Demon Blood

leg, her knee cocked and trapped by his weight. He settled over her thighs, his heavy erection burning into her awareness through the linen, through her skirt. She clutched at his back to steady herself. Beneath the sheet, he wore nothing, only cool skin over iron muscle. Her short shallow breaths sounded panicked. She made herself stop.
    He braced his hands next to her shoulders, his biceps bunching as he lifted to study her face. His mouth glistened from her kisses. A soft yellow glow washed over his features . . . Oh, God. Her eyes.
    “Is this what you want, Rosie?” With a deliberate roll of his hips, he rocked against her.
    Yes. Rosalia’s lips opened on a gasp and her hips rose to meet him. That rush sped through her again, made her feel like crying.
    His mouth took hers before she came down. He palmed her left knee, pushed her leg higher. The sheet slid over her thigh, the fabric a soft burn against her skin. Deacon settled firmly between her legs, open to him, and the rhythm of his rocking hips matched the thrust of his tongue into her mouth. Rosalia clung to him, drowning.
    He lifted his head. She gasped for air, for control—afraid he’d kiss her again and take her deeper.
    Afraid he wouldn’t.
    “Rosie?”
    Concern softened the gravel in his voice. She looked up at him.
    “Your nails are tearing up my back.”
    What? A glance over his shoulder revealed her fingertips, wet with blood. Long gouges striped his flesh. Oh, God.
    “I’m sorry.” She tried to get up, but he didn’t move. She pushed at his chest.
    “Hold on,” he said, and she did. His dark brows drew together. “You’re sorry?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t care. Rip me up if you want. But if you’re saying sorry, princess, it means you weren’t trying to get me off of you.”
    He hadn’t stopped because of the pain, but because he’d been worried she wanted out? “No.”
    Her misery etched into the word. Only a few kisses, yet she’d been scratching up his back. That wasn’t supposed to come until later, when he was inside her. She felt her color rise again. How many times had she seen people do this? She knew how sex worked. Yet she was losing control, getting it wrong.
    Anger darkened his face. “Don’t look like that.”
    “I don’t know how to handle this.” She wished he’d been asleep. Holding on to him wasn’t as frightening as trying to hold herself back. “It’s not safe.”
    Tension hardened his muscles to steel. “You’re not safe from me?”
    “No. You from me.”
    She showed him her fingertips, then vanished the blood. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, as if he could open her up and peel away the layers. She struggled not to flinch away from that flaying gaze, tempted to recede into darkness. To just let it surround her and take her.
    Then his face softened, and his long, slow smile appeared. “You don’t have to handle it.”
    “What?”
    “I won’t make it easy, but I’ll catch you. I’ll take care of you, keep you safe. If you’ll let me.”
    His hands found hers, folded over them. The possessive gesture seemed to say, I’m strong enough . It promised to give her control that she didn’t have . . . by giving control over to him.
    Could she? Her fingers trembled.
    His grip tightened, pinning her hands to the bed. “Let me show you, Rosie.”
    Oh, she wanted to. Surely it was no different than the trust she’d put in him the past three nights, when she’d sent him in to slay demons. She’d trusted his strength then, trusted that he would prevail, that he wouldn’t expose her, that he would take control of the situation. She had been frightened then, too—but he had succeeded each time. And her heart had been at risk each time . . . as it still was.
    Yet every kiss had been worth that risk. This would be, too.
    With a deep breath, she nodded.
    “Say it.”
    “I’ll let you.” Take control. Take me.
    “Trust me.”
    A command, not a question. She answered it anyway. “I do.”
    His heavy-lidded gaze fell to her lips. “Then give me your mouth again.”
    Her breath caught. Another kiss—but she had to offer it. He didn’t intend to let her lie back and take what he gave. He’d still make her lose herself in the rush of every kiss, every touch.
    He’d said it wouldn’t be easy. But his strength would be her safety net—only if she truly trusted him.
    She would soon find out.
    Though strong enough to lift her head to his, it was still awkward raising her torso with her