implication. My heart pounded against my ribs.
“In the kitchen, before the Wellington case,” I said carefully. “You started to say something. That you were in love with…”
“With you,” he finished simply, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m in love with you, Noah. Have been since you stood in that ridiculous living room with your wrinkled khakis and your doubt-filled eyes, trying so hard to be something you weren’t meant to be.”
The admission stole my breath. “Lucien—”
“You don’t have to say it back,” he interrupted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Seven centuries gives one perspective on these things. Human hearts move at their own pace.”
I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his. “My heart isn’t moving slowly,” I whispered. “It’s just trying to catch up to where it already is.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a joy so pure it transformed his face entirely. He pulled me down for a kiss that spoke volumes, his arms wrapping around me as if he never intended to let go.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I smiled against his lips. “So much for demons being incapable of love.”
“So much for exorcists being immune to demonic charms,” he countered, rolling us so I was beneath him again, his eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, warmer. “Now, shall we test a few more theological assumptions about demons?”
