Chapter 7
SEVEN
DAEMON
She was still there when I woke up.
I hadn't expected that. Nadia Becker had made an art form out of retreating. She'd tried leaving before sunrise the first time, and I'd spent the whole day wondering if Sofia's dinner invitation would be the last I saw of her.
But she was here. Face slack with sleep, hair a wreck, one hand curled against my ribs like she'd grabbed hold of something in the night and hadn't let go.
I stilled, watching her breathe, trying not to think too hard about the fact that I'd never done this before. Not the sleeping with someone part. The watching-them-sleep-and-not-wanting-to-wreck-it part.
Overhead, Sofia's clock struck six, and I heard her moving around. The kettle, the indistinct murmur of the radio she kept on all morning. Normal. Unremarkable.
Nothing about this was normal.
I was still working that out when Nadia's eyes opened.
She went still for a second, the way people do when they're placing themselves, remembering. Then she saw me looking, and something caught in her expression.
"Good morning," I said.
She pressed her lips together, not quite committing to it. "You were watching me sleep."
"Guilty."
"That's unsettling."
"Probably." I didn't look away. "Are you going to run again?"
Her expression sharpened into something more specific. "I didn't run."
"You called it a mistake."
"I was panicking."
"So that's a no. On the running."
She fell quiet. Her hand stayed against my ribs. "Ask me something easier."
"Okay. Coffee?"
That got a genuine smile, small and reluctant. "Coffee is a good start."
I made it while she dressed, listening to the small sounds of her in my bathroom. The hiss of the tap. A pause that was probably her looking in the mirror and deciding something.
She came out looking exactly like herself.
Hair re-braided, wearing a jumpsuit she'd pulled from that monster bag of hers, the professional mask back in place.
For a second I was irritated that she could put herself back together so completely, look so guarded, when I felt like someone had rewired me overnight.
She took the coffee and wrapped both hands around the mug. "Thank you. For last night. Sofia's dinner, the business conversation, all of it."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. But I am." She looked down at the mug. "I should get going. I've got a delivery at seven thirty."
"I know." I leaned against the counter, giving her space. "Will I see you later?"
She looked up. "Do you want to?"
"Nadia."
"I'm asking."
"Yes," I said. "I want to."
Her expression turned cautious, considering. She set the mug on the kitchen counter, one of the few surfaces not covered in doilies and knickknacks. "Then yes. You'll see me later." She picked up her keys. "Don't screw it up in the meantime."
"I'll do my best," I said before brushing my lips against hers.
She left. I stood there listening to her footsteps on the path, her van door, the engine turning over.
Sofia appeared in the doorway of my apartment before the sound had faded, in her housecoat, holding a cup of espresso, looking entirely unsurprised. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you." She studied me over the rim of her cup. "She's scared."
"I know."
"Are you?"
I thought about it. Thought about Nadia's hand still against my ribs when I woke up. About the way she'd smiled when I offered coffee, like it had surprised her, like she'd been braced for something harder. "Yeah," I said. "I am."
Sofia made a small sound that might have been approval. "Good. Scared means it matters." She turned back into the house. "Come eat. You'll be useless all day if you don't eat first."
I followed her in.
And tried not to think about how clearly she could see through me.
That evening Nadia beat me to my own front door, and I fumbled the lock in my haste to get her inside.
"Last chance to change your mind," I said, even though the thought of her leaving now would hurt like fuck.
"Stop giving me outs," she said, pulling my shirt off and tossing it aside. "I'm right where I want to be."
Her hands were on my chest now, tracing the muscles there, and I had to close my eyes for a second. Her touch was gentle but possessive, like she was claiming me.
"Good," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Because I don't think I could let you go now if I tried."
"Then don't try."
I pulled her sweater over her head and let it fall wherever it landed. She was beautiful in the dim light filtering through the chintz curtains, all curves and confidence despite the vulnerability in her eyes.
"You're staring," she said.
"Can't help it." I traced a line down her arm. "You're gorgeous."
"Flatterer."
"Truth-teller." I kissed her neck, felt her pulse jump under my lips. "You don't know how long I've wanted this. Wanted you."
"Six months?"
