12. Enoch
ENOCH
I’m not prepared for the velocity at which we come together.
Daisy’s hands find my face like she’s memorizing the fault lines of a planet, and I can’t help but do the same—thumbing the curve of her jaw, mapping her with a need that borders on religious.
The angle at which her lips part, the softness in her cheek, even the damp breath that catches between us: it all presses me to the brink.
She clutches my shoulders, so tight I feel her nails through the shirt.
There is no point in rushing, and yet, every cell in me is pulsing with the imperative to move, to anchor her closer, to claim.
When I kiss her again, I allow myself the greed I’ve always denied.
I nip her bottom lip, taste the wine, the cinnamon, something a little like fear and a lot like arousal.
Daisy pulls at the buttons of my shirt, awkward at first but quickly determined.
I help, shrugging it off and letting it fall wherever it wants.
Her hands fly to my bare chest, fingers skimming along the ridge of muscle like she’s surprised to find earth in the middle of the underworld.
She laughs, a low, delighted sound, and presses her palm flat, feeling for my heartbeat.
It’s there, I realize, hammering for her as though this is my first night alive.
“Your skin is really hot,” she whispers, and I lean in, letting her feel the warmth I usually keep contained.
“You have that effect on me,” I say, hoping the old seducer’s line lands as intended, but she only laughs, rolls her eyes, and draws my mouth back to hers.
Her hands skate up, slipping behind my neck, tugging at the hair at my nape.
She shifts closer, tangling our legs as we stumble backward onto the edge of her bed.
It’s a mess—jumble of pillows and blankets and her old teddy bear thrown like a sentry to the side—but it could be a throne room. This is the only axis in the universe, right now. Daisy and me and the moment we tip over from hunger to something ferocious.
She sits and pulls me down with her, landing with a squeak.
The skirt of her dress is bunched around her waist. She looks up at me, eyes shining, lips slightly askew from kissing.
I kneel over her, settling my weight between her legs, catching the edges of her dress in my hands.
With slow intent, I draw the fabric up and over her head, careful not to tangle in her hair.
She raises her arms so gracefully, I nearly lose my train of thought.
Her body is a revelation. She’s wearing nothing underneath but a pale blue bra, barely a slip of fabric, the cups edged with tiny seashell lace.
Her breasts are perfect—the way they fill my hands and how her nipples harden as the cool air brushes them.
I run the backs of my fingers along her skin, and she shudders, arching into my touch.
Daisy’s hands yank at my belt, playful but impatient. “I have wanted you shirtless since you first walked into the bakery,” she says, voice rough. “Don’t make me wait another day.”
I want to retort—a clever joke, a self-deprecating jibe—but she pulls open the belt and the moment evaporates. She finds the button and zipper, and then my slacks are open, boxers already tented with need. She strokes along my length, featherlight, savoring the way I twitch at her touch.
“God,” she mutters, “I’m so glad that’s not a myth.”
I almost laugh but her palm circles me, squeezes, and I forget language entirely for several long seconds.
Our mouths find each other again, sloppier this time, more desperate.
My horns are in the way, always, but she doesn’t care, runs her fingers along the base of them, making a sound of curiosity and delight.
The sensation vibrates right down my spine, sharp as lust and twice as urgent.
I want her bare. I kiss along her neck, down her collarbone, following the map of freckles to the edge of her bra.
She shivers as my tongue traces the seam, her thighs clamping around my hips.
I pull one cup down, expose her, take her nipple in my mouth and suckle gently.
Daisy gasps, her hand flying up to grip my horn.
For a second, I freeze, unsure, but the way she strokes it—circling her thumb at the base—makes my vision blur.
She tugs, firm and teasing, like she’s testing to see if I’ll unravel.
I absolutely do.
I switch to the other breast, lavishing attention with teeth and tongue, and she rocks her hips against me, grinding her heat into my abs.
The friction is exquisite, and I could probably spend eternity just like this, but Daisy is greedy too.
She rakes her fingers down my back, claws biting just enough to remind me I am mortal, in the ways that count.
I trail kisses lower, down her stomach, savoring every inch of soft skin. Her breath comes in sharp little pants. I kneel at the foot of the bed and hook my thumbs into the elastic of her panties. She laughs, nervous and bright, but lifts her hips obligingly.
“They have little cupcakes on them,” she says, trying for a joke but missing the beat as I peel them down. “Don’t judge.”
“I think,” I say, pausing to inhale her, “they are perfection.”
I spread her thighs, letting the light from the window paint her in blue and silver.
She’s absolutely soaked. I start at her knee, kissing inward, teasing until she grabs a fistful of my hair and groans, not bothering to hide how badly she wants more.
I nuzzle her outer lips, then run my tongue from bottom to top, slow and deliberate. She shudders, whole body tensing.
I lap at her, slow at first—because I want to savor, and because I know it drives her mad—but then she bucks up, grinding herself against me.
I’m happy to oblige. I flatten my tongue, circle her clit, flicker it just the way I know she likes, even though I’ve never done this for her before.
