Demon (The Northern Kings MC #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Ciara

I stared at my phone. At the battery symbol draining by the second, which meant I was carrying my charger everywhere with me, plugging in to every available electricity source. I’d been days without electricity now. And days with no word from Demon. I’d messaged once. And once only because there’d been no response. I was trying not to get pissed off. His dad looked like he was about to die in my car on the way to the hospital. But it would have been nice if someone could have told me what was going on.

I arrived at Trouble thirty minutes before my shift again. Terry glanced over the bar, polishing the glasses he’d just washed. I never knew why he bothered so much. The punters paid no attention to how clean the bar top was, or how polished the glasses were. They drank pints with their eyes fixed on the stage, watching the naked girls parade the same body, night after night. Did they go home to sexless marriages and wank off in the shadows of their lounge? Or sit in solitude, scrolling through porn sites, emptying their loads into the nearest piece of discarded clothing. I doubt anyone noticed the slightest stain of washing up bubbles on the glasses.

“Hey, Ciara,” Terry called, not lifting his eyes from the glass in his hands. “Your electricity still not on?”

“Nah. No electric. No gas. You don’t mind, do you?” I asked, barely waiting for an answer.

“Course not. Knock yourself out.”

The showers at the back of the changing rooms were hardly luxurious. Black mould clung to the corners, creeping up the walls day by day. My continued use didn’t help. Filling the shower room with muggy heat. There was no ventilation, so after ten minutes of standing under the warm spray, the steam had filled the room, billowing out into the cool air of the changing rooms. I could have stood under that spray all night. Even with gas and electric, the shower at home was never as warm as this. My hair dripped warm water down my back as I shut off the steady stream of water, stepping out into the thick, humid fog. The steam swirled in front of me, collecting on the figure stood in the doorway of the showers. Tall, dark, oppressive. My heart sped up from a pleasant jog to a flat-out gallop, thundering in my chest. The scream or yell, or cry, stuck in my throat. The figure moved closer, breaking through the mist, resting a leather clad arm on the door frame.

Fuck’s sake. Demon.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, darting for the towel that I’d hung over the sink. My fingers glanced off the fabric, the material disappearing just as my hand touched it.

“Same question, right back at ya, darlin’.”

“I work here, remember?”

“And you always use the work showers?”

I shrugged, pushing an arm across my chest and one between my legs as the steam cleared, leaving us standing staring at each other. Demon stepped closer.

“What’s going on, Ciara? Tez said you’ve been using these showers every day. Even on your day off.”

“No hot water at home.” I shivered suddenly, the cool air in the old building attacking my damp skin. “Towel please.”

Demon held it out, a foot too far away, and a smirk on his face.

“You want it? Drop your hands.”

Sighing, I let my hands fall to my sides. Demon’s eyes swept over me, lingering over my boobs and then stopping on the spot between my legs.

“Towel, Demon.”

Smiling, he held it out, dangling the white material in front of me. I reached for it, the white fluff moving away from me, and I launched for it again, missing it by a fraction and slipping. My feet slid on the wet floor, my legs skating over the wet surface and slippy tile and suddenly I was falling backwards.

Demon’s fingers wrapped round my forearm, fighting against gravity, pulling me back towards him, just millimetres from a head injury.

“You dick!” I spat once my heart slid from my throat.

“I’m sorry, Ciara. I was only messing.”

“You could have killed me!”

“Dramatic much? You might have ended up with an egg on ya head. Not dead!”

“I could have split my head open and bled out on the fucking floor.”

Demon’s lips quivered, his face contorting, and then he erupted, the laughter filling the room, loud and hysterical.

“Don’t laugh at me, dick!”

“S…s…sorry.”

“Give me that towel,” I grumbled, snatching it from him.

His hearty chuckles slowed to a hiccupped giggle, crease lines pulling in the corner of his eyes and around his mouth. I stood for a moment, watching. He looked different when he was happy. His face was more peaceful, not the angry glare in his eyes, his darkened soul eased by the sudden burst of laughter. The cold, hardened mask he always wore made him look his age. But now, with the stupid grin on his face, watching me secure the towel around my body, gave him a boyish look I don’t remember seeing.

I cocked my head to the side, studying him again, like it was the first time I’d seen him. And if I had seen him like this that very first time, instead of the raging arsehole, maybe I might have felt this sudden pressure in my chest. This feeling that I wanted to grasp and not let go. This feeling that would likely destroy me and that I couldn’t hope for, because everyone and life let me down. I shook my head.

“What?” Demon asked, the hint of a laugh still in his voice.

“You know, sometimes you’re quite likable.”

“Really?”

“Maybe. When you smile. Maybe you should try it more often. Makes you look less of a dick.”

He smiled again. Big and wide, lighting up his face and shining in his eyes. OK, heart, that was enough of the gooey shit. I moved past him, stepping carefully on the wet floor, and still slipping as my damp foot moved across the old, smooth floor tiles of the dressing rooms.

“Anyway,” Demon’s voice grumbled from behind me, “you haven’t told me what’s up with using these showers.”

“There’s no hot water at home. The electricity and gas have been off since the weekend.”

“Five days? How come?”

“Stingy Stu hasn’t paid the bill again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he hasn’t paid it. So, the gas and electricity have been cut off.”

“What the actual fuck?” Demon’s face straightened, his brow furrowing, darkness filling his eyes. The next time he spoke, his tone was cold. “Why didn’t you tell me, Ciara?”

