Chapter 7
Samite walks a half-step behind me, pulling La Roja without my having to ask. He’s been quiet a long time, and I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking about. I hope it’s something pleasant, but I know he has plenty to worry about.
What an idiot I’ve been. A demon gets pushed from a helicopter, and I assume that being stranded is his only problem. When he came to after being abducted, threatened, dropped on his head, knocked out cold, and left for dead, he was rude to me, and I was quick to take offense. But if our roles had been reversed, I would have behaved so much worse.
“Sofia.” He speaks, and I light up at the sound of his voice. Sofia is a good name, I’ve never disliked it, but it’s so much better when Samite says it. He strums it with his tongue, and I feel it between my legs. Every time. I look at him, attention fixed.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
For a brief moment, I’m disappointed, but then he blinks at me. His eyelashes fall closed in a slow sweep, and when they open again, our eyes lock. A warm spark ignites inside me, and I smile. He smiles back. A cozy silence settles between us, and we continue walking.
By the time we get to the cabin, it’s half past midnight, officially Christmas Day. The warmth of the bonfire is long gone, and the night’s deep chill has burrowed its way through my layers. Inside, the tree lights are on. The colored bulbs cast a twinkling glow but no warmth, and I shiver. As if on cue, the rickety heater kicks on with a metal groan.
Samite crosses the living room and flops down on the couch. He slumps over, going sideways as if settling in for the night. The least I can do is show him how the bed folds out, I think to myself, but when I come to a stop in front of him, what I say is, “I have a queen bed. It’s roomy and a lot more comfortable than this couch.”
He tilts his head up to look at me. “Are you bragging or inviting me to your bed?” he asks, and his gold studs twinkle at me from above the shadow of his heavy brow.
“Inviting. I thought you could use a good night’s sleep.” It’s a lie. There was no thought. Words just fell from my mouth.
“I won’t stay on my side.” He crosses his arms. “Or keep my hands to myself.” What an adorably honest demon. I press my lips to hold back a smile even as the thought of him in my bed makes me flush warm.
“I don’t mind roaming hands if you don’t,” I say, crossing my arms, mirroring him. What is this, I wonder, a stand-off? A bargain? Either way, I like it.
He rises to his feet, terms accepted, and as I lead the way, he follows, stripping his clothes. I gawk unabashedly over my shoulder and knock right into the wall. Thud. I correct course, and by the time we’re inside my bedroom, he’s fully naked, and he’s a sight to behold. The beats of my heart falter as my eyes roam up his deep red skin to the tip of his curved horns. If there’s still a chill in the cabin, I can’t feel it now.
As he rounds to the far side of the bed, he pauses to fold his clothes and place them neatly on a chair, and I don’t know why I find that so endearing, but my heart glows at the sight of it. A goofy grin spreads across my face. I fight to hide it.
“What?” he says, turning too soon.
I smother the grin behind a polite offer of a shirt, shorts, something to sleep in.
“No.” He shakes his head, firmly. “I’d prefer you sleep naked as well.”
I swallow hard and start stripping. When I’m down to my white t-shirt and panties, I stop.
“Is this how you’re comfortable?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. My head is too fuzzy to think.
He throws back the comforter and climbs into bed. From there, he watches me. I wouldn’t say it makes me self-conscious, just very aware of my body. Of how my knee sinks into the bed, how my hips shift as I climb in, how my breasts rise and fall as I come to rest on my side, facing him.
There’s maybe a foot between us, not much space at all, and this close, it’s so easy to see the orange embers when they flicker to life at the back of his coal-black eyes. For a moment, it’s like I’m back at the bonfire, and there’s a promise of losing myself if I stare for too long.
My hands itch to touch him. I have explicit permission to let my hands roam, and even if I didn’t, there’s an invitation written all over his face. I want to run my fingers through his hair, caress along his jaw, and feel his lips against the pad of my thumb. I want to know all the intimate textures of him. But then he’ll learn mine. He’ll see the rough patches and feel the places that should be smooth but aren’t.
I turn over and hit the switch on the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I whisper a soft “good night” over my shoulder.
“Good night, Sofia.” He strums my name and reaches for me. His arm circles my waist, just above my hips, and he pulls my backside into the spoon of his body, a perfect fit. I melt against him, sighing in delight as his warmth wraps me in a safe and snug little bubble.
Bliss.
