"Locke," she moaned against his lips.
"I'm going to make you feel things you've never even dreamed about."
She melted at that, her body turning to jelly. What he could do to her she was sure she could brag about to Eloise and Hazel for years.
Her tongue licked at his as he probed her mouth, massaging her there and at her hip. He rubbed down her thigh and she lurched forward, the heel of her palm smashing down into the dough in front of her.
"My…my croissants," Clara gasped.
"Mmm, I love your croissants." He grabbed her hips, apparently taking advantage of the way she'd bent forward to show exactly what he was talking about.
"No, Locke."
But then his pelvis was pushing against her butt, the hard, male part of him finding a home in the valley there, and she couldn't keep herself from lifting up on her heels to feel his body slide along hers.
"My croissants need to…need to go in the cooler," she moaned, trying to at least salvage the croissants before she let things go any further.
"I need to be in your oven."
Had he just said that? Clara cringed, but Locke's hand lifting her skirt and massaging the back of her thigh was strong enough, his pinky finger hitting close enough to her most sensitive area, that she couldn't think of a good enough reason for him to not open her oven door.
His hand shifted up and inward just enough that his wicked little finger smoothed over the lace edge of her underwear.
"Are we…?" she whispered, no idea where she was going with that and not needing to continue.
Not when his mouth all over hers, his tongue rubbing hers with the cadence of the hand on her hip.
The hand on her thigh, meanwhile, was not slowing in its progression, first under the skirt, and now the finger at her pantyline was under that as well, slipping along the seam toward her—
She couldn't help but turn away and whimper, "Oh, God. Oh, God." He hadn't touched anything yet, nothing but the soft flesh covering the more private area, but it was hitting her that she didn't know what was about to happen. Or, she knew where he was going, but she had no idea how it was going to feel.
"Please don't call me that," Locke chuckled. "It makes me nervous. And you should touch me."
Yes, she should. But he was behind her, and her hands were keeping her from crushing the croissant dough.
It was probably ruined anyway.
"Where should I touch you?"
"Wherever you want."
Her hand went up and into his hair as the hand on her hip caught her sternum to hold her upright. She cupped the base of the horn still struggling to grow in, and yeah, that was what she wanted to touch, the iridescent scales, new and supple and warm as leather.
His finger dipped between her folds, and she gasped.
"You're so wet for me," Locke moaned in her ear.
"What's that mean?" she asked. She knew, but she'd never experienced this for herself and needed to confirm it.
She cried out weakly as that single digit hooked into her, penetrating her in the most insubstantial way but lighting her body up all over.
"It means when I have you, when I take you as I want you," he said as he grinded his hips into hers so she knew he meant far more than that finger, "It means you'll be ready, and you'll feel only pleasure, as long as I'm careful. And I will be, sugarplum. I'll drive you crazy with how careful I'll be."
And he would be. It didn't matter that he was a demon and this was only temporary.
It didn't matter at all.
Her mouth went dry. Blood pounded in her ear.
She was fine with temporary.
Really, she was.
"Locke?"
"Shh, no more thinking, just feeling."
She was totally fine with it, and the pounding in her ears got louder as he kissed away that flutter of anxiety and rubbed that finger just right to leave her breathless.
The pounding wasn't in her ears.
"Master!" Ratmouth squeaked loudly. "You have visitors!"
The pounding wasn't Ratmouth, either. It was boots as big as the servant, stomping down the hall.
"What the shit is this?" a deep, window-rattling voice boomed loudly enough that Clara shrieked and dove for cover under the counter.
Chapter 14
"Druxel, you should have called. I'm entertaining guests." Locke did his best to sound friendly—for Clara's sake—but he heard the growl in his voice.
Talk about some shitass timing for guests to show up. Locke didn't have to be a genius to know that getting busted with a finger in Clara’s happy spot was enough to make her reject him for a good long while. If she was worried about ghosts seeing her, she definitely wasn't going to like demons walking in on her.
Her forehead pressed into his back. He reached behind to squeeze her hand, but she dodged him.
While Druxel remained at the kitchen threshold, his aionia, Ramellen, continued forward, getting way too close for Locke’s comfort. The female was smaller than her mate but arguably more terrifying.
"Are you going to introduce us?" Ramellen asked as she attempted to root Clara out from her hiding spot.
"In a moment," Locke replied, knowing that he couldn't tuck her away forever. "What brings you two to this side of the neighborhood?"
"Boss told me to check in on you." Druxel's eyes traveled to the hand Clara had on his hip, nothing more than a convenient place for her to hold on but no less telling than if her hand had been tucked into his waistband. "Said he wanted to know about your guest and I should surprise you with the visit. I see why now."
"Maybe you should tell him I wasn't home," Locke suggested.
"I can't do that. You know how this works."
"Maybe you didn't see what you thought you saw." Locke wasn't a wrath demon, but his temper was nevertheless a demon's, an aura that pulsed from him at the threat of Druxel's betrayal.
The faintest sob rattled out of Clara.
