The Hidden Demon

by Monica La Porta

  Ophelia had snuggled closer to Quintilius as soon as they had been left alone. “I love him and I am beyond myself with worry.”

  “So you have come to terms with it.” He patted her head.

  “It felt more like a train hit me, but yes.” She chuckled.

  “Your wolf was right all along.”

  “So it seems.” Hearing steps, Ophelia moved from the comfortable position to crane her neck and see if one of the nurses was coming to give her news.

  Marcus and Diana appeared a moment later, and they helped her pass some time by telling anecdotes of their baby, Daniel, whom they had left with Alexander and Ravenna. But she couldn’t help wondering how Peter was doing and why no one had come to tell her something. By the time Samuel and Martina joined the party, Ophelia was a bundle of nerves and had consumed at least one thermos of espresso by herself.

  While the men and Martina were having a heated conversation about the coming match between the two rival Roman soccer teams, Diana came closer to Ophelia and took her hand in her dainty one. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve it. What you did for Samuel and Martina was—” Diana’s eyes watered, red drops menacing to spill over.

  Ophelia looked down at their intertwined hands, hers so big compared to Diana’s. “You knew?”

  “I had my suspicions, but the night you called me, I knew for sure. I always thought the best of you, but when I saw how generous you are and how big your heart is, I prayed for you to find true love.”

  Ophelia couldn’t help but let a solitary tear fall down her cheek. “Thank you.”

  Diana brought her free hand to her mouth. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you cry.” But she was crying too and they were both soon laughing.

  Martina turned and left the men to their soccer debate. “Mind if I join you?”

  Ophelia smiled at her. “Come on over.”

  Martina sat before Ophelia and Diana on the couch under the open window.

  “How is your change coming along?” Ophelia asked her.

  “All in all, great. But, of course, I have an exceptional sirra and teacher—” Martina inclined her chin toward Diana who bowed. “And then I have him.” Her eyes went to Samuel and her face lit with joy.

  Ophelia felt a pleasant warmth spreading through her and even her constant worry over Peter dimmed for a moment. “I’m glad for you guys.”

  “Thank you, Ophelia.” Martina reached over the coffee table to take Ophelia’s free hand. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I owe you everything—”

  Ophelia shook her head, trying to keep at bay the tears threatening to become a river. “Nothing. You owe me absolutely nothing.”

  Once again, Martina’s eyes went to Samuel who smiled back at her. “I know I owe you the whole world.” Martina gave Ophelia one intense look that said more than words could convey. “You are a wonderful person, Ophelia.”

  “What’s this? The friendship corner? Quintilius and Marcus have bored me. Are you accepting pledges?” Towering over the table, Samuel startled the three women who had not heard him coming.

  Her nerves frayed by the conversations she just had with both women, Ophelia nervously laughed. “No, it’s girls only.”

  With a mock affronted expression, Samuel flexed his wings and shrugged. “Too bad, I would’ve provided bracelets as a token of my appreciation to be in the company of such a beautiful group of women.”

  Ophelia couldn’t help but throw her hands in the air and give Samuel a stern look, while laughing at the same time and ruining the effect of her scowl. “What’s up with all of you and changing personalities overnight?” She pointed at Marcus, who raised a puzzled eyebrow. “I swear if you start reciting poetry, I will kick your ass.” She then turned to Diana. “I apologize, but I need some stability in my life.”

  Diana laughed. “It’s okay. I would be shocked too if my husband would start rhyming out of the blue.”

  Marcus shook his head, then resumed his conversation with Quintilius.

  “See?” Diana said.

  Ophelia nodded. “Thank the Goddess of the Prairies.” She was about to open one of the thermos left for yet another shot of espresso, when the doctor entered the room.

  He looked around until his eyes met Ophelia, then his mouth produced a brilliant smile. “There’s an impatient demon asking for you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Peter hastily donned a fresh change of clothes Samuel and Marcus had put together for him from their own closets. The doctor had also procured a pair of gloves for him. The angels had stripped him of his at some point during the ride from Rome to the casolare in the Maremmana Country. As much as he wanted to see Ophelia, he couldn’t touch her in public now that his health had been completely restored.

