Seven
JOSIE
Being swept off my feet by a literal Demon wasn’t exactly in my realm of possibilities when I woke up this morning—but here I am.
And right now, I’m having the most erotic, most amazing sexual experience of my life.
Not because of what we're doing.
Not even because Desmond looks like every fantasy cover model ever brought to life.
But because of the way he looks at me.
The way he touches me.
The way he says my name.
Like it's precious.
Like it's sacred.
I've spent so many years feeling forgettable.
Too busy.
Too tired.
Too curvy.
Too old to still be hoping for some ridiculous fairy tale.
I stopped believing in grand romance a long time ago.
Then this beautiful stranger literally fell into my life.
A Demon.
A real, actual Demon.
And somehow the impossible part isn't his horns.
Or his wings.
Or the magic.
The impossible part is that he wants me.
Me.
Josie Bennett.
The woman who stress eats brownies after bad shifts.
The woman who doesn't even own a cat because she'd feel guilty leaving it alone.
The woman who always assumed she'd end up by herself.
And yet when Desmond looks at me—I feel beautiful.
Wanted.
Cherished.
“You’re all those things and everything to me, Mate. Gods, Josie, you feel so good,” he growls, and I swear it reverberates throughout my entire body.
He dips his head, capturing my lips in a deep, deep kiss as he flexes and grinds his hips, taking me to untold heights.
It's good.
So good.
Oh God.
It's too much.
“Never, Myrrin. You can take it. Now, give yourself to me,” he growls against my throat, and then I feel it.
A pinch of pain—it’s brief and sharp, but then all that delicious pleasure I’d been feeling?
It doubles.
I gasp.
He tips his head back and roars as he spills into me—and fuck, he is so beautiful.
His wings expand, tail whips behind him, and his fangs sparkle as he trembles with pure, unadulterated bliss.
I feel it too—all of it—the heat, the desire, the triple orgasm.
But it isn't only pleasure flooding through me.
It's emotion.
Warmth.
Wonder.
Love?
No, that’s ridiculous.
Then, suddenly—I feel him.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
And I feel everything he’s feeling.
Three hundred years of loneliness.
Three hundred years of believing he was cursed.
Three hundred years of thinking he would never find his mate—never find me.
And underneath all that ancient sadness?
I feel his relief.
His joy.
His gratitude.
His wonder.
Something dangerously close to that L word I mentioned before.
And the overwhelming certainty that he has finally come home.
Tears spill from my eyes.
Because nobody has ever made me feel like this.
Nobody has ever looked at me and thought this woman is a miracle.
But Desmond does.
Somehow, I just know it.
He thinks I'm beautiful.
He thinks I'm perfect.
He thinks finding me was worth centuries of suffering.
And somehow—impossible as it is—I think finding him might have been worth all my lonely years, too.
“Desmond,” I whisper brokenly once we’ve stopped trembling.
His head lifts instantly.
Those gorgeous black eyes widen with concern.
“Myrrin? Have I harmed you?”
The fact that he's worried about me while looking utterly wrecked with emotion almost makes me cry harder.
“No,” I whisper. “I just… I can feel you.”
Wonder sweeps across his face.
Real wonder.
Like after three hundred years he still can't believe this is happening.
“Y-you can?” he asks softly.
I nod.
And then I smile through my tears.
“Yes.”
His forehead drops to mine.
And for a moment neither of us says anything.
We just breathe.
Two lonely souls who somehow found each other.
Two people who never thought they were enough.
Two hearts that had almost given up.
And somehow—against all odds—we found each other.