Page 37 of The Devil

Casting my dark shadow over her.

I back off a little. Just a little. I take in the wildly jumping pulse at her neck. She’s pressed herself as far as possible against the wall, her hands on my chest to hold me back. As if she could. I feel them on me now, like two brands burning into my flesh through my shirt.

“You’re afraid of me?” I ask her, my voice a rumble.

She swallows, her non-answer answer enough.

I feel it deep in my gut. I draw a tight breath in, and I swear I can smell her fear, but beneath that, something else. Excitement. Arousal even. And I breathe it in like it’s the sweetest nectar.

But I could never hurt her. Not her. It’s been like this with her from the first minute so many years ago.

“I am your protector, Amal. I’ve always been your protector. I killed a man for you last night. Outside your door. It’s not the first time. Blood stains my hands for you.” I lean toward her. “For. You.”

Silence falls heavy around us.

“Do you understand that?” I ask in that same low voice. When she doesn’t answer right away, I feel a need, an ache, to touch her. To feel her skin against mine. I pull my hand from the wall and when she flinches, I pause, my eyes on hers. I take a lock of her hair and feel the silk of it. The weight of that curl.

“And I’d do it again,” I say, searching her face, my gaze dropping to her mouth. She licks her lips, and when I meet her gaze again, the blue of her eyes is darker.

She swallows hard, hands no longer pushing me away, fingertips searching, feather light and delicate on me.

“Kiss me, Amal.”

Her breathing is audible, and her hands are clutching my shirt, holding on to me to stay upright.

I slide one arm behind her, cupping the back of her head, fingers weaving into a tangle of curls. Hand turning into a fist. I tug her head back, bring my face to within an inch of hers. We’re so close I smell her scent, bergamot masking the heady scent of fear. Of desire.

“I said kiss me,” I whisper against her ear, dragging my lips across her cheek to her mouth. “Kiss. Me.” I demand, but don’t wait for her to comply. Instead, I take. And it’s not the chaste kiss that sealed our vows. This kiss, it’s to taste this woman who was a girl when I first laid eyes on her. Who has grown into this frightened yet fierce thing. The woman who was always going to be mine. And the taste of her lips, her gasp when my tongue licks hers… fuck me.

Fuck. Me.

She makes a sound, a moan, and when I pull back, she nearly stumbles into me. I set my forehead against hers. I am as breathless as she. Our eyes lock and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is that of our breathing.

“You belong to me now, Little Virgin. You are my wife. I will claim you hard tonight and you will know you are mine in here.” I draw back, setting the flat of my hand against her chest, over her heart. “After tonight, you will never again doubt that you are mine.”

She swallows, blinks. I take a step away and wrap one arm around her to tug her to me.

“And Amal, if you ever try to run from me again, I will find you. I will find you and I won’t be so gentle when I bring you back.”

12

AMAL

My mind is reeling from that kiss, my heart racing.

When Jet releases me I have to catch my breath.

He carries my duffel and leads me out of the apartment onto the street where Malcom, upon seeing us, climbs out of the SUV and opens the back door. We cross the street and Jet hands off my duffel before he literally lifts me into the backseat. I grip his forearms, surprised, and open my mouth to rebel against this manhandling, but he just raises his eyebrows as if to say really so I close it again. He sits me down and gets in beside me.

At least I have the diary with me. He can take everything else, but the diary I can’t replace.

“Hotel?” Malcom asks.

“Yup,” Jet says, and takes out his phone.

I catch Malcom’s eye in the rear-view. He grins. I get why when I see my own reflection in the window. Our kiss left a smear of red lipstick alongside my lip. I wipe away the smudge and turn to Jet. His forehead is furrowed as he types out a furious text. Cassian, probably. I take in his dark features, the hair that’s normally forced into submission and the stubborn strands that, no matter what, flop over his forehead. I recall the last time we were together. It’s been months but I remember it like it was yesterday and in far too much detail. I’ve thought of it often in the darkest part of the nights when I’ve been alone and unable to sleep.

He’d been shirtless when he’d woken me still sweaty from his workout. After his shower, I’d thought I was so cool to lay back like I did, crossing my legs ever so slowly, so teasingly. He’d turned that on its head, gripping my knees and spreading my legs wide to wholly and completely own the moment.