Five
JOSIE
Okay.
First, winged men do not exist.
And if they did, they certainly wouldn't look like drop-dead gorgeous cover models with hard bodies standing seven feet tall.
And even if they did exist?
They definitely wouldn't be making out with me.
A chubby, overworked nurse nearing forty and still single.
And yet the tongue currently in my mouth would lead me to believe otherwise.
This can't be happening.
This cannot actually be happening.
My entire life has been work.
Double shifts.
Night shifts.
Missed birthdays.
Canceled dates.
Watching everyone around me find their person while I stood on the sidelines telling myself I was fine.
I stopped hoping a long time ago.
Not because I didn't want love.
God, I've always wanted it.
I've wanted the handholding and the laughter, and someone to ask me how my day was. Someone to come home to.
Someone to choose me.
But eventually when that doesn’t happen?
You start believing maybe you're asking for too much.
And maybe happily ever after is for other people.
Not exhausted ER nurses with stress wrinkles and compression socks.
And then this impossible man just falls into my life.
Literally.
“So sweet, Myrrin,” he growls, deepening the kiss.
Oh my God.
He kisses like an expert.
Like he was born to do this.
Like he was born to kiss me.
“I was born to do this,” he growls, as though hearing my thoughts again. “To kiss you, my sweet Mate.”
I actually laugh breathlessly against his mouth.
“That's creepy, you know, reading my mind like that.”
His expression immediately turns worried.
“Forgive me. I do not mean to invade your thoughts. Your emotions simply shine so brightly.”
Who says things like that?
He does, apparently.
“I don't even know your name,” I whisper, still wrapped in his arms. “Or what—what are you?”
“My name is Desmond, sweet mate, and I am a Demon from the realm of Nightfall.”
He says it so calmly.
As though telling me he's from Ohio.
I should be panicking.
I should be screaming.
Instead, I touch one of the dark strands of hair falling across his forehead.
Because somehow I already know he's telling the truth.
“But more importantly,” he murmurs, looking at me like I'm something precious, “I am the one male in the multiverse who wishes to worship and adore you exactly as you deserve.”
The words hit me right in the chest.
Nobody has ever spoken to me like that.
Nobody has ever looked at me this way.
Like I'm beautiful.
Like I'm wanted.
Like I'm enough.
Tears sting unexpectedly behind my eyes.
Because that's all I've ever wanted.
To be enough.
“Josie?” he whispers immediately, concern filling his face. “Have I upset you?”
I shake my head.
“No.”
“Then why do you cry, Myrrin?”
“Because no one's ever looked at me like this before.”
Something fierce enters his expression.
Something protective.
“Then they were fools. But they don’t matter now. Only we do.”
My breath catches.
“Desmond—”
“You are magnificent, Mate.”
I laugh shakily.
“You don't know me.”
“I know enough.”
His thumb brushes away a tear.
“You rushed toward danger to help a stranger.”
Another kiss to my lips.
“You work to heal others.”
A kiss to my neck.
“You smell like sunshine and sweet wildflowers and home.”
And then he rests his forehead against mine.
“And you are mine.”
The possessiveness should scare me.
Instead, warmth spreads through my chest.
Because somehow, impossibly, I know he doesn't mean ownership.
He means belonging.
Together.
Neither of us alone.
Not anymore.
“Why me?” I whisper.
His beautiful dark eyes soften.
“Because the Fates finally showed mercy and brought you to me.”
And that absolutely wrecks me.
Because I can see it.
I can see his loneliness.
I can feel the anguish he felt all those years of waiting.
All that time, believing no one would ever choose him either.
And I know we're both broken in different ways.
We're both lonely.
But somehow—by the Fates like he says, or just dumb luck—we found each other.
And that has to count for something.
Because if years working as an ER nurse have taught me anything, it’s that there are no guarantees in life.
And if this is my one chance to feel something like this with someone—even if he is a Demon—then, maybe I should take it?
“This is crazy,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“I should probably be running.”
“Probably.”
“But I'm not.”
His chest rumbles beneath my hand.
That strange purring vibration again.
“And I am exceedingly grateful for that.”
I laugh.
“I can't believe I'm making out with a Demon.”
His smile is devastating.
“And I cannot believe the most beautiful female in existence is kissing me back.”
“You sure about that?” I snort.
“Josie, you are the hottest girl I have ever seen.”
The sheer sincerity in his voice makes me burst out laughing.
And somehow that only makes him smile wider.
He kisses me again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
Patient.
Like he has all the time in the world.