  When Ophelia entered the room where the nurse had wheeled him for the last part of the heliotherapy with the lower level lights, he was taken away by the look on her face. He had never thought one could read love on someone else’s body, on the way they breathed, moved, walked or talked, but it was there, written all over her. Her hitched gasps for air, her hands opening and closing, her legs that sprinted to full run from the door to his bed, all made him want to be somewhere else entirely.

  All his intentions not to touch her or let her touch him before the staff went out the window when she threw herself at him. Uncaring of the shocked gasp of the nurse still checking on him and the amused chuckle of the doctor who had entered the room with her, Ophelia nestled herself against Peter. Her arms linked around his neck, she pressed her trembling body to his.

  “Let’s give them a minute.” The doctor accompanied the nurse outside and closed the door behind them.

  Ophelia sought his mouth before he could do or say anything. Powerless to stop himself from affecting her, he felt the spike in the intensity of the kiss she administered. He was on his back a moment later, Ophelia already removing his clothes by tugging and pulling at his shirt and jeans.

  “Peter—” she whispered to his ear, her hands lowering his boxers down his thighs.

  He gasped and stopped her hands with his, but she freed them right away. “We need to get out of here.” When she didn’t seem to react to his words and started kissing his now-naked chest, trailing down pecks and brushes, he groaned and locked her wandering hands higher. With a great show of willpower, he turned her around, trapped her beneath him, raised her hands over her head, then gave her one last kiss before leaving the bed. Once physical distance was safely in place, he tried to calm his erratic heart, and laughed at her shocked expression.

  “Oh. Bes. Almighty.” She stared at him, wide-eyed and utterly disheveled. “Have I just assaulted you?”

  “Not that I’m complaining.” He was feeling dizzy and that had everything to do with how mouthwatering she looked. “If it’s any consolation to you, it’s my first time too.”

  She blinked, hugging herself. “Say that again?”

  “It was the very first time for me I was affected by my own power. It has never happened before as I am, I was, always in control. Not anymore. Not with you. I love it.” He wanted to kiss her long and hard, but he wasn’t sure he could stop himself a second time.

  Her eyes wandered all over his body, and he wasn’t sure if she was doing that on purpose to tease him further, but she slowly licked her swollen lips. “Alexander drove my bike here.”

  “Then, by all means, drive me to perdition.”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  He nodded. “I’ll make sure of that. Repeatedly.”

  They had to pass through the waiting room where all of Ophelia’s friends had seemed to congregate for a campout. He was worried they would have to stay long enough to at least thank people, but Ophelia declared, “I’m taking him home. Don’t call. Don’t visit. In fact, just forget about us for a few days,” for all and sundry. The room exploded in a collective laugh. Only Quintilius gave him a stern look, and mouthed to him that they would talk later.

 
A few minutes later, they were riding Ophelia’s bike out of the hospital’s underground garage and the Tiberina Island. Ophelia drove as if she was possessed and Peter realized he had never felt as alive as when he was by her side.

  “I must taste you,” he whispered to her and felt her shivering. He tightened his arms around her waist. Even the full shield of clothes between them wasn’t enough to lessen the electricity his touch generated in both of them.

  Ophelia collected more infractions than he thought possible, but they laughed the whole time about it. When they reached her apartment, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself from taking her inside the elevator. But he didn’t have to make that decision because Ophelia, who must have been reading his mind, steered both of them to the stairs. They flew through the floors, and when she fumbled with the keys to her apartment, his need made him unreasonable and he would have knocked the door down without a thought.

  He slammed the door with his boot behind them, then pressed her to the nearest wall and pushed her jacket down her shoulders. Her silk camisole’s straps proved annoyingly resilient and he grabbed it with both hands and tore it to the side, revealing the white lace bra that cupped her small breasts, pushing them up. He liberated them by passing a finger over the front clasp hidden by a bow, then pushed all the garments out of the way to lower his mouth to the mounds. Ophelia whimpered as his lips brushed her skin, and when he passed his tongue over the swell of her breasts, she moaned and called his name.