Maybe some demonic insight, maybe just a talent for reading a lover’s needs; either way, she’s gasping my name, legs hooked over my shoulders, feet digging into my back.
When she moans—really lets it out, body thrumming with the oncoming flood—I slip two fingers into her, curling them just so, never breaking rhythm with my tongue. She clamps down, clutching at my horns now, almost painful with how hard she grips, and the orgasm rips through her, wild and unmasking.
She comes with a sob and a laugh, tears leaking from one eye. I keep licking until she tries to push me away, too much, too sensitive, but I love the taste of her, the fragrance of salt and vanilla and sweat. I kiss the inside of her thigh, then her hipbone, and climb back up her body.
Her hair is a tangle of gold, skin flushed everywhere. There’s nothing in the world I want more than to keep wrecking her, over and over, until I’m the only thing she can remember.
Daisy draws me back down and kisses me hard, tasting herself on my lips. She wraps her hands around my cock, guiding me to her entrance. I hesitate for only the briefest second—caution, consent, the relic of many lifetimes—but her eyes find mine, pupils blown wide.
“I want you,” she whispers. “Every part.”
I press forward, slow but steady, and her heat engulfs me.
Tight, wet, utterly perfect. We both groan, the sound mutual and savage.
We stay still, savoring that first moment of joining, then she tilts her hips, inviting me deeper.
I thrust, and she swears like a dockworker, clinging to my arms so hard that if I bled, she’d know it.
We find a rhythm that’s almost symphonic—back and forth, crash and retreat.
She wraps her legs around me, locking ankles at the small of my back, pulling me in hard enough to make the bed slam against the wall.
I kiss her everywhere—ears, throat, the hollow where her shoulder meets her neck.
She marks me back, teeth daring and sharp, and I can’t decide if I want to go faster or never move again.
There’s a sweetness to her, but also a hunger that matches my own.
I shift one hand under her ass, lifting her higher, and she gasps at the new angle. Our hips meet, and the sensation nearly undoes me. I grit my teeth, desperate to last, desperate to memorize this so completely it’ll haunt me long after I’m torn to atoms.
Daisy wraps her arms under my shoulders, clinging, and then flips us.
She rides me expertly, hair haloed gold in the moonlight.
She grins, feral and beautiful, as she grinds herself down on me, circling her hips for maximum friction.
She braces one hand on my chest, the other never leaving my horn, using it like a gear shift to steer me.
I’ve never been so thoroughly conquered, never loved it more.
I watch her, the way her breasts bounce, the way her mouth falls open as she chases her own pleasure.
She bounces in rhythm, each downward stroke sending shockwaves through both of us.
She’s so beautiful it’s almost a joke, and the thought hits me sideways: I’m in love with this woman.
I am, fully and completely, and there’s nothing Hell or Heaven can do to make me deny it.
When she comes again, it’s explosive, her head thrown back so far I can see the muscles cord in her neck.
She screams my name—no, she sings it, better than any prayer, and I lose all pretense of control.
I give in, climaxing so hard I black out for a second, only returning when I hear her laughing, breathless, as she collapses onto my chest.
We lie tangled, sticky and spent, the sounds of the city a dull hush behind the pounding in my ears. Her face is close to mine, hair everywhere, lips swollen and wine-dark.
“Enoch,” she whispers, so soft I almost don’t catch it.
“Yeah?” My voice is a rasp. My hands, still clumsy, cradle her, afraid she might dissolve if I stop holding on.
“That was… cosmic,” she says, echoing my earlier joke. “Like, death of the universe and birth again, cosmic.”
“I’m honored,” I say, though what I really want to say is I love you, I love you, I love you. Maybe later. Maybe in the morning, when the sun is up and the moonlight is gone, and I have to once again be a person instead of just a need.
She nuzzles closer, tucked under my chin. I stroke her back, slow, keeping the afterglow alive as long as possible. She laughs, still a little dazed.
“Did you just purr?” she says, poking my chest. “That’s adorable.”
“I do not purr,” I say, and of course it comes out as a grumble, which only makes her laugh harder.
We sink into a sweet silence, the kind you never get living alone, the kind that only comes from being thoroughly unraveled together. I could fall asleep right here, hungry to wake up with her still in my arms. For once, forever doesn’t seem so long.
Daisy tilts up to look at me, her expression soft and open. “Hey, Enoch?”
“Mm?”
“I love you,” she says, unceremonial, like she’s been holding it in for a million years and just now remembered it’s safe to say.
My heart, that slow-burning ember, flares so bright I’m sure it torches me from the inside out. I squeeze her tighter, press a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you too,” I say, and it’s the first true thing I’ve said in a very, very long time.
She closes her eyes, smiling in the dark.
“Tomorrow,” she mumbles, already drifting, “I want pancakes. And you, naked in the kitchen. Standard demon boyfriend duties.”
“Noted.” I stroke her hair. “I’ll bring my A-game.”
“Good,” she says, and then she’s gone, breath slowing, body relaxing against me like a sleepwalker who finally made it home.