“I have. I’m telling you now.”

“You should have told me the minute it had happened.”

“And what would you have done?”

“Spoken to that landlord of yours for a fucking start.”

“It’ll make no difference. Stu has been like this forever. He’ll pay the bill soon. He’s probably gone on holiday and spent the cash on that instead.”

“You pay your rent in cash?”

“Yep. Everyone in there does. Most of them couldn’t get anything legit because of bad rep, drugs, or because they shouldn’t be in the country at all.”

“You don’t look like any of them, Ciara,” Demon said softly now, his fingers stroking over the damp skin of my shoulders.

“Yeah, well, he never asked for documentation or my full name. They’re unlikely to find me.”

The words had slipped out. This moment with Demon in the changing rooms, my heart beating that little harder just being near him, and clearly the blood had run away from my brain.

“Who, Ciara?”

Fuck.

“No one relevant anymore.”

Demon raised his hand, the movement a little too sudden, and I winced, shutting my eyes and holding my breath instinctively. The touch was soft, the tips of his fingers gently teasing over the damaged flesh. Even months down the line, just touching it fired up hot tingles under the scar, the skin and nerve endings nervous in anticipation of further damage.

“Who, Ciara? Tell me. I know they did this to you.”

I shook my head, as if saying the names would summon them, like a teenage ghost story.

“It’s done, Demon. And I’m working hard to forget it. I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Fine,” he whispered. “Fine. If you won’t tell me, that’s fine. But what you will do is stay with me tonight.”

I opened my mouth, the complaint just about to leave my lips, but instead his lips stopped it, smashing against my mouth and taking that thought right from me. The kiss caught me off guard, deep and powerful and desperate. But I knew what game he was playing. I knew he was trying to distract me, so that I’d agree to stay at his house, wherever the fuck that was, just because he’d screwed with my brain. Or my insides or both. No. Not today. Mostly because I was due to start my shift in ten minutes.

Something pushed against my back, and suddenly I realised he’d walked me backwards, and now I was stuck between a Demon and a dressing table. I pushed my hands against him, inside the leather jacket and against the hardened wall of muscle that was stopping me stepping out from under him. My fingers trailed the ripples of his stomach, moving unintentionally, but travelling lower all the same, and as I reached his waistband, sliding behind the tightness of the thick leather belt, he groaned against me.

Demon wrapped his arms around me, picking me up and propping me onto the old dressing table behind, the wooden creaking under my weight and wobbling as he crushed his body against mine, yanking the towel free. His head tipped forwards, not working down my neck but lurching straight for my breasts, grabbing the flesh in one hand, and covering my nipple with his mouth. He sucked hard, his fingers digging into the surrounding flesh at the same time. I should hate it. I should hate the ferocity that his lips pulled at my nipple, at the hard pressure his mouth made, but the heat raging through my body and pooling between my legs said otherwise. I gasped, letting my head fall back against the mirror.

Demon nudged my legs apart, his lips never leaving my nipple, his other hand grabbing, kneading and squeezing as he moved in closer, his denim covered erection dragged against me. Heat spiked in my pussy, hot and prickling, and I tipped my hips a little closer, moving against the tough material.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he grumbled against my breast, vibrations wracking through me. “You gonna work yourself up nice and wet for me?”

His other hand dropped from my other boob, sliding down my stomach, cupping over the apex between my legs, his finger sliding through my folds.

“You’re so fucking wet, Ciara. Wet enough just to slide straight in.”

“Not here, Demon. The girls. They’ll be in any minute,” I gasped as the fingers suddenly thrust inside of me, a bolt of fire jolting through me, and I pushed myself against his hand. The motion involuntary. A carnal movement.

“I’m going to fuck you here, Ciara. And if anyone walks in, they can watch as I tear up this tight, wet cunt of mine.”

He slid his fingers out, fussing suddenly at his waist, and then I heard the metallic rasp of his zip. Pushing towards me, he forced the thick head of his cock between my legs, his eyes dropping to watch as he speared me on the end.

“I’m not yours, Demon.” He edged in further, the thickness forcing my flesh apart, and no amount of slick pooling from me would ever get me used to that initial assault of his dick.

“Shssh, darlin’. Just take it.”

“I’m not your old woman, Demon,” I breathed the words out, heat searing between my legs.

“Old lady. It’s called an old lady,” he answered through clenched teeth.

“That. Just cos we’ve had sex….”

“Having, Ciara. We’re having sex.”

“Aye. Whatever, Demon. Just because we’re fucking doesn’t make me your old lady.”

“Fucking shut up, Ciara. This,” he pushed in harder, the width of his cock prizing me open, filling my flesh with a delicious burn. My head lolled back against the mirror. “This pussy is mine. It’s only ever wet for me. And it takes me so well. It takes every inch of me, milking my cock and forcing me to tear it fucking up.”

He thrust hard. One last, long, hard push, scraping my insides. The strangled cry tumbled from my mouth. And this time there was no waiting for my insides to settle around him. Tearing me apart was exactly his intention.

The dressing table rocked with us, hammering the wall behind, followed by my back and shoulders as they were smashed against the mirror with each urgent, chaotic movement of Demon’s hips. I let my head roll backwards, my eyes half closing, the heat swelling where his cock filled me.

From my left, I heard the snigger.