Her skin was soft, her body delicate, utterly feminine. Her scent, spring flowers and arousal.
With a low moan he touched his cheek to satin locks. Rubbed against the loose strands of her hair as he devoured her reflection in the mirror.
Lust rose like steam between them. The brush dropped to the floor.
Her nipples tightened, her eyes darkened. His hands settled on her breasts, cupped and weighed them before his palms settled over hardened tips.
Aisling’s shiver had him pulling her back to his front so he could feel the length of her body against his. And still it wasn’t enough.
The small triangle of dark, honey-gold down drew his hand to explore her slick, swollen folds and erect clit. Her mouth parted, her tongue darted out to leave her lips glistening.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered, echoing his earlier thought.
“But we will,” Zurael said, kissing her neck, her shoulder. His hands making her quiver with pleasure.
Worry flashed in her eyes. Reluctance built even as the sleek globes of her buttocks rubbed against his cock, enticed him to bend her over and thrust into the slick welcome of her sheath.
“You won’t deny me,” he said, caressing the naked tip and smooth underside of her clit with his fingers. “You won’t deny yourself. Say my name, tell me you don’t want to feel me inside you.”
“Zurael,” she whispered, closing her eyes and turning her face away from the mirror where the sight of her flushed, heated skin and ripe nipples attested to the truth of her desire. “What place do you call home? Who do you answer to?”
He guessed her questions were meant to shore up her resistance to him. To fight her desire for him.
“The names are not for humans to know or call upon. They are death.”
His fingers tightened on her nipple. He refused to let her run away from what was between them.
“Does the daylight make you fear me? Do you remember what I looked like beneath the moon and regret letting me cover you, pierce you? Does my form change the nature of who I am? Does it define me?”
“No,” she said, shivering as she opened her eyes.
“Then look at me, watch while I take you.”
Aisling tried to resist his command. She willed herself to ignore the desperate craving of her body, to pull away, escape his voice, his heat, his arms and the need he generated in her. But she was helpless against him, just as helpless as she had been the night before.
With a moan, she obeyed. She turned her face and met his eyes in the mirror, didn’t resist when he urged her to lean forward, to grasp the edge of the counter, to spread her thighs.
Her hips jerked. Lightning strikes of lust ripped through her as his cock bathed in her arousal, glided over her swollen folds and rigid clit. Kissed her belly in sweet torment and agonizing delay.
“Please,” she whispered and tried to change the angle of her body so he would find her opening and press inside.
Zurael grabbed her hips. He kept her where he wanted her, though the image captured in the mirror revealed how much the effort cost him.
The muscles on his arms stood out as if he fought himself. His chest rose and fell in sharp, quick movements. But it was his face that sent erotic fear slithering downward to pool between her thighs and pulse into her woman’s knob. He was beautifully savage. His eyes were molten gold, his expression dominant, possessive, his attention completely focused on her.
Aisling’s breath caught in her throat. The batlike wings she’d seen twice before unfurled and opened on either side of them, and for an instant she was held on the edge, caught between the terror she’d experienced when she first saw him and the dark, dark desire he now generated in her. But then he moved, once again sliding his cock over her engorged clit and plump, wet folds-and she was lost.
“Please,” she whispered, moving the little bit his hands on her hips would allow, trying to entice him into penetrating her.
Satisfaction softened the hard line of his mouth. Victory deepened the gold of his eyes.
The wings came forward, soft suede against her arms, forming a protective cocoon as he found her opening and thrust with a single, hard stroke. She cried out in relief, in need, obeyed his command to watch until ecstasy claimed her in a rush of lava-hot sensation and demon seed.
Aisling returned to the shower, this time with her hair braided and coiled to minimize the wetness, this time with Zurael accompanying her, bringing memories of the previous night, along with the urge to go to her knees and take him in her mouth.
She cleansed herself as quickly as possible and escaped, dressing hastily before retreating to the kitchen and busying herself preparing breakfast. If she’d been home, there would have been fresh eggs and fruit, sausage from a pig slaughtered the previous fall and milk brought in from the barn by whoever was assigned the task of letting the livestock out for the day.
Her heart lodged in her throat; homesickness blended with worry as her earlier panic threatened to reappear and trap her like delta quicksand. She forced the unwelcome emotions away, finding it easier when Aziel scampered in and climbed to his familiar place on her shoulder.
“Do you know him?” she asked, glancing in the direction of the bathroom and wondering again whether Aziel was demon also. “Is that why you offered me his name? Why his presence is allowed when you’ve bitten other men? Do you serve him?”
The ferret didn’t answer, didn’t acknowledge the question. His attention seemed fixed on the meager contents of the cabinet, and with a sigh, Aisling studied them, too.
She’d used coupons for flour and yeast when she’d gone to the grocery store, and the thought of making bread was tempting. But it’d only serve to delay the task of looking for whoever was responsible for Ghost.
As she pulled canned pears from the cabinet, panic flared with the memory of how Zurael had fed her peaches when she was left weakened by her blood sacrifice in the spiritlands. She had no will to resist him, no ability to. He’d proven as much to her with every sensual interaction, taken a bit of her soul each time he’d touched her.
She put the can on the counter, retrieved a small carton of eggs and the remainder of the chicken breasts. Her thoughts went to the pouch of silver she’d gotten from Elena, the handful of bills given to her by Father Ursu, the possessions left in the house by the dead shaman. She’d have to return to the grocery store, or trade with her neighbors for supplies.
Eventually Aziel would hunt and scavenge. But at the moment she hated the idea of letting him roam freely outside.
It was foolish to worry about him, to grieve for him when one day he didn’t return, to imagine him dying and ache over the possibility that he suffered. But she’d never been able to stop herself from doing it, from fearing each of his deaths would be the final one, the one that took him permanently.
Zurael emerged from the bathroom wearing black pants and a black shirt. Her pulse quickened, and she hastily ducked her head to concentrate on fixing them something to eat.
He joined her in the kitchen, working by her side as if he’d always been there, his movements sure and smooth. “I thought I’d visit some of my neighbors,” she said a short while later, after they’d eaten and taken care of the dishes.
Zurael cocked his head, his mouth curved upward in a smile that made her want to press her lips to his. “I believe one of your neighbors has come to you.”
A knock on the door attested to the truth of his comment. Aisling rubbed suddenly damp palms against the comforting, worn fabric of the pants she’d been wearing when Father Ursu arrived at the farm. She hesitated, wondered if she should ask Zurael to hide his presence, then shrugged the question away, allowing the demon to make his own choice as she crossed to the front door.