Page 62 of Touched By Sin
Come closer…
My heart flutters wildly in my throat, and the silence that follows crawls down my neck and over the sheen of sweat on my skin.
Aurelia…
Movement to my left—a darting shadow—startles me, causing me to trip over a root and fall to the ground. My knee explodes with pain that burns and throbs. I wince as I sit up and inspect the wound. It’s bleeding, dirt sticking to my skin. I try to wipe it off with my fingers but end up smearing the blood around.
Soon…
The door slams shut behind me, taking the last of the light with it.
Shootingupright in bed and breathing harshly, I wipe the damp hair off my sweaty forehead.
Just a bad dream.
I glance over at the clock on my bedside table to see that it has just gone three in the morning. Shifting beneath the warm sheets, I light the bedside candle before throwing my quilt off and placing my feet on the floor. The bite from the chill barely registers while I slowly slide my nightdress up to look at my bleeding knee. Pieces of broken leaves and dirt still stick to the wound.
My dreams are happening more regularly now. I haven’t told the boys because I don’t know what to say. They saw what happened the day we did the meditation in class, and they dismissed it. Why does all this weird shit keep happening to me? Isn’t it enough that I have grown fangs like some fairytale vampire?
I slowly make my way downstairs to the kitchen to find something to clean the wound. Alaric once explained to me that houses here have kitchens because some fallen angels keep human blood slaves as pets. Hunger was a fairytale concept until I came here, having never experienced it before. Now I hunger for many things: sustenance, love, power, sex.
“What are you doing up?”
Bent down while rooting through the cupboard beneath the sink, I bang my head. “Ouch.” I straighten up and look back at Daemon, who is leaning against the doorway. “I cut my knee. I’m looking for something to clean the wound with.”
He pushes off the wall, nudges me out of the way, and reaches into the cupboard. When he straightens back up, he grabs hold of my hips and lifts me up on the counter. In his hands is a glass bottle of pure vodka. His warm fingers slide around my calf and he palms it, bringing it up. My foot rests on his chest as he grabs a towel beside me on the counter. “You good with pain?”
“I’m new to pain, remember?”
He unscrews the lid and flicks it off with his thumb. “I keep forgetting you’re not from around here.”
“Will it hurt a lot?”
“Yeah, it will.”
His warm hand is on the back of my knee, and his brown eyes hold my blue. “You ready?”
For him? No, never. “Yes.”
He tips the bottle, and the cool liquid pours over my knee. I release a pained cry. It burns, unlike anything. Setting the bottle aside on the counter, he pats my knee with the soft towel. He’s gentle, touching me softly but firmly, and I realize, caught in his gaze, that I’m holding my breath.
My knee is dry, but he doesn’t stop touching me. The towel falls to the floor, and his fingers trail a hot path up the inside of my thigh. My lungs burn almost as much as his touch, yet I don’t breathe. The throbbing, stinging pain in my knee is forgotten. When his fingers graze my damp panties, oxygen rushes into my lungs.
His other hand lands on the kitchen cupboard behind my head. He’s so close, devouring me with his eyes as he hooks his fingers in the fabric of my panties, sliding them aside. My hands fly up to his chest, and he shifts my foot to rest my ankle on his shoulder.
“Daem—” I start, but the words die on my tongue when his fingers press down on my clit. His intense, brown eyes stay locked on mine as he starts rubbing me in slow, torturous circles.
With my breath caught in my throat and my eyes falling shut, I arch into him. The way he touches me… I’m done for. This is not like the other times when he was rough and hellbent on dominating me. This is slow and sensual. This is for my pleasure only.
“Did he make you feel this way?” he whispers when a shudder runs through me. “Did your skin erupt in goosebumps at his touch?” His lips are on my jaw, teasing me with his warm breath and nip of teeth. My whimpers grow in volume as his touch travels lower and lower. He sinks a finger inside me, flicking my clit with his thumb.
“No, Daemon,” I breathe softly, feeling the slide of his thick digit inside me.
His lips kiss a path down the curve of my neck, over my collarbone and shoulder, then back up to my mouth to steal my breath. He sucks on my tongue before snatching up my lip and giving it a warning bite, the kind that says, “Don’t trust me.”
“Open your eyes, baby,” he whispers as he leans back.
I gaze at him through a haze of pleasure while my tongue slides over my lips. As I reach up to bury my fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck, he moves in, tasting me with hard sweeps of his tongue. His mouth, his touch… I’m in the sweetest Hell. Daemon reminds me with every kiss and sinful word of why I should rejoice that the gates didn’t open for me.