  He wasn’t sure how long he could delay himself, when everything she did enhanced his desire tenfold, and pushed her legs open with his knees, trapping her wrists against the wall and away from his pants where they had been making progress toward undressing him. She protested, her body molding to his, opening for him. He felt the heat rising between them, their combined scents, and lost control, forgetting what he wanted to do to her next. His mouth descended upon hers as his free hand pushed her pants down and she shimmied them to her knees; then he yanked her lacy panties up and watched as her breasts rose and fell at the rhythm of her short gasps.

  She mumbled his name, then pleaded. He shook his head, and tore her panties away, enjoying the way her chocolate eyes became so dark they sucked him in. He saw his own eyes reflected in hers, changing colors and matching her hue.

  “Please,” she said.

  “Not yet.”

  “Now.” Her hands straining against his tight hold, she growled as she rubbed her thigh on his and swiftly moved the caress toward a more intimate place.

  “Bad wolf.” He brought both hands to her waist and hoisted her up and against his shoulder, her bottom up and her head down his back. She kicked him and called him names, making him chuckle at her creativeness. With difficulty, and destroying several of the plates of her wall collection, he found his way through the hallway and into her bedroom. There, he threw her on the bed. Then, before she could protest, he reached for the curtains’ ties and jerked them free from the wall rings.

  He felt his lips tugging up when she was silenced by his actions. Displaying for him with what was left of her tattered clothing, she stood still, her back on the mattress, legs slightly parted, her mouth red and swollen. He stepped to the foot of the bed, and lowered one knee on it, his hands coiling and uncoiling the curtains’ ties, waiting for her assent. When his eyes went behind her to the wrought iron headboard, he heard her swallow and his smile widened. “Say yes.”

  “Make me.”

  “Defiant.”

  “Always.”

  The sparkle in her eyes barely warned him of her next move. She raised one naked foot—she had kicked away her pants and her shoes while he was carrying her to the bed—and softly pressed the point of her toes over his jeans’ fly, while her hands skimmed her chest, lingered over her nipples, then traveled down her navel and paused lower.

  He let her caress both him and herself in the most intimate way, his eyes locked on hers, and he didn’t move. He watched as she blossomed for him, but kept to his end of the bed. When she finally raised an eyebrow in a silent question, he snapped the length of tie around his knuckles, then shrugged and smiled. “Say yes or I won’t touch you.”

  “You would.”

  “You know I wouldn’t.”

  She brought her legs close to her chest and hugged her knees, her head low in a pose that made her even more exposed than before, because it uncovered her soul. His heart slammed against his ribs, and he almost stopped playing, defeated by his own game, then he saw how she tilted her head to the side and slowly exposed her throat to him.

  “Yes,” she breathed, looking at him from under her lashes as she lowered herself to the mattress again and raised her arms over her head until her fingers grabbed the lattice work of the headboard.

  “Good wolf.” He brought his other knee on the mattress, and as he traveled its length, he undressed her completely by pulling off or tearing away her clothes. When she was naked and bared to him in a supplicant pose, he reached for the headboard. There, he pried her hands free from it, took them in his and lowered his mouth to them to kiss them finger by finger, then placed her wrists together and tied them with one of the curtains’ ties. After hooking them to the headboard, he checked he hadn’t tightened the fastening too much. “Pretty wolf.” He trailed kisses all over her as he backed toward her feet. He made a stop or two to worship her the way she deserved, but found his way to her toned calves. He brushed her soles, waited for her response, and tied her ankles together with the remaining tie. Finally, he crouched on his haunches and took a moment to admire the sight before him. “Magnificent wolf.”

  “Your wolf.” Her eyes were dazed and her breath shallow.

  “Mine.”

  ****

  “Always.” Ophelia tugged at her bindings, wanting more than anything for him to satiate the need that was driving her insane.