We spoon for a while, and I’m content until he shifts against me. It’s a good feeling, and I can’t help a soft groan. He shifts again, and I press into him. His hands begin to roam, setting off a nervous flutter in my chest, but his hand moves down, away from my waist to slide over the curve of my hip, trailing tingles all over the unscarred, smooth skin. I let out another soft groan.
His breath quickens behind my ear, and as his hand moves from my thigh to my hip, it slides under my panties, then roams back to squeeze my ass.
“So fuckable,” he mutters, and his cock nudges my backside, right between the clefts of my cheeks. Heat pools between my legs and my head spins.
“Mmmm. You really like this.” His hips rock lightly against me.
He’s not wrong, but an unnerving thought pops into my head. “Can—can you smell me?”
“Like a dog? No.” He chuckles dismissively. “Our tongues are sensitive. I guess you could say I taste you, but it’s the chemistry of excitement and fear that I taste, not what’s happening between your legs. Although, in this case, I’m guessing they are one and the same.” It’s a fascinating ability, but an unfair advantage. I’m not sure I like it. His hand roams again, this time dipping between my legs, and I’m distracted. He doesn’t linger any longer than it takes to verify that he’s right before his hand moves to my belly, another smooth place. No worries there.
“This is where you’re the most biteable. When you were laid out on the butcher block, I wanted to sink my teeth in right here.” His hand kneads just below my belly button, and under his palm, my softness feels sexy, especially when he rumbles wordlessly into my ear, prickling my skin with awareness.
“And these, Sofia. These.” His hand slides under my shirt to palm my breasts, first one then the other. The skin is mostly smooth, all but a tiny patch on my left breast. I doubt he’ll notice, especially if his head is swimming like mine. He continues working my breasts, his hardened cock pressing against my ass.
He groans, and I feel the points of his teeth make light contact with my shoulder. I shiver in a very delicious way. “I want to lick. And suck.” He plucks at one nipple and then the other, and they respond to his touch, pebbling and eager for more. “And then I want to slide my cock right here.” He runs his fingers down my sternum, between my breasts, “and fuck your tits.”
I flush hot, head to toe. And a needy throb pulses between my legs. It sends me out of my right mind. I sit up and strip off my shirt before I can change my mind. “Do it,” I say as I fall back to the bed. I want him to. I grab my breasts, squeezing them together. As soon as he said it, the idea of him fucking my tits derailed my brain, and now I need it.
In the darkness, I feel Samite rise from the bed. The mattress groans as he climbs over me, his knees caging my ribs. Excitement pulses in my veins for a heartbeat before reality catches up to me. It’s pitch black in the room, but the moment he touches me, he’ll feel it, the textured skin along my side.
He freezes. “You’re afraid,” he says.
“It’s nothing,” I say automatically. Maybe he’ll be distracted enough not to feel it. I reach for his cock to help guide him to my chest, but he bats my hand away. “No.” He stretches in the direction of the side table.
“Not the lamp!”
He returns to resting on his heels, but he snaps his fingers and a small flame leaps to life in his palm. I yelp in surprise. The flame flickers like a candle, comforting even as I try to sink into the bed and hide.
Samite’s eyes roam slowly over me as he takes in my entire torso, every flawed inch of it: the skin graft scars on my left shoulder and side, the rippling burn marks that stretch out in every direction down my arm, across my ribs, and a little way up the side of my breast.
He’s quiet for too long, and I start to squirm.
He reaches for my left breast with the hand not holding the flame, and he cups it as his thumb glides gently back and forth over my nipple. I suck in a breath.
“Did you know that ancient demons believed that the reason fire burns is because it contains twin spirits?” I shake my head, just a quick little jerk, and he continues. “It’s the only twin element in nature, the only one in constant conflict with itself. Friction begets fire.” His thumb keeps moving, slow and steady, as his black eyes with their orange glow stare into me. “It can never decide if it wants to be safety or danger, benevolent or cruel, and so it’s often both at once.” He plucks at my nipple and my breath hitches again. “May I?” he asks, as his hand moves to hover over my shoulder, the worst of my scarring.
I hesitate a second before I nod. My heart races as his palm touches down on my patchwork of skin. “To love the twin-spirited flame is both a blessing and a curse, and those born with fire in their nature will always love it, no matter the price.” His voice is low and full of reverence.
His tongue flicks the air. “This is what you’re afraid of?”
With my heart still racing, I nod. It’s not that I want to lie, but I feel a twinge of irritation when I realize that if I did lie, I wouldn’t get away with it, thanks to his tongue.
“The scars or the fire that caused them?”
