I twisted at the waist and thrust myself up, leading with the blade. And not a moment too soon. Tweedledum had been only inches away, his own blade falling harmlessly to the ground as my knife sliced through his neck, and the demon dissolved into disgusting black goo.
There was no celebration for me, though, because as my blade was outstretched, Tweedledee had come up from behind, and now he had his knife at my throat. “Headless,” he said. “I think it’s fucking beautiful.”
To my complete mortification, I actually whimpered, then closed my eyes, trapped, and knowing that I’d lost. For the world, for myself, and for Rose.
I waited for the pain, then for the awareness that came from being broken but alive.
It didn’t come. Instead, the knife jerked sharply, cutting me, but not killing me. And then I felt the demon behind me turn to goo, and the slime dribble down my back to puddle on the floor behind me.
I whipped around to find Deacon standing in the kitchen doorway. He’d thrown his knife, and he’d thrown it true.
“Deacon,” I said. And I rushed him. My body was humming from the kill as much as from fear. From the knowledge that I’d almost fallen into my worst nightmare, and by the need—desperate and demanding—to hold on right then to the man who embodied my most ardent fantasy.
He met me halfway, understanding what I craved, what I needed. His mouth was hot against mine, and I drew him in, our tongues doing battle as our bodies slammed together. He was all heat and muscle, all danger and dark, and I had to have him. So help me, I had to let the dark take me. Had to let desire rule me, and I pressed him back, farther and farther until there was nowhere else to go.
“More,” I demanded, and he complied without complaint, his mouth deepening the kiss, his hands hard on me. On my hips, on my waist. On my breasts.
The tank top was flimsy, and he yanked it up, then shoved my bra down, giving him access to my breasts. I arched my back and moaned, the pleasure that shot through me absolutely exhilarating, and completely overshadowing the slow, burning ache that had begun in my arm. I had no idea why my arm had decided to go on active duty, and right then I didn’t care. I was content to ignore it.
I wasn’t about pain right then; I was about pleasure. Pleasure and heat and complete satisfaction, and the way that Deacon was touching me wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed all.
Desperate, I fumbled with the button on his jeans, and when I couldn’t manage that, I fumbled with my own, then wriggled out of them until I was standing there in the lacy pink panties that Alice favored and I hadn’t had time to replace.
Deacon’s hand dipped down, his fingers following smooth skin, then easing slowly, so slowly under the waistband of the panties. He teased me, his finger dipping down, finding me wet, then making me whimper as he refused to touch me the way he knew that I wanted.
I grabbed the belt loops of his pants and urged his hips forward. “Dammit, Deacon,” I said. “Now.”
And this time, when I fumbled with his button, I actually managed to make progress, and before I knew it, our jeans were on the floor, and we were on the couch in front of the fireplace. The leather couch with cloven feet.
“Lily,” he said, as though my name were both a prayer and a curse.
“Don’t wait,” I begged. “Don’t wait; don’t stop.”
I was breathing hard, my body on fire, lust running through me like a wild beast. And when Deacon thrust inside me, I rose up, desperate to meet him, to match him. To take him over the edge with me.
We moved together, hard and demanding, as if we’d both just discovered something we couldn’t get enough of. And as the pressure built and built, I clung to him, pulling him closer, this man who I had come to need so desperately. This man I barely knew.
His body shuddered against mine, and he cried out in pleasure, sending me right over the edge with him. I collapsed against him, sated, and breathed in deep of the musky scent of sweat and sex. Of us.
He had claimed me and, so help me, I’d claimed him, too.
When I could breathe again, I rolled over, trying to shift to a more comfortable position. I had my hand pressed to his chest, and I smiled at his face.
He smiled back, and our eyes locked.
And, yeah, that was a big mistake.
The vision snapped, and I jerked as it sucked me in. I had a glimpse of the darkness. A sensation of fear, then the cold press of the pub floor against my cheek.
I sat up, rubbing the side of my face, realizing as I did that Deacon had actually thrown me off him rather than let me look deep inside.
Shit.
I crossed the pub to grab my jeans and started stuffing my legs back into them. Suddenly I didn’t feel nearly as warm and languid. Now I felt irritated. And not even at Deacon. At myself.