Ramellen stepped in with a warm, inviting tone. "I think what we need here is a nice, polite dinner, yeah? Isn't that your thing, Locke?"
He swallowed hard as he pulled in that temper and reached again for Clara's hand. He laced his fingers with hers so she couldn't escape this time. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe clear up this bit of confusion."
He let Ramellen coax Clara into the entertainment room, mindful of where she was the entire time Druxel confined him to the kitchen.
Separating them.
Fair. His hands were shaking, and because he wasn’t a wrath demon, he couldn't burn off his temper beating Druxel into a puddle of blood and piss. He needed to slake his hunger, and the Fudge Rounds weren't cutting it this time.
He could calm Clara, at least. He boiled water while he sautéed onions and mushrooms, he poured it over tea leaves to steep while his sauce thickened, he had Druxel take the tea to Clara while he stirred in the marsala wine.
Five minutes later, Clara bolted up the stairs. Ramellen came to the kitchen and lamented that she'd only wanted to be friends with Clara, and she didn't know what she'd done wrong.
Locke stirred the simmering sauce for a few more minutes, just enough to give Clara some space, before instructing Druxel and Ramellen on how to boil pasta.
He tracked Clara all the way to his closet, where she'd curled up in the corner. "You didn't drink any of that tea, did you?" he asked as he squatted down
"It's not the tea," she whispered hoarsely.
"No, if you'd had some, you'd feel better now. It would have calmed you."
"You…you tried to drug me?"
"I tried to calm you. It was little more than strong chamomile. I know it doesn't seem like it, but Druxel and Ramellen are my friends. Ramellen's worried she scared you. She's the one who—hey, hey, none of that, now," he clucked when the tears renewed. "Don't be mad with Ramellen, she only wants to help."
"I'm not. I just didn't mean to upset her. I don't want to hurt anyone."
Locke said it with a laugh, hoping she would find his crawling approach amusing and not terrifying. She held up her hand to stop him. "Please don't. I'd rather not have you touch me."
"I'm just going to hug you." Truly, that was it, even if his blood was still simmering like his marsala sauce.
"And then you're going to rub my back and put my head on your shoulder, and then there will be a friendly kiss, but that hand's going to find a spot that's just right, and then you'll…have me right where you had me in the kitchen. And I don't want that, so you can't hug me."
Locke held back his groan as his fantasy took it so much further, to the bed behind him, to the heat inviting him to that furnace he'd touched too briefly between her legs.
"I do want that, but only when you want it, as well. Will you at least come down to dinner?"
Her hesitant agreement was enough, enough that he let it slide when she sat as far as she could from him at the dinner table. She was naturally social, though, even if the ever-present ghosts on Earth had worn her thin—and they had, whether she knew it or not. Without their overbearing attention, Ramellen easily lured Clara back into the conversation at dinner, hooking her with casual comments about mated demons.
Clara's questions about aionias were a blend of sweet, awkward, and enlightening, and none of them hit Locke as hard as, "So when you bring other partners home…or take other partners? When that happens, how does that work?"
Druxel looked genuinely horrified at the question, and laughter burst from Ramellen. "Honey, if Druxel ever banged another female, I’d cut his dick off."
"I would never do that!" Druxel's face went from its usual mossy green to an ugly brown as he drew Ramellen into a fierce hug. "You wouldn't either, right? Tell me you wouldn't."
Ramellen gave another, softer laugh. "Of course not, aionia. I'd hate every second of it."
Locke wasn't surprised that Clara was the most embarrassed about the question. "I'm so sorry! It's only, what I've heard of Hell, it's all violence and-and sex. And Locke is…"
Locke's chest tightened at the wide eyes glancing up through heavy lashes at him. There was no good way to explain to her that while she shared a bed with him, no other female would, physically or metaphorically. As long as Clara was with him, he wasn't interested in anyone else.
But that would last only as long as she was here. There was no future between them, and he was an asshole for ignoring the fact that he wasn't what Clara needed.
Clara stared at the tree for a good long time while she sorted through the ornaments, deciding what went where and what was missing. She didn't actually decorate it, though, because it was weird not having someone to decorate it with. She could have enlisted the servants, but since neither of them had been wowed by the various decorations she'd already made, she didn't think they'd be any more excited about the tree. It would just be work for them.
She added two packs of tinsel to the running list and held her pen above the paper while she considered adding another item. There were ten things on the list now, an additional one wouldn't make any difference, but her eyes blurred as she wrote Eureka Lemon (8) on the list.
In another day, Locke would have no reason not to let her go. There were angels trying to kill her, and deep inside, she had no doubt they would succeed. But if she couldn't be happy and with her family, she didn't have a reason to fight.
She finished up her bake for the day and set to work on a big project for her family's Christmas Eve. If she wasn't home in time, she would at least be represented. She had the gingerbread men in the oven and was about to carve the templates for the building when a knock at the door got her attention.
Ramellen stood there in tight leather pants and a frayed black crop top that showed off her toned, rippling, slightly purple stomach. Her hair, a black ponytail the day before, was a loose mess of dark locks that shone with a rainbow spectrum. There was blood spattered on her pants and the short, stylish jacket covering her arms, but she was grinning happily, proudly flashing her yellowed, craggy fangs. "Oh, you are here!" she cooed. "I'm so glad. Why is that in the house?"