Maybe he does.
Somewhere between the magic and the madness and the impossible reality of everything that's happened tonight, I stop fighting it.
My desires.
My feelings.
My impossible attraction to him.
To Desmond.
I've spent so many years believing I was difficult to love.
Too old to start over.
Too late for fairy tales.
Too ordinary for great romance.
But this impossible man from another world?
He looks at me like finding me has saved him.
Maybe we're both crazy.
I can help expand the emotions around your existing scene while leaving your explicit passages untouched.
Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up in the hospital break room after finally collapsing from exhaustion.
Maybe none of this is real.
Maybe I've finally snapped after one too many double shifts and years of putting everyone else before myself.
But right now—wrapped in Desmond's arms—I feel chosen.
For the first time in a very long time, I don't feel invisible.
Not too old.
Not too tired.
Not too curvy.
Not like the woman everyone overlooks while prettier women are noticed first.
Not like the nurse everyone depends on, but no one comes home to.
Just...
Loved.
Wanted.
Needed.
His kisses coast my ear, my neck, and my chin.
I turn my head and catch his lips, swallowing his groan.
And God.
That sound.
Everything about him affects me in ways I don't understand.
I've dated men.
I've kissed men.
But nobody has ever looked at me the way Desmond does.
Like he's grateful I exist.
Like finding me is some kind of miracle.
Somehow the clean scrubs I put on after my shower at the end of my shift feel itchy and tight.
My body is burning for him, begging for something I don’t quite understand.
But when I look into his glittering black eyes, I know that he does.
“What’s happening to me?” I ask, panting and whimpering at the ghost caresses he places on my body over my clothes.
“It is what happens when fated mates meet,” he murmurs, eyes blazing now. “It is your body telling you what your mind does not yet believe, Myrrin.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know, but I am asking you to believe in it. Believe in me, Myrrin.”
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard.
Because beneath all that impossible beauty and power—
He's afraid.
Afraid I won't trust him.
Afraid I won't choose him back.
Somehow this gorgeous Demon is looking at me like I hold his entire heart in my hands.
He kisses me again, and it’s so good—cinnamon and chocolate and sin all rolled into one.
I swear, my body is on fire for him.
“Yesss,” he hisses, and the sound is so sexy my panties get soaked.
No one has ever made me feel like this.
Not even close.
No one has ever made me feel beautiful like this.
Desired like this.
Cherished like this.
“And no one else ever will, you are mine. My mate.”
The possessiveness in his voice should scare me.
Instead, it makes my chest ache.
Because I know he doesn't mean ownership.
He means forever.
He means together.
He means no more lonely train rides and empty apartments.
“But what does that mean? What do you want from me?”
And there it is.
The question I've asked myself my entire life.
What do people want from me?
My labor?
My kindness?
My ability to fix things?
Surely not me.
Not just Josie.
Not enough to stay.
But Desmond looks almost offended by the question.
“All I want from you is everything. Because you are my everything, sweet Josie. I want to give you everything. Right now, that means I want to bring you pleasure. Can I?”
My eyes sting unexpectedly.
Because no one has ever asked.
No one has ever put my wants first.
No one has ever made me feel treasured.
And maybe I should slow down.
Maybe I should ask a thousand questions.
Maybe I should demand explanations about Nightfall and magic and why the gorgeous Demon currently holding me smells like my favorite chocolate.
But I don't want explanations right now.
I want him.
My body is on fire for him.
Seriously, I feel hot—so hot right now, and I just can’t bear it.
When he touches me, I feel relief and need.
So much need.
Oh God.
I wish I could feel his skin against mine.
And it’s like he reads my mind because the next second they’re gone.
My clothes. And his.
We’re naked on his bed.
Desmond is hovering over me, and I instinctively open my legs, making room for him.
He makes that purring growl sound I adore one more time, and I moan as he slides his big, hard body between my thighs.
For one brief second, fear creeps in.
Not fear of him.
Fear of hope.
Fear that this is too perfect.
Fear that I'll wake up tomorrow and discover none of this was real.
That I imagined being loved.
Imagined being wanted.
Imagined this impossible male who looks at me like I'm his entire universe.
He kisses me, and I let him.
Hell, I encourage him.
My hands are everywhere, memorizing the feel of his hard body as I writhe beneath him, desperate to get closer.
Because if this is a dream—I want to remember every second.
It feels so good.
Too good.
This can’t be real.
This can’t be happening.
“It’s real, Myrrin. I’m real. And now, I’m yours,” he growls right before he pushes into me.