“The scars,” I answer. It wasn’t the fire’s fault. It was mine. I was na?ve, careless, and irresponsible. I’ll bear the reminder for the rest of my life.
“You are beautiful, Sofia. Maria. Moreno.” His tongue strums over each of my names slowly, pausing between them. I feel the rolling sounds down deep, and I wish I had a hundred names because with each one he says in that voice of his, something tentative and coiled inside me relaxes. “Intensely and unquestionably dazzling,” he murmurs.
His eyes are hypnotic, and I’m already falling into the orange glow before I’m beckoned further by the tendrils of smoke that start wisping up from the outer corners.
I let out a small gasp as hot desire floods my body.
There’s a shift in the direction my blood is pumping, and he must taste the change because when his tongue flicks again, he smiles a wolfish smile that shows off the points of his teeth.
The little fire in his palm goes out and, cloaked in darkness, he whispers to me, “I want to see you.” There’s a pang in his voice, a longing that I understand because I feel it too. The moment the light went out, I missed the sight of him, his smoking eyes, his smile, his horns, his face, his everything.
I reach out and turn on the lamp.
He sighs but there’s a guttural moan beneath it, and the smoke is livelier now, streaming from his eyes and circling above his head in a dark halo. He’s beautiful beyond words. I want him. I want to devour him and for him to devour me. I grab his forearms, meaning to pull his mouth to mine, but the moment I touch him, I hear it.
Always know exactly how and when you’ll stop a burn before you start it.
I’m stunned, and I go still.
“What now?” he asks, stiffening again.
I’ve never heard those words when touching a person. Samite is the first. I don’t understand. He isn’t a flame I need to tend to or a fire that could burn me—or is he?
His eyes smoke and smolder.
He draws me.
If I lose myself in him, what kind of scar will he leave when he goes?
“They’ll clear the road in a few more days,” I say. I don’t know exactly when, but they’ve never taken more than a week. “That’s when this burn ends.”
“Burn?” He gives me a puzzled look.
“Fire safety,” I answer vaguely. It doesn’t make sense to him, but it’s vitally important to me. Samite may be a wholly new kind of fire, but I’m not the na?ve and irresponsible girl I was the first time I got burned. A planned end and a little caution is called for. This fire we’re starting can’t last. The moment he’s free to leave, burn over.
He doesn’t press for an explanation, only makes a noise of acknowledgement, and then runs his hands over my skin. “You’ve cooled. Would you like me to warm you up?” His grin is back, and all I have to do is bite my lip, and he has his answer.
I expect him to scoot straight down, but instead he stretches out longways across the bed until our bodies are in the shape of a ‘T’, his head at my hip. He pulls my panties down past my knees, and I kick them the rest of the way off. He settles on his side, and lifts my nearest leg over his head, spreading me wide, and draping it over his rib cage. I’m open and exposed, and he’s not shy about taking in the view. He makes an appreciative noise, then lowers his head. His mouth greets me with a few flicks of his tongue.
That’s all it takes to warm me back up. Heat blooms inside. He nudges my outer leg to make more room for his head, and even then, the bend of his horns presses into the flesh of my thigh, adding to the thrill already thrumming through my body.
His tongue sinks into me and I gasp. His thumb finds the perfect spot and rubs a slow circle, and I’m panting. He sets a rhythm. His tongue thrusts in and out at the same speed his thumb circles. My hips roll on their own.
In and out, round and round, and both of my hands fist the covers beneath me, pressure and pleasure building.
He hums and nuzzles into me. Then continues with the in and out, and I cry out at the first little spasm. He picks up the pace with his thumb, his tongue keeps up the steady thrusts, and I come with a moan. He moans back as more spasms shake me, clenching out waves of pleasure that travel all the way to my toes. “?Qué bárbaro!” I call out with breathless wonder, and he chuckles.
As my vision clears, I’m treated to the view of his head between my thighs. His tongue strokes me softly, and even closed, his eyes are still smoking. I want to tattoo this image onto the back of my eyelids and burn it onto my brain.
My eyes are drawn across the length of his body, and I continue to gorge on the sight of him. He’s fully erect with beads of moisture dripping from his tip.
I want it. My mouth waters, but it’s my hand that reaches for it. Stretching sideways, I grab the base and stroke him. He hisses but in a very good way, so I do it again. His tongue starts darting into me again, and I’m overcome with jealousy. I pull myself sidelong, and he adjusts with me, until my lips reach the head of his cock, and I suck the tip. His hips buck. I drag my tongue along the shaft, but it’s an awkward angle, and I can’t quite reach the length of him.