Clara tightened her robe as she looked back, following the path from Ramellen’s finger to the Christmas tree. No surprises that Ramellen waited until today to ask about it, not after the mess Clara had made of the dinner conversation. "It's a…a human thing. Do you not go to Earth occasionally? It's for Christmas. You put presents underneath it."
Ramellen nudged her way past Clara to get a better look at it. "Do you put holes in your floor for it to grow? Are those lights always on it? What's the stuff over there? What's—?" She leaned in and sniffed it but backed away quickly. "Is this what trees smell like?"
Clara laughed at the welcome distraction and felt a little better about her own bout with silly questions. "This tree is plastic. Back on Earth, a lot of people do use real trees, but they just cut them down and bring them in the house."
"Doesn't that kill them?"
Clara nodded. "But we don't just throw them out afterward. Or, most of us don't. They get chipped or thrown in a fire. They smell nice when they burn, and it's really hot."
Ramellen wrinkled her nose. "I'm glad this one is fake. I've heard trees on Earth are very nice and make the air better."
"Have you really never been?"
Ramellen shook her head and started picking through the bag of ornaments. "It's not so easy for most of us to get there. Not like your Locke."
"He's not my Locke," Clara bristled before shaking her head, remembering her manners. Last night was rough, but she didn't hold that against Ramellen. She actually really liked the woman. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"I'm fine. I wasn't planning on staying, I just wanted to apologize for last night. Druxel is a good demon, but he doesn't always think things through. I told him we should invite ourselves over properly instead of following Boss's demands to the letter. He didn't pick up on what was going down."
Clara felt herself pale. "What do you mean?"
Ramellen's warm, brown eyes twinkled. "Locke wants you."
"Anyone could see that,” Clara huffed out, her throat dry. “I…feel bad for him. I know what he wants is…is normal enough, but not for me."
Ramellen softened. "If things don't work between you, I get it, but he's a good man. He'll treat you well."
"While I'm here."
"Perhaps you'll be here for a long time."
Clara shook her head. "That would be awful. I have family. A business."
Ramellen frowned, but she didn't push any further. "The balls hang on the tree, right? You've got tiny trees on that cookie house in the dining room. The color blobs on the trees are these, right? Can I help?"
Yes, Clara almost said, but really, she felt so sour now that she worried she'd ruin Christmas trees forever, and it was one of her favorite holiday traditions. "I'll take care of it later, but I'm about to make another cookie house—gingerbread house. Wanna help?"
Ramel bounced up at that one. "Really? You'll teach me how to make it? I thought it was the neatest thing, and Locke said it was all edible, but we're not allowed to eat it? What's up with that?" She plucked two plastic glitter-encrusted ornaments from the box, shimmied the loops of both down her graceful, swirled horns, and dragged Clara on into the kitchen.
Chapter 15
Listening to Boss plowing a woman who screamed like a dying goat was so much worse than listening to an actual goat screaming through its death. This is what Locke decided as he stood in the large, open cavern that had recently seen his impalement. The female was happy, that was clear enough from her harders and far more graphic shouts, but that bleating was enough to make Locke's ear bleed.
Clara would be quiet in bed. She wouldn't be shy forever, but she'd always be soft and gentle with her lover.
Lucky bastard, whoever that ended up being. She deserved someone who brought her the same peace and joy she'd surely bring hi
m. She deserved to be loved in a way different from the love of her sisters, and she deserved to experience all of life, unhindered by her ghost issue.
On Earth.
Killian stood sentry across the cave, motionless and blurred by the black effluvium oozing from him. Locke hoped it was only a coincidence that Killian was here, but he couldn't help taking it as a warning.
This was what happened to a demon unable to satisfying his cravings, and it was as deadly as it looked.
"My brother longs for the day he can reap vengeance upon you for your treachery against our family," Killian snarled. Most likely at Locke, since there was no one else here.
And Locke had gotten the Kill brothers into some trouble in the past.
He shifted his weight and avoided accidental eye contact with Killian by training his eyes to the ceiling.
The smog-coated wrath demon cleared his throat. "Just thought you should know," he said in a normal voice. "Killdyar's an ass, and what you did didn't cause me problems. But watch yourself."
"Boss!" Locke yelled the moment the goat bleats stopped. Boss came out several seconds later, naked as the day he crawled out of the primordial stew and covered in Locke didn't even want to know what. Some blood, but a lot of it was probably the secretion of a demon he didn't want to mess with and who made goat sounds when experiencing pleasure or pain.
"You," Boss growled, slamming Locke into the rock wall. It was probably the gentlest handling Locke had ever experienced from him. "Druxel's report did not please me."
"How could it if Druxel wasn't sucking your dick while giving it to you?" Locke growled right back. Lust demons were the absolute worst. "I need to know what's going on with Heaven. I promised the girl and her sisters I would update them as soon as I could."
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