Campbell kept waking up from the same nightmare. The one where an eternity of noise faded to silence, and the world moved on without him.
“I’m not a demon,” he said. “For starters, a demon wouldn’t have wasted this much time talking, or trying to convince you he wasn’t a demon. And for what it’s worth, you give one off too.”
The redhead licked her lips. “What?”
“A signature.” A beat. “Or…whatever, vibes.”
Her brow crinkled. “What? I do? I…but I’m—”
“I know.”
“You know.”
It wasn’t a question.
Campbell exhaled. “You get followed, right? By demons? They find you?” He nodded to the bar entrance. “That’s why you were all jumpy in there. It was experience talking.”
She dropped her arms, then crossed them again, her chin wobbling. She didn’t reply.
“You feel my signature, or whatever you wanna call it.” Campbell waited a beat until she nodded, and another to see if she’d jump at his admission. When she didn’t, he continued, “When a demon’s exorcised, it leaves fingerprints. That makes you a walking beacon for all other kinds of creatures. And I get that. But taking it out on—”
“How do you know this?”
The question was harsh, borderline defensive, and the rest of her had followed. Again, her body was rigid with tension.
Diagnosis—struck nerve.
There were two ways to answer her question—the honest way, and the mostly honest way. The only advantage to the latter was if he wanted to keep talking to her after she stopped glaring again.
He thought about her butter-soft skin and those goddamned freckles, and his dick took over.
“Experience,” Campbell replied. Mostly honest it was. “I know from experience.”
The air between them thickened, the girl’s breaths at once audible and heady. He saw the wheels turning behind her eyes before they rounded with understanding. “Experience,” she echoed.
“Yeah.”
“I…I’ve never…” She sniffed and looked away. Her whole persona seemed to fold in on itself. “I’d never… Ahh, I’ve never met anyone who… It’s not something there are many support groups for.”
Campbell nodded.
“But I couldn’t be the only one. Demon possession is…”
“Yeah,” he said, stepping forward. “I know.”
She thought for a moment longer. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For in there and…just sorry. You were right. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
He waited for satisfaction and found emptiness instead. “Yeah, well…” He gestured back to the door. “A drink and we’ll call it even?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Campbell offered a mute nod and tried to turn, but his feet refused, stalling on counter orders from his sluggish brain. There was something in her eyes, a soft vulnerability that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. It wrenched its way into his chest and twisted.
She was no one, or she should have been. Another face in an otherwise endless sea of faces. Campbell never took the time to get to know humans—he had no inclination to become attached, especially since those who went to his hometown in the hereafter weren’t exactly available for the occasional beer. Eternity was a long time to miss someone, and though the rare connection here and there couldn’t be avoided, he preferred his associates to be of the immortal variety. Life was best when devoid of complication.
It was a philosophy that had served him well.
So there was no reason whatsoever for him to stand there like an idiot as the redhead moved closer. No reason to be staring into her earthen eyes, or to feel his heart stutter. Nor could he explain the shock of electricity that buzzed his skin when she reached out and touched his hand.
Hell, it had been a long time since anyone had touched him—since he’d let anyone touch him. He’d hugged his sister when she’d turned up after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, but he hadn’t been much of a touchy-feely guy before a horde of Hell Demons had tried to rearrange his insides. Now, the thought of skin on his skin was enough to warrant a week of sleepless nights.
Campbell inhaled, looked to where her hand touched his, then back again. To those perfect freckles and the face that surrounded them. It had registered the second he’d seen her that she was a pretty girl—casually acknowledged the way he might also accept the funky smell in his favorite bar—and even though his body had been primed, sending him all kinds of signals, it hadn’t hit him fully until that moment just how pretty she was.
Or that pretty was not the best word.
Then he took all of her in.
Campbell didn’t really have a type, or he’d thought he hadn’t until that moment. Either his tastes had changed as a result of his brush with death, or it had taken him the better part of two thousand years to meet the right type-defining woman. She was curvy in all the right places—her hips were made for grabbing, her breasts in the sweet spot between too small and too large. Her body, from what he could see, was firm and toned. Her skin was creamy. She wasn’t tall or short, making her the perfect height if wanted to…
Campbell licked his lips, and before he could stop himself, he drew the girl to his chest and claimed her mouth.
The second her taste hit his tongue, he remembered why living was so much better than the other thing. It made fuck all sense, he knew, but he didn’t care. He just wanted, so he took. And thankfully, the girl was on the same page. A whimper spilled from her mouth to his, and the next instant, she was against him in all the right ways. Her breasts molded to his chest, her hips curved into his. Her free arm, the one not held prisoner by his ironclad grip, wound around his neck and anchored him against her assault. Her lips were warm perfection, as though her mouth had been made for his.
It had been too long, he realized as his hands captured her head, tunneling through thick, perfect tresses. Much too long since he’d had a woman pressed against him. Since he’d felt soft flesh beneath his fingers, felt his gut tightening and hard tremors shuddering through his body. One taste lent itself to another, then another. Until his tongue was so wrapped in hers he didn’t know where he ended and she began. She tasted sweet—a concoction of flavors too well blended to be identified. Campbell growled into her mouth, his growing cock pressing against the fly to his jeans, and everything in him pushed toward a need to claim.
