Page 28 of Dark Rapture
I try to turn my head to look at him, but he stops me from doing it by tightening his hold on my throat.
“I want to see you,” I try to explain as I lift my hand to his, the attempt to pry his hand from me is completely useless. He doesn’t budge even a little bit, reminding me that his physical strength is far beyond what I ever imagined. He could kill me in an instant, and I couldn’t fight back no matter how hard I tried.
I take note of the way his skin feels beneath mine. Smooth, warm and hard with muscle and tough sinew. He doesn’t feel human, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’s just… different.
“You are not ready to see me,” he explains gently, the tone of his voice fluctuating and reminding me just how inhuman he is. In the darkness, with his human-like body pressed against my back and holding me like one would hold their lover, it’s easy to forget that he isn’t even a little bit human. “When humans see my true form, they tend to descend into irreparable insanity. You’ve experienced it.”
I don’t doubt that even a little, considering how he needed to make a major effort to protect me back in the church when he first showed himself to me.
Recalling the memory of what the silhouette of him looked like, I can’t stop myself from picturing him as an eldritch horror, with long spiraling horns and a misshapen face that is something people only encounter in their darkest nightmares.
“Shhh,” he soothes, dropping his hand from my throat. “Do not dwell on such things. Once you fully awaken, you will have what you need to protect yourself as you gaze into the void.”
I nod in response. I have to trust him in this. The last thing I want is to spend the rest of my days in a straight jacket, sequestered away from society.
“Let me give you what you seek, a taste of the power I can unleash within you,” he whispers to me as another pulsating wave of tranquility settles over me.
Daemon’s hand grasps my wrist as his arm rises to the right of me, holding me in his firm grip. I am shocked to find that his muscular forearm is black like the most beautiful obsidian stone I’ve ever seen. I am in awe at the sight of it, my gaze wandering across the muscular expanse of dark skin.
“Inside of you, there is a fire. A primeval source that sits at the root of your soul,” he tells me as I examine the small portion of his body I can now see. It’s hard to concentrate on his words when he is giving me a glimpse of what he truly looks like.
His hand is double the size of mine, dwarfing my slender fingers. There are intricate runes and demonic symbols imprinted into the black of his shadowy skin. They glow, dim and subtle, like the embers of a starving fire. The patterns are haunting and beautiful, despite being very clearly demonic. They remind me of the sigil I carved into my protection candle, and the other symbols I saw in the old book I originally found it in.
Demonic and meaningful. I wonder if they are all over the rest of his body, too.
“My touch.” he explains, his sharp teeth biting gently at my earlobe before leaving a hot trail of soft kisses down the side of my neck, causing my body to arch involuntarily as I melt against him. “My touch stokes that fire, and turns it from a bed of embers into a roaring inferno.”
His touch shouldn’t feel this good. It’s sinful, the way my body responds to him.
“Did you put it there?” I whisper in response, my voice a breathy whisper in the darkness that surrounds us. His mouth feels so damn good on my skin, I can feel heat gathering at the apex of my thighs. Unbidden is the response my body has to him, but I feel no shame.
We are far past the point of shame.
“No, little witch. Your ancestors did. Witchcraft is your birthright, there is magic in your blood. Etched into your DNA.”
“I can’t feel it,” I tell him, unable to truly believe what he’s telling me. I’ve never felt special, I certainly don’t feel any ancient fire inside of me. Sure, I’ve felt called to the craft, but I assumed it was because of my dire need to find protection and safety from my now dead, abusive uncle.
“The power of magic can come from several sources within us. The fire can grow with extreme focus and discipline, or stem from the pit of one’s endless rage.” His other arm shifts, moving across my lower abdomen. The trail of his talons across the thin fabric of my tank top has shivers erupting in their wake. “Pleasure and passion can make the fire burn wild, too.”
My head falls back against his shoulder as his hand roams my body, and in that instance I feel intoxicated by his touch. His soft, hot mouth trails fervid kisses along the column of my throat, slow and sensual. An ache settles low in my abdomen, and desire like I’ve never experienced before emerges from somewhere deep within.
I want him. I want this Great Prince of Hell more than I’ve wanted any of my human lovers in the past. I can’t fully explain it, but he instinctively knows exactly how to touch me to get the strongest reaction.
Something dark and warm flutters across my skin, like a spectral fire blazing an unyielding trail, an energy that emanates from his touch and threatens to consume me. “It is me that you feel on your skin, my own great power, an energy born in the deepest, darkest regions of Hell.” He is allowing his dark lifeforce to pulse across me in waves, to touch me directly, to explore my body like it has every right to do so.
“Religion oppresses, Hell liberates,” he speaks quietly, his voice disembodied and moving around me like a serpent in the darkness. I shiver again, everything about what is happening is overwhelming to my very human senses. “Only a demon can awaken what lies hidden inside you, but a lesser demon cannot give you what I can. Only I am powerful enough to unshackle your magic and set it completely free.”
Daemon’s hand shifts and settles over my lower abdomen, his fingers flirting with the hem of my delicate sleeping shorts. I groan as his hand slips lower, beneath the frail fabric, those talons moving dangerously close to the most sensitive part of my body.
Another time, long before Daemon entered my life, I’d feel ashamed of myself for what I was feeling right now. The thrill of danger is only amplifying my arousal, and I don’t want to waste time fighting with myself on why our connection is so sacrilegious. I just want to feel.
“I will show you a glimpse of your true power, but I want something in return,” he whispers, his lips once again grazing the shell of my ear. Several gentle bites, and my concentration wavers. I can feel the fire within me now, called to his touch. A flickering flame, hungry and desperate for fuel.
And his teeth, I can tell they’re not human. He has long, sharp fangs that could easily tear the jugular vein clear out of my throat. The feel of them is an aphrodisiac to my corrupted mind.
Anything. I’ll give him anything he wants right now.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice so low and quiet that if he were a normal person he probably would not have heard me. I can’t project my voice, not with the white hot arousal sparking to life beneath his wicked hand. If I hadn’t already been on the floor, I am certain the way he is touching me would bring me to my knees.
