Damn Me: A Paranormal Demon Romance (The Demonology Series Book 4)

by Felicity Brandon

  Now, that was more like it—more like the confidence of a demon in charge of all Hell. It was not clear why I had temporarily faltered, why her choice of words had beguiled me so, but something about the woman threw me off balance. I cocked a brow at her, enjoying the rush of blood to her flaming cheeks.

  “Yes,” she murmured, her eyes closing as she leaned toward my palm. “I suppose it will.”

  “I do not know why fate has drawn us together.” I watched as she inhaled, her cheek in my hand, and her nipples beading as she pushed her hips back against my growing arousal. “Maybe we shall both wake to discover this whole thing has been a dream. Perhaps, we shall never know who of us is dreaming, but I say, it matters not. Let us take what we have and revel in it. Let us celebrate the lust we have found, however that sin chooses to bloom.”

  “So, you think I should not be concerned about these new feelings?” Her gaze was back on me again, but there was something new, something salacious in those blue eyes. Something more than just the needy look of a young, inexperienced woman who might confuse her sexual high with a more meaningful emotion.

  Something sinful.

  “No,” I agreed. “I say if we fly together, let us fly again. If our rapture shows us the heavens, let us ride the rhapsody, and if it feels loving, then we should welcome the solace.”

  She smiled, lowering her face toward me. “Master, you talk about love like you know what it means, yet I know you do not. You cannot.”

  “Nonsense,” I whispered, considering how best to claim her lips again as they hovered over mine. “You are making assumptions once more, little Guardian. You assume because I am a beast of perdition, I cannot comprehend devotion, but the assumption is incorrect. Remember, I was cast out of the heavens—a place I once resided. I know all about love and loss. I know the highs, and I understand the lows. There are few who could understand better than I.”

  She swallowed, her gaze closing briefly as she contemplated my words. “Then I have underestimated you, and I am sorry. Master.”

  There it was again, that hint of salacious light in her gaze that sent my passion soaring. That edge to her tone that made me want to spin her on to her back and pound that sweet cunt until she begged me to stop. But in the end, I denied that urge, pulling her mouth to mine and breathing in more of the light that made me want to ravage her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cathy

  He was taking me over. Not in the glamorized way Hollywood liked to purport. Not in the head-spinning, green slime projecting manner I had seen televised, but he was powerful, nonetheless, a creature who could climb inside my head just as readily as he slid into my sex. The combination was potent, and even though I had prided myself on my independence and spirit, on my ability to cast out the demonic and protect those who were not blessed with my light, I was not an idiot. I could see what was happening to me. I could sense his authority consuming me, but the scariest part of it all was, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  I didn’t have the strength to send him away, that much was obvious. If I’d have had that power, as I’d assumed I had, as Sevvy and the other members of my extended family believed I had, I’d have exerted it from the get-go. I’d have resisted the tantalizing temptation he offered, I’d have expelled him from my dreams, and I’d have never taken his hand. It was too late for that now. He was here, and he was dominant. Satan, too, it seemed, sensed victory in the face of my retreating light, and now I’d consented to his cock, any semblance of my defiance had effectively been vanquished, for how could I cry in opposition when I also screamed in passion? How could my concerns have any credibility in the bed of vice we had made together? The short answer was they did not. No one would pity me once they discovered the depravity I had colluded in. Not even Sevvy could save me.

  Satan was just too strong. His hot lips tasted sweeter than any wine I’d ever tried, and the things he whispered in breathless sighs enthralled me. There was no turning back from this sexual decadence, and I knew it. I would be a fool to even hope there could be.

  Frustrated tears burned in my eyes as the realization landed over me like ash, the embers suffocating as they settled. I had done this. I had ceded my will and my virtue to the monster, and even if I didn’t want to admit it, I had done it all without coercion. Satan did not have to work so hard to get me to roll over and beg, and that was the most depressing comprehension of all. I had thought I was a better woman. I had looked down on those who yielded to lust, but now look at me! I was no nobler than them. No more deserving. All it had taken to break my so-called will were unseen fetters and one demanding vibrator. I squeezed my eyes tight at the memory of the unrelenting plastic and the numerous, punishing orgasms it had ripped from my body, but still, it was no defense—no mitigation for the way I had caved and fallen at his feet. Since then, I’d surrendered more times than I wanted to admit, and I did it because I’d craved him. Sex with Damon had been an eye-opening experience, and I’d thought it had been enough—as much as I’d wanted, as good as I would get—but I had been wrong. When Satan held me, he set my sensations alight. Each touch was electrifying, each thrust mesmerizing, and as I stared into the shadows of the night in the bed beside him, there was no way of avoiding the truth. I was to blame for the way I’d thrown myself at him, for the way I craved his caress, for the way that, even though I knew it made no sense, I couldn’t walk away. Hell, I didn’t even have the resolve to climb out of the bed he’d conjured and try.

  I was culpable. I was—

  “Cathy.” My name was like a sigh on his lips, my body freezing at the sound. I had assumed he was asleep. His body had seemed so still in the darkness.

  “I do not sleep.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “We do not need to rest like mortals do.”