A car horn pealed through the air, and the next thing Campbell knew, his arms were empty. The girl had staggered back a few steps, her eyes a little glossy, her lips swollen, the skin around her mouth reddened from his whiskers. A door opened, and laughter—loud and intrusive—took over the quiet.
Campbell just stared at her, and she stared back. He ignored the calls of the kids, the teasing jibes as the moment-ruiners loped cockily into Rat Trap. In two thousand years, he’d been interrupted doing more embarrassing stuff than mauling a stranger with his tongue. But he knew, just as his cock—which began softening—knew, that the moment was over.
A pretty blush warmed the girl’s face. She looked away, licked her lips. Made him want to lick them for her, but he didn’t move.
Instead, he stood there as she pulled herself together, shook herself out of whatever spell had come over her, and disappeared inside without another word.
“Oooh, rejected!” one of the kids, who looked at least five years too young to be in a bar, shouted.
“Need some ice for them blue balls?” one of his friends asked.
The kids laughed and snickered, shoving each other in that knowing way common among teen boys who were desperate to be older than they were.
Campbell forced a tight smile, flexed his fingers. He briefly considered setting all of them on fire, but decided he didn’t want to mess with the paperwork.
No, he would much rather finish what he’d started with the redhead.
With that in mind, Campbell swallowed his biting remark, turned on his heel and stalked back through Rat Tr
ap’s front door. He barely took time to appreciate the feeble greeting from the AC, or Carl’s grunt of acknowledgment. Instead, his gaze went to the bar, but the redhead hadn’t reclaimed her seat. She was close, though. His body hummed with awareness.
What had happened outside was likely a bad idea, but Campbell had run out of good ones.
If the lady was willing…
He shot a glance to the right, where sat an alcove that branched into the restrooms. Campbell’s gut twisted, and before he could stop himself, he had marched forward with intent, and barreled into the women’s room.
It was one of those single-room set-ups. No stalls, barely enough space for one person, let alone two. The redhead was at the sink, her hands curved around cracked porcelain, her pale cheeks flushed with heat. Her head whipped up the second he kicked the door open, and when their eyes connected, Campbell saw that same naked want that had enticed him outside.
He didn’t understand it, but something in him recognized something in her, and this was the first thing he’d craved in a goddamned long time.
Thankfully, the redhead was on the same page. She started moving when he did, and had her arms thrown around his neck, her mouth pressing hot to his in half a blink. Campbell tore at her lips—no gentle caresses, no soft nibbling. It was a full-out assault, and she gave as good as she got. In a flash, he had her against the sink and was between her legs, thrusting his denim-clad cock against her cunt. The soft little whimpers she poured into her kiss drove him wild.
He wouldn’t last, but he didn’t think he wanted to. He just wanted to take.
Campbell bit her lower lip, then pulled back to drag her shirt over her head. The redhead leaned back, a drunken, slaphappy gleam in her eyes. As soon as the offending garment was gone, she shot him a wicked grin and pulled his mouth back down to hers, continuing her harsh assault. Campbell allowed a groan of his own, his palms itching upward to cup her full breasts. She still wore a bra—a plain pink cotton that was all for comfort and not for show—and while a part of him hungered to strip her bare and lick her all over, the rest of him was in too much of a hurry. As though whatever had come over him could fall apart at any second.
He felt her hands moving between them, fighting with the buckle of his belt, then the buttons on his jeans. If she touched his cock, he’d lose it, and Campbell desperately needed to remain in control. So he pinched her nipples to gain her attention, then pulled back and lifted her ass so she was partially sitting on the sink.
Campbell paused then, breathing hard, and met her gaze. She still looked drunk. Her pupils were huge, a warm blush tinted her cheeks, and her lips quivered with each hard breath that pulsed between them.
Something in his chest twinged, but he shoved it aside. Campbell tore himself away from her face and refocused on her breasts, the proud nipples straining against the cotton. He leaned in and took one in his mouth, hot and hard, as his fingers busied at her pants. He stripped them down her legs in a heated flash, taking her shoes—or rather, her combat boots—right with them.
Campbell ended up on his knees in front of her, staring at the damp crotch of her panties. Her underwear was plain white cotton, freckled with polka dots of varying colors. Didn’t match the bra, and he decided he liked that.
“Fuck,” he murmured, then leaned in and nipped at her pussy through the thin fabric.
The redhead hissed and bucked into him, silently demanding more. Her heady scent invaded his nostrils, and as much as he’d like to bury his face between her legs and feast, his cock twitched in an aching reminder, and he couldn’t wait. Campbell shot back to his feet, seized her around the waist, and spun her around so she was facing the mirror.
“Hurry,” she whispered, thrusting her ass back against him.
“Fuck,” he said again, tearing at his jeans. Then his cock was in his hand, and he was pushing her underwear aside, lining himself up with her soaked pussy and…
Their eyes met in the mirror as Campbell buried himself inside her. And for the first time since Rome, the screaming inside his head fell completely away.
