Page 9 of Death C*mes Inside Her
I lower until my mouth is a breath away from her heat, close enough she feels the cool tease of me without the touch. Her whole body shudders.
“Yes!” She screams into the darkness.
The house hums around us, as love embeds itself into my chest.
Chapter 3
Eve
He is inhuman. Monstrous. And beautiful. Things inside me vibrate and clench.
I’m a soaking mess down…there.
The bones of his face catch the light like carved marble, the flames in his eye sockets like living candles. That serpent tongue that lapped at my feminine parts flies around his face, dancing and flicking and tasting the shimmering arousal I’ve left on his bony skull.
I’m feeling things I never imagined before. It’s like a fever dream.
He’s still kneeling between my legs, his back straight now, staring at me as I pant and come back from the dark pleasure place his mouth sent me.
He’s massive, wrapped in shadow and heat. So tall he had to duck every time we went through a doorway, shoulders so broad he could hold up the whole house if it started to crumble. The skull of his face tips to the side, the flames he has for eyes meet mine, and it’s like I’ve been waiting for him.
Something in the way he looks at me makes me wonder if maybe he didn’t know it, but he was also waiting for me.
I know I should be afraid. But I’ve known about monsters my whole life. Men who want and take, and offer nothing in return but cruelty and selfishness.
This demon does not lie. He is honest about what he wants. And I’m far less afraid of him than I am of humans.
“What is your wish, little witch?” His voice is low and rough, like a heavy door dragging open. The curved claws at the tips of his fingers scrape down my inner thigh, leaving an icy scratch in their path.
“I don’t want to have to leave here. Well, that’s what I thought I wanted... Now, I want something else. I want you, too.”
He makes a sound that isn’t quite laughter, but maybe it’s as close as a demon comes. I think about my answer to his question.
What do I want?
When my father died, I hated the relief I felt. His last days were worse than the years that came before. Bottles filled the kitchen sink, emptied of their toxic amber liquid. The house creaked and leaked down the chimney when it rained, and my stomach rolled and panged from lack of food.
But I kept to my room, cleaned up when he slept or went out for more liquor, leaving me scraps of whatever food he’d picked up at the bar or wherever it was he went when he left here.
Then the papers were delivered.
The sheriff taped something to the door I couldn’t read. Then Papa drank more bottles. Brought home less food. I hid more, cleaned less.
The house feels happier tonight with this demon in it. I don’t understand that, except that I feel happier with him here too.
His hands plant wide on either side of my thighs, caging me against the velvet sofa, my legs still splayed impossibly wide. The slip is bunched high at my waist as cool air skims over fevered skin, and I shiver.
“Stay still,” he breathes, cold mist filling the air. “Hands where I can see them.”
I clutch the cushions instead of reaching for him. Touching feels dangerous, but fighting the urgent compulsion to cling to him is only overridden by the fear that if I do not, I will disappoint him somehow.
He lowers his face until a breath of winter ghosts across the most sensitive skin. My back arches with the shock. One big palm presses flat to my belly and holds me there, effortless.
“Good girl,” he says against me, his voice a rumble that slides like a dark river into my veins.
His tongue unfurls, flicking like a feather against my sensitive flesh, nearly sending me off the sofa in a chaotic convulsion.
His exposed teeth mimic something like a smile in the dim light, and a new jolt of heat and desire spins through me, making me panic as his tongue retreats into the thin space between his teeth.