  He stood still, relaxed and in control, looking at her with his ever-changing eyes, while she was bursting at the seams.

  Unable to do anything else, she bit her lower lip to relieve some of the pressure that had been building up inside her since that first kiss back at the hospital. Not even the breakneck-speed ride had helped her. Peter’s hands on her waist had made her driving erratic and reckless. Now she had reached a level of need she had never experienced before. Peter could have done anything to her and she would have begged for more. “Please.” She was beyond being ashamed.

  He raised one hand before him and slowly removed his glove, deliberately uncovering his fingers one at a time. He splayed his naked hand, then freed the other with the same thoroughness. His elegant hands with the tapered, masculine fingers were finally out in the open for her to admire. Something snapped inside Ophelia. A long-anticipated fantasy of hers had just become reality and her mind sent the most unexpected surge of physical pleasure down her body. She gasped and moaned and pressed her thighs closer as waves of pleasure robbed her of her ability to think. For a long moment, she only felt. She trembled and cried, and finally lay on her side, rocking her body as she curled up.

  A soft kiss on the base of her neck roused her from her stupor.

  “Ophelia?” Peter sounded amused.

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you just—?” He kissed the ridge on her neck, then brushed the outline of her shoulder blades.

  “Hmm, hmm.” He couldn’t expect her to express herself in full sentences, could he?

  “I see—” He sounded smug, but kept trailing her back with small kisses, so she let him have his moment of glory.

  When she could finally breathe and the tremors rocking her had subsided, she turned around her bindings to face him. “I like your hands. A lot.”

  “That’s good.” He smiled, then leaned closer, and lowered his bare hands on her.

  The moment he touched her, the room was bathed in the brilliance emanating from his eyes. Pleasure invaded her senses again, and she felt dizzy. One hand massaging her wrists, the other traveling over her body, he kept looking
at her. Her skin burned where his fingertips went, leaving a trail of awareness that left her breathless. She felt the energy radiating from their bodies.

  “I always thought of this”—he brushed her throat, then slightly pressed a finger over her collarbone, making both of them pant—“as a curse, but with you it is a blessing. What you feel, I feel.” He pushed her to her back, and dipped his head between her breasts, playing with her nipples. “I don’t think it will ever be enough.” He alternated playful bites with the lightest of brushes and harder tugs.

  She was soon begging again, asking for him to release her, but he didn’t take pity on her. Instead, he decided to pay her most sacred of places a long, thorough visit that only ended when she screamed his name. Her voice was hoarse, and she thought she didn’t have it in her to keep on screaming. Yet, she did. He made sure of that with soft caresses and feather-light kisses.

  When he surged over her and untied her wrists and ankles, then massaged and kissed the sore spots, she thought she would faint. He didn’t let her. He gave her just enough time to recover, then surprising her—because by then she didn’t think it would ever happen that night—he yanked his shirt over his head and pushed his jeans and briefs down and off his legs. The moment he lowered himself over her, she couldn’t help but let out a sob.

  “I love you, demon,” she managed to utter as he kissed her eyes, her nose, then her lips, and his hands, his naked hands, brushed her skin, cupping her breasts, massaging between her shaky legs. “Please, now.” She gave him her throat again.

  “Anything for you.” He lowered his head to the place where her neck and shoulders met and kissed her, gently scraping the spot with his teeth. The weight of his upper body hoisted on his bent arms, he hovered there, on that moment where everything is possible, but hasn’t happened yet.

  “Mark me.” She closed her eyes and took his scent in, memorizing him at a cellular level.

  “Yes.” He closed his teeth on her skin and entered her at the same time.

  Pleasure shot through Ophelia, a magnitude of feelings impossible to describe, but meant to be experienced with one’s senses wide open. He moved within her and she responded to him, arching her back, scratching his skin, following his rhythm with a cadence that was their own and no one else’s in the world. They made love until they were both sated and unable to move a single muscle. Then they lay in each other’s arms, listening to their heartbeats slowing down, whispering sweet words, kissing tired mouths.