Demon Angel

the demon? He should have chosen less capable prey.
    "This is not resistance," he said.
    With a lift of her hips, she stroked up and down his length. "I'll resist when you hurt me."
    "I've no intention of hurting you physically." In her moment of surprise, he pushed her legs to the floor and spun her around. His weight forced her against the door, her cheek pressed tight to the wood. "I only intend to torment you, to prove your humanity." His breath was hot in her ear. "My idea of torment happens to differ from yours."
    "You knew I thought—"
    "That because you could not deny your human nature and save yourself, I would deny mine and be damned for it?" Gently, he bit her earlobe, then flicked his tongue across the scales behind it. She shivered, and she felt his smile against her neck. "How readily you accepted that your solution must require your pain."
    "So speaks the martyr," she said bitterly.
    Cool air against her nape as he lifted her hair. "Your tyrant." His fingers tugged at the lacings of her corset. The leather slowly loosened, and he eased back to slide it over her hips. Then his chest was warm against her back, wings crushed between them, his arms circling around.
    She tensed her stomach muscles as he flattened his palms against her abdomen. The scales were softer there, rectangular instead of rounded. Though he couldn't see them, he would recognize their shape. They must remind him of a snake's belly, remind him of what she was.
    Perhaps he was right—perhaps this body would be her best defense, despite his claim that it did not matter. It did not matter how she'd begun life; she'd been a demon for two thousand years. And demons did not feel physical arousal, took no pleasure from it.
    She clung to that thought as he explored the curve of her ribs, where the scales hardened again. As his fingers traveled along the crease beneath her breasts. She did not breathe, would not expose herself. Waited for him to go further, to discover just how different this form was.
    He cupped her breasts, ran his thumbs over her nipples. Pleasure shot through her, but his hiss of surprise and pain dampened it. She closed her eyes. Though she intended to laugh, her reply seemed carried on a sob. "A fine joke, is it not?"
    Slight tang of blood in the air, and she felt his wariness. But he managed to express his humor, forced or not, better than she did. "Should I avoid any other portions of your anatomy?"
    "All of them," she said into the door, her chest aching.
    "Your teeth," he mused, as if she hadn't spoken. "Though it would be hard to kiss you with your face turned away from me, I should have liked to finally use your horns as handholds. Would almost be worth it to risk your fangs for that."
    Damn him. She shook with laughter.
    He laid his cheek against hers, his unshaven skin scraping, tickling. Her waistband parted as he untied the fastening. "I have missed your laugh, Lily."
    Forcing away the bittersweet pleasure of that confession, she said, "You shouldn't have killed me, then." She meant it to be hard, cruel, but it escaped on a gasp as his hand slipped between black leather and blue satin.
    "This is your resistance? This is your control?" His fingers stroked the moist fabric. " 'Tis a weak showing." Then his bare skin was against hers, where she was wet and soft and hot, sliding against her clit, his calluses rough on the sensitive flesh.
    "There are teeth inside," she said, panting. "Sharp as razors. They slobber in anticipation, that you'll be foolish enough to—"
    He parted her, pushed two fingers deep. She moaned, her head falling back onto his shoulder. Thrusting his hips forward, he captured his hand against the door, his erection hot and hard against her bottom. The action shoved his fingers further inside, ground the heel of his hand against her clit. "Grab on to the door," he growled.
    She could feel him shaking behind her, the tension that held him rigid. Without a word, she flexed her claws, ripping through the hollow-core door and clinging to the holes she made.
    He rocked his hips, pushed his thigh between hers to widen her stance. "I've missed your heat."
    Shutting herself away from the pleasure of his thrusting hand, the slippery, rhythmic pressure against her clit became impossible. "I only pretend to enjoy this."
    "I've even missed your lies," he said, laughing breathlessly against her ear. "A demon would not come."
    "As I will not," she said, though the liquid ache coiled through her, wound