Holy fucking shit.
Campbell expelled a shaky breath, which seemed to reverberate through her. He watched her mouth fall slack. Her eyes fluttered shut, then open again, and she dragged her teeth over her bottom lip when he pulled back.
“Do it,” she urged. “Fuck me.”
No need to tell him twice. Campbell grasped her by the hips and set about a punishing rhythm, pounding hard into her hot cunt. He bent forward and sank his teeth into her neck, watching as her reflection went wild. He swirled his hips and struck home hard again and again, her pussy hugging his cock so tight it was a fucking miracle he didn’t spill on the spot. She was so hot, the sounds she made so perfect, and every time he pulled his dick away, she was pushing back, demanding that he give more, more, more. The wet smacks of their flesh hit the air, accented with dual grunts and moans that did more to make him feel alive than anything he could have reached for.
Fuck. Yes.
Then Campbell looked to the mirror again, and caught her watching him. Those big eyes shining like sparkling emeralds. She was so…
Beautiful.
Something tightened in his chest, and his pace broke, his thrusts staggering from a brutal slam to a slow, burning drag. The fire under his skin ebbed, and pleasure centers took over. He began to register things his mind had blurred out. Like how good she smelled, how soft her hair was against his cheek. Hot fucking hot she was, squeezing him every time he slid back inside. How she gasped, those perfect lips forming a luscious O. How her flushed skin made her freckles more pronounced, and how he suddenly wanted to kiss each one.
Watching her like this, the widening of her eyes, the soft mewls she emitted as he worked his cock in and out of her, did funny things to his head. And suddenly, this wasn’t enough. Campbell didn’t give himself time to think, to reconsider. He pulled out of her, barely registering her murmur of complaint before he whipped her around.
“Wrap your legs around me.”
She did. He took his cock in his hand again and teased the wet lips of her pussy, pressing himself against her clit, then dragged himself down and pushed inside her again.
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh fuck. That’s good.”
He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The brutal need of seconds before had melted into something he didn’t understand, but had no strength to fight. Instead, Campbell began pumping again, slower this time, his mind on record. He watched her through a haze, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face.
That twinge from before made itself known again. Campbell hooked one arm around her, anchoring her into his thrusts. Every time he drove home, something deep within lurched, drowning out the dark screams in his head until all he felt, saw or experienced was this moment.
Well, Campbell didn’t know if it was the moment or the woman, or some combination thereof, and he didn’t care. He just needed more. More of the slow slip and slide of his shaft into her wet cunt, more of the feel of her wrapped so perfectly around him, more just…seeing how clearly she loved it. How each time he buried his cock back inside her, he was bringing her closer to that perfect place along with him.
The redhead released a shuddering breath, then opened her eyes and locked gazes with him. Again, something in his chest twisted, and hot awareness pinpricked the back of Campbell’s neck. His heart began pounding, a rush of naked fear shimmering its way down his spine.
Too much, a voice whispered above the pleasure. She’s seeing too much.
Campbell swallowed hard, his hips pumping slowly. He dropped his free hand between them and thumbed her nipple just to absorb her sweet sigh. His mouth wanted that breast, but he couldn’t look away from her. Not even when his brain began screaming that something was off, commanding him to flip her to the back wall and pound to orgasm with his head buried in her neck.
No more mirrors. No more gazing into her eyes. No more…
“Touc
h me,” she whispered against his lips. “Please.”
The hand at her nipple abandoned her breast and began a slow slide down between their thrusting bodies. The wet sound of her pussy welcoming him again reached his ears, making him harder, upping his urgency. He was surprised he’d lasted this long, and knew, the second his fingers brushed her clit, that it was almost over.
“Oh god.” The redhead hooked her hands around his neck and pulled his mouth close, her pelvis rolling against his touch, anticipating each stroke. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”
Campbell’s balls tightened, his cock growing harder as she grew tighter, wetter, and when he felt her clench and begin to tremble, sharp little whimpers escaping her throat, control finally returned and he could look away. And he would have, had she not lifted her lips to his and consumed him.
The second her tongue entered his mouth, any sense of control he’d entertained spiraled away, and he lost it. He bucked, struck inside her one last time, and let go.
The world fell away from him. The bathroom. The bar. Everything but her. Her warmth, her scent, her taste. He could have stayed in that moment forever, her pussy squeezing him, her legs tight around his waist, her tongue stroking his as though she knew him. This perfect stranger. This girl whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn.
He didn’t know what that meant.
And even as his body sang with physical ecstasy, Campbell hoped he never found out.
2
The only thing worse than crashing from the high of being fucked within an inch of her life in a bathroom was the knowledge that said bathroom was attached to a bar where everyone literally knew her name.
Varina wasn’t sure how long it typically took to gather one’s bearings after a quickie with a stranger. She wasn’t in the habit of welcoming that sort of attention, and she certainly had no experience in proper post not-even-one-night-stand protocol.
As it turned out, the guy—whose name she hadn’t even caught, good fucking god—had his own, simple solution.
Deliverance from Sin: A Demonic Paranormal Romance (Sinners & Saints Book 5) Page 2