He must have the same thought, because he rises, moving me underneath him. He’s a table. I’m a chair. The six to his nine.
With full and unfettered access, my lips slide up around his cock, my tongue gliding along the silk of his skin. His hips give a little jerk, and he groans right into me, little vibrations fluttering deep. A match strikes. I want him to feel what I’m feeling.
I take him deeper into my mouth and suck until my cheeks hollow out. He sucks back, and I gasp. Another match.
He wraps an arm around the back of my thigh and slides a finger into me, then another. He licks and licks.
My head bobs up and down, sucking and sliding over his cock. My movements grow more desperate and frantic along with my growing need to give back to him the same exquisite pleasure he’s giving me.
His hips rock too fast, and he slides out of my mouth. With both hands, I grab his ass and pull him to me. The tip hits the back of my throat, I gag, and he groans deeply. His back rounds until his mouth is pressing into my belly. He bites.
There’s a brief sting as his teeth clamp onto my flesh. A thousand matches strike at once.
I am ablaze.
He grips my thighs so tight that I know I’ll be bruised tomorrow, and all I want is to keep going.
He pulls his hips back until his cock hangs in the air above me. In a thick voice that’s almost a beg, he tells me what he wants. “Squeeze your tits together.” I do it gladly, eagerly, and he slides his length into my cleavage with a guttural moan. He takes several quick strokes, his body tensing more with each one until he unravels. With a spasm of small jerks, I feel him come in spurts and shudders all over my belly.
He tumbles to the side and collapses next to me. “I want to eat you alive, woman.” It’s both a groan and a lustful promise.
I’m startled by a quick swipe of cloth over my stomach before I see my white t-shirt go sailing across the room.
“You used my shirt?” I grumble.
“I wasn’t going to use mine,” he says. “I don’t know if you know this, but it’s cashmere.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “You might have mentioned it.”
We take a moment to catch our breaths, but not nearly as long as I think we’re going to. Samite is bigger and stronger by nature, but I’m still caught by surprise when he lifts me off the bed. He scoops his arm under me and tosses me upward, catching my hips in the air and landing them squarely on his face. I flop forward gracelessly onto his abdomen just as his tongue slides inside me. I let out a cry of surprise as my thighs clench around his head.
There’s already a tremble building in me. He pulls out his tongue, and I’m momentarily devastated by emptiness, until I’m filled again by the thrusting of his fingers. His mouth finds my clit, and he sucks hard. My back rounds as an intense spasm seizes my body, and I’m blinded by little flashes of light. I bite. My teeth sink into his belly. I don’t think about it; I don’t even realize I’m doing it as my hips rock against his face. It’s not until the last groan leaves me that I realize what I’ve done.
“Sorry,” I gasp, bolting upright. I don’t taste blood, so I haven’t broken skin, despite how hard I bit down.
“For what?” he asks as we both move to untangle ourselves and sit upright. When I meet his eye, he’s smiling, and I smile back, momentarily distracted by his beautiful face and his bottomless dark eyes. But then I reach out and touch the clearly visible imprint of my teeth on his lower abdomen. He reaches out and brushes the imprint of his teeth on mine. “I think we’re square.”
His touch is light, and I’ve already come a few times, and yet I respond so quickly, flushing hot all over. My hips rise, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from begging him to fuck me, to thrust deep inside me. I want it more than anything. I want it so badly that I’m shaking, so deeply that it cries out from my bones. But there’s a line in the sand, a limit he set the other night, and I won’t ask him to cross it. I barely hold myself in check, panting in frustration. It’s the best I can do.
His hand moves from my belly to cup the ache between my legs, as his other one glides to the back of my neck and draws my face to his.
I realize this is our first kiss a split second before our lips meet. I expect it to be rough and fiery, but there’s a tentative gentleness to the way his lips press softly to mine. His head dips to one side. The kiss deepens, sweetly, tenderly. He licks lightly at my bottom lip and when I open, his tongue enters with the politeness of a gentleman, greeting mine with a glide and a press that feels almost like affection. I melt.
He pulls back and nuzzles his head against my shoulder, hand still cupped between my legs. “My left horn for a condom,” he mutters, and I can feel his longing as clearly and sharply as my own, but my heart leaps at his words, music to my ears.
I scoot across the bed and open the bedside table drawer. Turning back, I hesitate only a moment before I toss him the box. “Merry Christmas.”