Demon Angel

a way around. And as if her pleasure fed his, he rocked against her, his shaft slowly hardening again. "How many times have I kissed you since? But I have never touched you thus, though you would have bargained for it, or tricked me into it." His left hand trailed down the line of her belly, circled her navel. "And I would have, but for the bargains and tricks. In Paris, you stood before me with auburn hair and a courtesan's body, and I would have traded the secrecy of our kind for a night in your arms." His voice roughened. "But it was not secrets I wanted, and so I declined, and kept my desires hidden."
    She did not breathe, held herself still as his fingers drifted further down, traced the crease between torso and thigh. If she could have stopped the tell-tale pounding of her heart, she would have.
    "Open for me, Lily."
    She did not, clenching her thighs so tightly she shook with the exertion. No need for that much effort, except that she did not trust herself, did not trust her body to respond to her will. And despite her resistance, he slid the tip of his finger into the part of her with no defense at all—just enough to reach the small, erect organ at its peak.
    As if to distract her, he swept her hair to the side, bit the curve of her neck. Followed it with a lick of his tongue. Then he gently rubbed her clit.
    Her knees buckled, but he caught her, held her up with his arm around her waist. His erection was thick and hard behind her now, insistent, yet he did not remove that last article of clothing.
    She should not want him, naked and hot against her. Should not desire him within her.
    "Open for me, Lily."
    He worked his hand deeper between her thighs, her arousal easing his way. Wet, slick—she should not be. Her body did not need its breath, and yet she was panting with each stroke of his fingers. His scent surrounded her, and she took him in with each inhalation; he was inside her, had been for centuries.
    This body should not be soft, should not be yielding.
    And yet she was.
    The constriction in Hugh's chest, the thick ache in his throat began to lessen as she slowly parted her legs, let him in. He tightened his arm around her waist, forcing himself to ignore the painful rise of his erection, the exquisite torture of feeling her against him, but knowing he could not have her. Not like this.
    She made no sound but for her rapid breathing, did not move but for the shaking that had taken over her upon his first command to open.
    This was gluttony, to move his fingers inside her, and take more. She was hot, her inner muscles welcoming him. He did not need to invade her like this, could bring her release just by stroking her clit, but still he marauded, claimed. And it must be vanity, to swell unbearably when the first mew of pleasure broke from between her clenched teeth, when she began to writhe back against him, as if the thrust of his hand was not enough. Theft, to take what was not his, and call it his own.
    He set his jaw, leaned his forehead against her nape. God, but she was soft; he'd never imagined her so. Made his hardness doubly profane.
    I will not , he swore—it was selfishness that had brought him to this, but he would not take his own pleasure now.
    Yet he had to acknowledge it for a lie; there was pleasure in this, ecstasy in the slick glide of his fingers, her weight against his arm—even in the frustration of denying his own release. And he sought hers, more quickly now, because he felt himself weakening.
    He had never been good at resisting temptation.
    "Lily," he urged, "come for me now."
    She made a sound, and he could have wept when he recognized the denial. Please, please . He did not voice it, but his thumb, strumming over her clitoris in quick firm strokes, took up the same refrain: please, please . His fingers, thrusting within her: please, please .
    She reached back between them; it was an awkward angle, but she reached and her palm ran the length of his cock.
    "No, Lilith—" He broke off, sweat beading over his forehead, dotting his lip with the effort it took to hold his hips still. She supported herself now, did not need his arm, but he kept it around her for fear that did he have an idle hand, he would unbutton and unzip and force himself inside her.
    Her strong fingers tore the button free, ripped the zipper down. The sudden release of pressure against his shaft was both relief and torment. Cotton shredded beneath her sharp talons, and then there was bare skin, and wet