Page 15 of Stolen By the Demon

“Make me feel alive,” I requested.

“My little flame,” he responded, his stormy eyes moist and wide enough for me to see my own pale reflection in them.

His hands moved to my waist to effortlessly lift me off the ground while nibbling on my neck. His warm breath teased me and made me tremble all the way down to my core. Heat built inside my stomach as he placed me almost reverently on the bed. I noticed his fingers tremble slightly as he began to unlace my dress. This is wrong, my mind screamed. No lady behaves like this. Thou shall not know carnal lust until sanctified by God.

The words were accusing, reprimanding. Strangely, they didn’t even make me hesitate. They entered my mind, and I pushed them away, only listening to my dead heart that screamed at me to allow this to happen.

My body responded instinctively as if it already knew what to do. I gave myself over to it, decided to trust it, and embraced whatever had led me here.

Just as he had promised, his touch made me feel alive. Brought every inch of flesh he exposed, he kissed to life with his hands as they ran up and down my sides, pulling and tugging my clothing out of the way. Bubbles built underneath my flesh while a strange pulse came to life inside the secret place between my legs.

He bared my breasts, his hand enfolded one, kneading it and making me writhe underneath him in pleasure. Heat spread through me wherever his hands and lips touched, and when he latched on to one nipple, I cried out in bliss. Nothing had ever felt this good. Every inch of my body was screaming with pleasure, awakening by his touch. Nerves began to flutter, and muscles tightened.

I should have been ashamed, mortified even as I lay naked in front of him while his eyes took their fill of my body. Instead, there was only pleasure and anticipation for more and the notion of rightness. This was right. So right.

My legs parted for him, and he moved down lower. A hiss of anticipation escaped me as my body seemed to remember what my mind couldn’t recall. With absolute clarity, I knew we had done this before. Many times.

Any other thoughts dissolved the moment his tongue glanced over my clit, searing a fire inside me that nearly made me jump off the bed. He suckled the little bud into his mouth like he had done with my nipple.

“Oh, Devon! Devon!” I cried.

“I'm here, little flame. Let me taste some more of your delicious ambrosia. Oh, how I've missed it.”

He lapped at me, grunting between my wide-open legs like a beast feasting. His hands took hold of my hips to keep me still, and my eyes rolled back as all my muscles tightened in sweet anticipation.

I bucked, or at least, tried to. His hands were like vises as his tongue moved over my slit back and forward, only stopping to pay homage to my clit. Without warning a dam broke inside me. A flood of fire rushed through me, but not burning, no, never that.

“Devon!”

“I'm here, little flame, I'm here,” he soothed.

So fast, he was a whirl of movement. He ripped off his clothes and knelt between my legs.

“I will make you feel alive,” he promised.

I stared at his manhood as he stroked it before he lowered himself, and I felt the head of his shaft by my entrance. Instinctively, I tried to hold my breath against the pain I was sure to follow, but then I remembered I didn't breathe anymore. The shock at remembering this was absorbed by the sensation of his shaft pushing up inside me, deeper and deeper. There was no pain as my walls parted and closed around him, welcoming him… back!

My eyes flew open as I arched into him. For a moment, I saw a different Devon over me, yet he was the same. He had longer hair, and his facial expression wasn’t as dark and edged as it was now.

“Devon!”

“Do you remember me?” he demanded.

I did. With every thrust he pumped into me, I remembered him. His kisses, his caresses. And this act. A multitude of times. Different days, nights, and positions, but always him. Always Devon.

“Devon,” I cried, flinging my arms around his neck to hold on to him. “My Devon.”

“That's right, little flame, your Devon,” he rasped in a cracking voice.

Again, I felt a knot building as he took me higher right to the cusp of another orgasm.

Just as the orgasm broke over and through me, I realized how much this man meant to me. God, I had loved him. I still loved him. So much it hurt. He had been my everything.

Father told me he was dead. Said he had cried, begging for mercy, something I had never believed, but now it all came back with absolute certainty. He was MY Devon.

“Devon!” I cried out again. Something in my voice must have caught his attention because he looked down at me, deep into my astounded eyes.

“You remember,” he roared in triumph.

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