Page 15 of The Devil and I
“I'm not good, Rayna. I never have and I never will be. My father once told me I was the devil made flesh,” I tell her from the other room, getting my personal needs out of the way as quickly as I can. “But I can promise you I'll love you more than I love hell.”
I step out of the bathroom to see her standing by one of the bedroom windows, looking out into my expansive backyard. “I find that hard to believe.”
“That I'm really the devil I tell you I am?”
“That you'll love me.”
It's not lost on me that she skips over my attempt to reassure her I'm no hero. I am not surprised that she focuses entirely on her perceived inability to be loved. I walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her in close.
“I'm happy to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
She wraps her arms around herself, despite my hold on her. I can tell she's thinking hard, with her eyes narrowed and her bottom lip falling victim to her worrying teeth.
“We just met, Lucas. How can you say any of that?” she asks honestly, and I can tell she is used to doubting any good thing that enters her life. That thought makes me feel angry at the world for damaging this girl, a girl who deserves safety and happiness.
“Whose expectations are you trying to live by, Rayna?” I dip my head so that I can place a few calming kisses along her neckline. It works, because she relaxes in my embrace and her arms drop to rest along my own, where they stay wrapped around her middle. “Society tries to tell us how a relationship should develop, but society is shit. We obviously have a pretty special connection, and I think we should do what comes naturally.”
She laughs softly, briefly. The sound startles me.
“You sound very philosophical.”
I chuckle, because I've heard that a few times before. “I was pursuing psychology before I made the switch to law enforcement,” I admit, shrugging slightly when she turns slightly to face me.
“That explains a lot.” Her voice betrays her, and I can tell she is gently poking fun at me.
“Does it now?” I say, my voice light with amusement. I give her a squeeze and kiss her throat as she squirms and giggles in response. I step back and give her curvy ass a swat, causing her to jump a little.
“Come on. Let's go find something scary to watch and order some pizza.”
It's a relief to see bits of her personality continuing to show now that she has some distance from her suicide attempt. The more I can make her feel comfortable here with me, the faster she can heal from what was done to her. Rationally, I know it's going to take a ton of work to get this girl comfortable in her own skin again. I don't care how long it takes, though. I'll gladly spend every second of the rest of my life putting her broken pieces back together.
Chapter Eleven
Rayna
A quick shower was mandatory after what Lucas had put my body through, I had decided. By the time we emerged from the bathroom, it was already dark out. It didn't take long for Lucas to change the bandaging on my arm, deciding that it still looked healthy enough that we could avoid antibiotics. He had briefly taken my temperature to confirm I was still without fever. I couldn't help but be impressed by the man's extensive medical supplies. Maybe keeping supplies like this is normal for a cop? I didn't linger on the thought, because he made quick work of caring for my sore arm before urging us towards the living room down the hall.
Entering Lucas' living room for the first time is just as exciting as checking out his office. The room is spacious but cozy, with a massive dark couch, a large flat screen TV attached to the wall, and a fireplace situated beneath it. There is a locked cabinet in the corner that displays multiple firearms and knives, and several paintings along the beige coloured walls that depict various dark cityscapes.
Lucas is standing by the window with his phone to his ear, giving a local pizza place the details of our order. He has a standing account with the place; he had mentioned before, making the call, paying them handsomely to make the thirty-five minute drive to his home every once in a while.
Once he's done with the call, he tosses his phone on the glass coffee table and offers me a small yet devastatingly handsome grin. “It'll be here in about fifty minutes.”
I nod in response, heading over to another small shelf where I can browse through his extensive DVD collection. Nothing but horror, thrillers, and some action flicks. That suits me just fine, so I pluck one of my favourite serial killer movies off the shelf and hand it over to him.
“Good choice,” he muses, walking over to the entertainment center and getting the movie started for us.
“It's one of my favourites,” I confess as I take a seat on his oversized couch, shuffling over slightly to give him space as he sits down in the corner next to me. I wasn't expecting him to reach over and haul me closer to him, but he does. I squeak in surprise, but immediately yield and settle in against his side. Tossing a muscular arm across the back of the couch behind me, he leans back and gets comfortable.
Wearing only a pair of dark grey sweats, his position gives me the perfect view of his powerful upper body. No fat to be found, just raw strength. The light from the TV clashes with the darkness in the room to cast shadows across the planes of his big body, adding extra definition to every muscle adorning him. I lift my gaze to his and catch him watching me with an arrogant grin. I feel my face flush and quickly turn my attention to the movie.
“Why is it your favourite, Rayna?”
I briefly wonder if he thinks I'm strange for loving serial killer movies until I remember him threatening to murder my rapist while he finger fucked me into oblivion in front of the bathroom mirror. “The killer really loves his girlfriend. He stalks her and keeps her safe without her really knowing,” I explain, keeping my eyes trained on the big TV, not wanting to see what he thinks of my answer. He grunts in a way that tells me my answer pleases him.
“You like the way he stalks her, do you?” His voice is gravelly again, and the sound causes my skin to flush and heat to spark between my thighs. This man, he likes to breathe life into the embers inside of me and fan the flames until it's a wildfire I can't control. All I can do is nod in response, which prompts him to continue unashamedly. “Do you like the part where he is standing in her bedroom in the middle of the night, rubbing his cock through his pants?”
The embers he was teasing roar to life. Perhaps this man really was the devil, able to read my mind and know what I used to fantasize about long before my trauma. A shiver runs through me, and all I am capable of is another affirming nod.