"Longer." I kissed lower, along her collarbone. "Since the first time I saw you at that fundraiser, arguing with the venue manager about kitchen access. You were magnificent."
She laughed, breathless. "I was furious."
"Same thing." I found the clasp of her bra and opened it, my hands shaking as badly as hers had been. "You get this look when you're angry. Like you could take on the world and win."
"I feel like that around you," she admitted. "Like I could do anything."
I pulled back to look at her. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She pushed at my jeans, impatient now. "Now stop talking and show me what else you remember from last night."
"Everything," I promised. "I remember everything."
And I did. I remembered the sounds she made when I touched her, how she arched into me, the exact pressure and rhythm that made her gasp my name. I remembered all of it, and I intended to prove it hadn't been a one-off.
I eased her back onto the bed, spreading her out beneath me. Her bra slipped free, and my lips closed over a nipple, sucking hard enough to make her breath hitch. She arched into me, nails biting at my shoulders.
"Jesus, you feel good," I muttered against her skin, then kissed lower, tracing the curve of her stomach. She tasted of salt, familiar and brand new all at once.
Her thighs parted when I nudged them, and I settled between them like I'd been waiting my whole damn life. My fingers slid over her first, teasing, until she was wet and restless beneath me. The little sounds she made went straight to my cock, straining against denim.
"Don't make me beg," she warned, but her voice was already breaking.
I grinned up at her. "Not yet."
I pushed two fingers inside her, slowly at first, savoring the way she clenched around me.
Her head fell back, a low moan spilling out as I curled my fingers.
I remembered how she'd come apart last night, how she'd shouted when I did exactly this.
I gave her the same rhythm now, relentless, until she was rocking against my hand, chasing the release.
When she shattered, it was with my name on her lips, raw and unguarded. I watched it all, greedy for the sight.
"Beautiful," I rasped, then staggered to my feet to get rid of my jeans. My cock sprang free, aching, and I rolled the condom on with fingers that shook more than I wanted to admit.
Then the doubts were gone, and I slotted myself between her legs. "Are you ready for me?"
Her answer was to lift her hips, rubbing herself against the head of my cock. "Been ready since the day I met you."
That undid me. I pushed into her in one long stroke, groaning as her heat closed tight around me. She gasped, clutching my arms, her legs wrapping high around my waist.
"Fuck, you're perfect," I ground out, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in harder. She sucked in a sharp breath, and then she matched me, moving with me, her body opening to every thrust.
I set a steady rhythm, slow enough to savor, hard enough to make her moan. Every flex of her around me, every desperate kiss, felt like more than sex. It was her letting me in, piece by piece.
When I felt her tighten again, close to breaking, I buried my face in her neck, teeth scraping her skin. "Come with me," I whispered, thrusting harder, deeper. "I want to feel you."
She cried out as her body clenched around mine, pulling me under. I went with a groan, holding her tight while the world disintegrated, both of us slick with sweat, hearts hammering in sync.
I kissed her temple, still inside her, unwilling to let go. "Guess we're better at this when we take our time."
She gave a shaky laugh, brushing her lips against mine. "Guess we are."
Later, much later, we lay tangled in Sofia's rose-patterned sheets, both of us breathing hard and grinning like idiots.
"So," said Nadia, tracing patterns on my chest. "That wasn't a fluke."
"Nope. Not a fluke."
"Good to know." She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't read. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm in trouble here."
"What kind of trouble?"
"The kind where I'm going to want to do this again." She smiled as if she couldn't help it. "And again. Probably at inconvenient times."
I caught her hand and brought it to my lips. "I'm okay with that kind of trouble."
"I mean it, Daemon." Her voice settled into something more serious. "I don't do this. Sleep with someone this many times in twenty-four hours. Check my schedule on the drive home to see when I can do it again. I'm the responsible one. The one who has her life together."
"And I'm the screwup with a criminal record who lives in an old lady's apartment."
"That's not what I meant." There was no mistaking the second she registered exactly what I'd said. "You have a criminal record?"
Damn it. This was not how I'd wanted to tell her. Not here, not now, not when I could feel her pulse still slowing against me and the room smelled like both of us and everything felt more exposed than I knew how to manage.
But I'd said it out loud, and there was no taking it back.
"Yeah," I said. "I do."