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It’s not the heat of his body that makes me feel this fire licking at my skin. It’s something far easier to pinpoint.
Lust.
I wonder if he can feel it.
Who knows what the Devil can and cannot see?
His hand slides lower on my hip, pulling me tight against him. “My, my, little fool, what are you thinking?”
My gaze falls to that fiendish smirk and I ask a question instead of telling him the truth I doubt he’s ready to believe.
“Do you always taste like that? Or is it simply a trick of your game?”
After all, the brimstone smell is completely gone now.
Brow raised in a calculated question, he laughs at me and draws me closer. “Do you want to find out?”
“Yes.”
The Devil always seems to be smiling, but the grin that splits his face borders on maniacal. It’s so wide, it reveals needle-sharp teeth behind the set he so often displays and borders on a grotesquerie.
I have to stop myself from reaching up to draw my finger along those crystalline spikes.
His tail flicks out to wrap around my legs, his hand rising to take hold of my throat and he draws me up, not lowering for me this time. The grip on my neck tightens as the claws of his other hand poke through the thin silk and the skin on my ribs.
When I’m perfectly in line with his lips, he whispers a question across mine. “Are you always this brave, little fool? Or did the world teach you nothing of evil?”
There’s a third option, but he doesn’t speak it. Instead, he says, “Offer us anything, and we’ll take everything.”
I’m counting on it.
I don’t plead with him, even though my body aches to try to drag him closer to me.
But I don’t have to.
As if he’s decided he doesn’t want to give me the chance to change my mind, he hauls me against him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of my dress.
When he kisses me, it’s nothing like that first press of our lips.
Compared to this, that was a chaste peck…
He tastes like chocolate and spice, yes, but something darker and more dangerous, too. Like a syrupy alcohol waiting to poison me if I drink too much.
His forked tongue invades my mouth and my eyes fly wide as it tangles with my own. As it tickles the roof of my mouth, my mind supplies all the other places it could explore.
His wings wrap around us, as if hiding us from sight, and there’s no other way to describe the way he kisses me: claiming.
Claiming my every sense as the pressure of our joined lips matches that of his hand at my throat. The thrill that rips through me makes me struggle against his tail, trying to rub my thighs together.
The hand at my ribs coasts up, trailing over the curve of my breast and I fist my hands in the hair at his neck as the rough pad of his thumb brushes my taught nipple.
I kiss him more deeply to stop myself from falling prey to the impulse that floods me—the desire to shed this dress and offer myself to him here and now.
This is only a kiss.
For the moment, that’s all it can be.
And yet, he doesn’t pull away. The heady flavour of his mouth spirals me into a need so deep, it’s as though I only exist in this moment.
