Demon

stared at him. “What if I’m not your mythical baby-eating demon?” I said suddenly. “What if you’re wrong, if you scooped up the wrong person?”

“There is no mistake.”

“How do you know?”

“Because of my reaction to you.”

That gave me pause. And then I rallied. “Oh, I bet you hate a lot more people than just me, and you don’t go around thinking they’re Lilith.”

“I have already told you I do not hate you. And that is not the reaction I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?” I demanded, frustrated.

On anyone else, that glimmer might signal amusement. Not on Azazel, of course. But he didn’t answer my question. Instead, he said, “You can stop trying to put this off with meaningless questions.”

“That’s right,” I said, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “The sooner we do it, the sooner it’s over.”

“Exactly. Go ahead.”

Go ahead? Shit, and do what? And why was I getting so upset? I wanted it over and done with as much as he did. Clinging to the knot that held the towel together, I moved over to him, careful to keep my lower half covered, which was no mean feat, given that the towel seemed determined to split apart and flash him.

I reached out and put a tentative hand on his chest, and almost yanked it back again. His skin was warm. For some reason I expected him to feel cool beneath my hand. I let my fingers slide up tentatively to his shoulder. “Shouldn’t angels have wings?” I whispered.

“I have them when I need them.”

“Magic?”

“Miracle,” he said, not moving beneath the gentle explorations. His nipples were dark circles against his pale skin, and I wanted to put my mouth on them. The thought was so random and unexpected that I ignored it, moving my fingers across his collarbone to the other shoulder.

“You know,” he said in a conversational tone, “you’d be better off moving your hand lower down. All the interesting parts are below the waist.”

I yanked my hand back, suddenly embarrassed. I was doing this wrong. Why the hell hadn’t I ever learned to come on to a man?

The answer was simple. I had never wanted to. Sex had been the price I paid for companionship, something men wanted, not me. It was about bringing pleasure to a man, not about my pleasure. But this time was different.

I wanted this man, despite the fear and coercion. I wanted to feel his warm skin against my breasts, feel him inside me. I wanted his mouth all over me, kissing me, tasting me. Good luck with that, I thought, disgruntled.

“What do you want?” I said, suddenly angry at his lack of interest.

“What do you mean?”

“Clearly you’re expecting to be serviced, and despite your insistence that I’m a whore, I don’t have any idea how to go about it. Is there anything special you require?”

His eyes narrowed as he watched me. “What are you offering?”

“Do you want me to perform oral sex?” I didn’t stumble over the words. I’d tried it once with Rolf, in an effort to stimulate him, but neither of us had liked it very much. “I gather it can be effective in getting someone aroused.”

“I’m aroused.”

I blinked. “Then what do you want?”

“It’s up to you.”

Crap. If it was up to me, I’d run my tongue up his chest and—no, I couldn’t do that. Instead I leaned over and pressed my lips against his, briefly, then drew back. No reaction. Just those vivid blue eyes, watching me. Okay. I was going to have to do a better job of it. I got up on my knees, placed my hands on the smooth, hard skin of his shoulders, and kissed him again, softening my lips against his firm, unyielding ones, then pulled back. What was the problem? He’d kissed me yesterday, kissed me more thoroughly than I’d ever been kissed before.

His eyes narrowed, and he suddenly touched my face, pushing my hair away from the narrow cut. “How did that happen?”

“Your friend Enoch,” I said, trying to sound offhand.

“Not my friend.” There was a look on his face, one that I might have thought was dangerous. “Does it hurt?”

I shrugged, clinging to the towel. “It’s okay. It bled a bit, but I think it’s stopped. It’s just lucky I ducked.”

“Lucky for Enoch,” he said in a grim voice. His hand felt almost gentle on my face, like the whisper of a caress. And then he dropped it. “Take off the towel.”

Okay, I could do that. I would have to sooner or later. I reached for the knot between my breasts and hesitated.

He caught my hand, pulled it away, and yanked the towel off before I realized what he was doing. I was kneeling stark naked on the bed, feeling horribly exposed. I wasn’t used to this. I fought the temptation to try to cover myself, but I felt my skin heat with embarrassment.