She fixed those glowing eyes on him. “Only until I find your limit. Then you’ll release me.”
No, he wouldn’t. Not with Madelyn still out there, posing a threat. Not as long as he drew breath.
“I won’t.” He started across the room toward her—and she vanished.
No, not vanished. He heard the door open, and turned just in time to see her leave.
The tightness in his chest hardened to a deep ache. God, he’d fucked up. How many times had he seen her fangs, her glowing eyes? And only thirty minutes ago, her wings. But throw in the red skin and horns, and suddenly that mattered? Jesus. Yes, she was a demon. She was also the only woman who’d ever gotten to him like this . . . and he’d hurt her.
Somehow, he had to pay for it, make it right. He’d get his head on straight, so that he wouldn’t hurt her again.
But he wasn’t letting her go.
Ash came back to the cabin when she heard Nicholas start the bath. Finally washing her off, probably. She was only surprised he hadn’t done it earlier—and she wasn’t sure she blamed him.
No, screw that. She blamed the hell out of him.
But it was difficult to stay angry, though she tried to nurture the emotion. After she’d looked in the mirror, Ash hadn’t known what to think. She had horns. Heavy, shiny horns. The wings looked like a bat’s, but at least they were useful. But horns were just . . . she didn’t even know. For hours, she’d been trying to decide whether they changed anything, whether they mattered, or if they only bothered her because they’d bothered him.
If so, it was too bad she’d begun caring about what Nicholas thought of her. Eventually, though, it would probably fade. So really, the horns didn’t matter at all, except that they’d finally driven home what Nicholas had been reminding himself about all along.
She was a demon.
Now, she planned to act like one. She was going to frustrate him, use him. And even though, judging by her experience, that sounded more like what Nicholas St. Croix would do than what any demon would do, it just made everything more fitting.
A splash sounded as he got into the tub. Though it would be better if she could make the horns, wings, and fangs show themselves now, she didn’t need them. Appearing human, but feeling like a demon must, Ash opened the door to his room.
The small clawfoot bathtub sat in the opposite corner to the bed. She knew Nicholas hated it, that he preferred a shower that washed away the grime and sweat rather than sitting in a shallow, diluted pool of it, but he’d been making do. He’d lain back against the sloped, rounded end of the tub, elbows hooked over the sides, his head resting against the upper edge as if he were exhausted, knees bent and his feet braced beneath the spigot. She’d hoped he would seem crunched up in there, his long body in that short space, but no—and the narrowness of the tub only emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, the long muscles of his thighs.
His eyes opened when she crossed the room toward the bed, and although he seemed tired, burdened, he immediately sat up, his expression alert.
“Ash? Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She gripped the iron rail that served as a footboard, began dragging the bed to the tub. “I’m just coming in to see you naked.”
“Ah.” He smiled a little, but there wasn’t amusement in it. Regret, maybe. Sitting back again, he said, “You deserve that much from me.”
“Yes, I do.”
The feet of the bed frame were scraping up a trail of splinters from the floorboards. She didn’t care. She dragged it to the side of the bath, sat on the mattress, and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the edge of the tub.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ash.”
She met his eyes. He appeared sincere. And since he’d never had any compunction against telling her how much he didn’t want to care about her, he probably had no reason to lie now.
His lying had never been the problem, however. She finished the rest for him. “But also, you’re not even really sure whether you did hurt me, or whether I just want you to think you did. Am I right?”
His silence was confirmation enough. And if that confirmation made her chest ache, it didn’t matter. It would eventually fade.
And she was here to see him naked, so she looked. A thin trail of silken dark hair ran down the defined line of his lower stomach. His penis lay against his thigh, thickening even as she watched. Her presence, arousing him—and he didn’t attempt to conceal his reaction to her.
That might have mattered, if he’d attempted to conceal his reaction to her earlier.
“The red skin, the horns. That’s what you’ve always seen when you look at me. Isn’t it?”
“No,” he said softly. “But I always remind myself that it’s under there.”
“And you have to remind yourself, because I’ve never done anything to remind you. Except for this one time, when I came around your fingers.” She met his eyes, challenged him to say differently. When he didn’t, she asked, “Do you think I faked that, too?”
He didn’t. He didn’t. She could see that he didn’t. But he didn’t know what else to think. He didn’t have another explanation.
She had an explanation. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know how, but she knew: “You were wrong about me.”
“I want to be,” he said simply.
The constriction around her heart eased. I want to be. Before, he’d wanted to believe she was a liar. It was so much better that he wanted to believe she wasn’t.
She looked into the tub again. His cock now stood fully engorged, rising up out of the water, though she wasn’t even undressed. Though they hadn’t been talking about sex.
He wanted to be wrong, and he wanted her.
And he was just shy of monstrous. The familiar ache started between her legs—something that she hadn’t planned on feeling when she’d come here. She’d been plotting something else.
“I’ve been thinking about the Rules,” she said. “And I’ve realized that it can’t just be that I break them whenever I touch someone without their permission. I accidentally bumped into people in London all the time—especially in the Tube. But I didn’t have any Guardians coming after me.”
“Yes,” he said, his gaze watchful. Maybe wary. She hoped it was wary. “In a situation like that, you’re not impeding anyone’s free will.”
“Unless they’ve already said, ‘Hands off.’ Like you’ve made certain I know very clearly: Hands off, Ash.”
His jaw tightened for a second. Then, “Yes. I did.”
“But I want hands on. Right now, I want to stroke your cock. I want to take you into my mouth, suck on you until you come, drink you all down. I could do it now. I wouldn’t even have to come up for air.”
Nicholas didn’t respond, but his heart began to pound, a flush sweeping beneath his skin. His fingers clenched on the edge of the tub.
Careful not to touch him, she slipped her hand into the water between his thighs.
“Ash—”
He broke off on a groan when she flicked her hand, splashing water against his thick shaft. Again and again, quick, sharp flicks with the tips of her fingers that transformed beads of water into a heavy massage raining over his cock, his chest. Nicholas set his jaw, dropping his head as he bore the onslaught. When the straining muscles in his thighs began to shake, when a thick drop of pre-come formed at the head of his cock, she stopped.
“Ah, God, no!”
His hips lifted, as if reaching for her hand to touch him, to finish him, before he clenched his teeth and settled back in. He watched her again, his eyes hot.
She’d planned to undress, lie back on the bed, spread her thighs, and make herself come without letting him touch her, but she couldn’t look away from the thickness of his cock. She wanted him, still. She hadn’t planned that—and she could only imagine how he’d feel inside her.