Page 76 of A Match Made in Hell
It builds faster this time, the threads tying us together tugging me onwards, upwards; I’m floating, reaching for release –
He stops again. Starts. Stops. He doesn’t protest when my eyes flutter shut. It happens over and over, bringing me closer every time but never close enough. I wriggle and writhe. Curse him under my breath. Curse him loudly when I’m denied what I want. I suspect nothing is coherent. He whispers that I should ask him, and I cling to him just as hard as I do the thought that Imustn’t. I wish it wasn’t so hard to remember why.
His face hovers over mine, lips dangerously close, as I tighten once more, the inferno trapped inside me threatening to rage at last; I cry out, clenching around him and –
He stops. Of course he does. I kick the sheets with frustration.
‘Sath.’ It hurts to speak. My throat is raw; my eyes are filled with the threat of tears. ‘You have to . . . I can’t . . .’
‘You can have everything you want.’ He unsticks my hair from where it’s plastered to my neck and tucks it behind my ear. ‘All you have to do is ask.’
No wonder I always put off doing the right thing if it feels like this. Like my ribcage has cracked open and bone shards are digging into my organs, burrowing inside until there’s nothing left but pain and longing for all the things I want but can’t have and don’t deserve.
‘No,’ I whisper. ‘No, I won’t.’
On the dresser, one of the broken clocks ticks, the hands moving into a new position before going still.
Sath exhales and drops his head, burrowing it into the crook of my neck. His heart pounds against my skin, and for a moment it’s not enough to feel it there; I want to reach inside his chest and fuse it with mine.
I let out a shaky sigh of my own, although I’m not sure mineis out of relief. I’m trying not to be too offended by his – he’s still pressing insistently against me, so he can’t have beentoodesperate for me to say no – and assume it was out of delight that I’ve passed another task.
But.
Wait.
‘Have I passed?’ My mouth is so dry the words crack on my tongue. ‘Is that it?’
‘Mm.’
‘Could we –’
‘Willow . . .’ He says my name like a groan, and not in the pleasurable sense. Not at all. He lifts his head. There’s no playful smirk on his face now, or fire burning in his gaze. No Devil left in him. His eyes have returned to chocolate brown, and they brim with sympathy when our stares meet. I don’t like the look of it. ‘We shouldn’t.’
‘Oh,’ I say in a small voice. ‘Okay.’
Once again, I was so caught up in him that I forgot tempting me was his sole purpose in this. The Sath in front of me clearly doesn’t feel the same as the Sath with the Devil’s cloak wrapped around his throat. And I almost let him trick me intofailing. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Now the haze has passed I can see where his one finger glistens with moisture, withmeand – oh, God – the noises I’d been making –
Fresh tears well in my eyes. I can’t let him see. I scramble to rearrange the straps of my dress; I don’t know why Iworea dress, why why why did I wear a dress when it didn’t matter, when he had to do this anyway, when it’s literally his job, and he’s done it with tens or hundreds or thousands of people before me?
‘Look at me.’ Sath reaches for me, but I slap his hand away. ‘Please. You have to know I –’
He grabs my wrist before I can jump off the bed, because Ican’t look at him, I won’t; not when I’d just been splayed out and vulnerable before him and now I’m not sure if he even liked it.
‘Willow,’ he says, and this time I do turn my head. His voice has taken that tone again, the commanding Devil voice that sends his demons to their knees. My own legs tremble. ‘I want you. Believe me. But if you knew . . . There are things I . . . We just can’t.’
I hate how plaintive I sound when I ask, ‘Why not?’
He opens his mouth. I wait with bated breath, convinced he’s going to answer, but then he clamps it shut, a muscle in his jaw ticking, and it’s obvious he’s not going to tell me anything.
Fine.
Fine.
I’ve passed. I’ve got one task left, and then I never have to see him again. Which is good. Perfect. All I’ve ever wanted since I got here.
This time, when I make an ungraceful exit from the bed, he doesn’t make a move to stop me. He doesn’t say a single word.
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