  “Oh.” Had I known that? In all the years I’d been exorcising dark spirits, had I ever realized they didn’t need to rest? That their tyranny was endless, like time itself.

  “Why are you not asleep?”

  I felt the bed move as he rolled in my direction, one of his large hands grazing my flesh in the darkness. I was still in the satin sheets where he’d left me, my mind refusing to let me relax even though my body was exhausted.

  “I can’t sleep.” My voice was tense, as though my throat would tighten and swallow the words down once and for all.

  “Too much on your mind, little Guardian.” It was more a statement than a question, and as I blinked hard, sending the first tear trickling down my cheek, I acknowledged another painful reality, if Satan had been awake next to me this whole time, he would likely have heard every humiliating thought I’d just processed.

  “Yes.” I flinched at the sound of my response, my emotion right there for him to bear witness to, as humbling as if the lights had been thrust on and I’d been compelled to cry before him.

  “Yes, what?” There was no evidence of malice in his prompt, just another reminder of my place, of how low I had fallen.

  “Yes, Master.”

  I didn’t try to resist his demand. There was little point. I’d ceded to it often enough when it suited me. When the powerful waves of hedonism had threatened to break over me, when the illusion of solace had been conjured in his arms. It would be ridiculous to argue the point at this juncture. The fiend had mastered me, no doubt. Even though my hands balled into fists at the excruciating truth, it was no less real. While Damon might have taken my virginity, Satan had captured more than was reasonable. He had taken my soul. I couldn’t get him out of my mind, couldn’t get the burning touch of his fingertips to evaporate, the sensation of their warmth lingering long after his caresses had faded.

  It was illogical and wrong.

  It was hopeless.

  “Since you are awake, we should talk.”

  Pulling the air through my nostrils, I denied the hot tears in my eyes. “Talk about what, Master?”

  “Your future. What I am planning to do with you.”

  “My future?” Wip
ing my eyes with the heel of my hand, I rose to a sitting position. “What do you mean?”

  “I think my meaning is clear.” His voice was stern. “Do not make me repeat myself, little Guardian.”

  “My future is here, in my house. This is where I belong.”

  I tried hard to ensure there was a steely quality to my reply, to remind him that even though I knew I was falling under his spell, I was still aware of the illusion. I knew none of this was real. The bed we were sprawled on, the sheets we sullied, were figments of Satan’s imagination every inch as much as my growing fascination for him was mine. However powerful it felt, none of this was real.

  “Now, you know I cannot let you remain here,” he chided in a mocking tone. “I came to obliterate you, but if I do not want to, then I must find a way to deal with your menace once and for all.”

  “You mean, keep me as your captive?”

  My pulse quickened as I sought the clarification, but shamefully not just because it inspired outrage. Deep down, I knew the concept sounded wanton and satisfying. A lifetime as his courtesan would mean an existence of pure pleasure, where my every filthy fantasy would be brought to life, and all I had to give up in return was control—control of the light that burned inside of me, control of my body, and of my soul.

  “Perhaps.” He blew out a breath, no doubt for dramatic effect as he did not require the oxygen in the first place. “I know you like the sound of that idea.”

  “I do not.” My jaw tensed with the lie, my toes curling in defiance, though I didn’t know why. The duplicity was futile. He knew only too well how he affected me, and ultimately, I was only lying to myself. “I am no one’s slave.”

  “You shall be my slave,” he corrected in a matter-of-fact tone that made me want to scream. “If that is what I decide, but you need not fear the fate. I shall make it good for you, Cathy. I shall protect you and smother you in comfort and climaxes until you scarcely recall a life without them. I will be everything you need, and you shall be mine.”

  I gulped at how logical he made that sound, and frighteningly, it was all too easy to see how he could make it a reality. “And if I don’t want it?”

  “Come now.” The sweet aniseed scent of his breath washed over me. “We both know that you do. You crave the life I have elaborated, just as the deserts crave the rain. It is not a failure on your part to yearn for such a life, Cathy. There is no shame in the admission. Even if it is that shame that tips you over the edge each time I command it.”

  He chuckled at his own explanation, but it only elicited more rage in me, twisting my guilt like a blade in my belly. My sense of disappointment in the catastrophic way I had let Sevvy down, let myself down, let everyone down, and the even greater disaster of knowing when push came to shove, he was right. I did hanker after the things he talked about. I desired them more than was reasonable, and apparently, I didn’t have the good sense to stand up and fight when it counted the most.

  The reality of the woman I’d become was crushing, sucking the air out of me like I’d been punched in the stomach.

  “I ask again,” I continued, dismissing the tremble in my voice. “What if I don’t want this future you have planned out?”

  He was on me in a heartbeat, knocking me backward in the black and pinning me down into the satin. Panting, I struggled beneath him, trying to push the brute away, but my goal would never be achieved. As he had proven time and time again, Satan was stronger than I was, he was faster, and he was infinitely more cunning.

  “You will want it.” He growled the words over me, the animalistic resonance sending an involuntary shiver down the length of my spine. “You do want it, Cathy.”

  Misery rose at his words, mingling with my impotency until my sense of fury dissipated. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” The tears were falling again. It was all I ever seemed to do these days. I was either crying, cuddling, or coming, and it was down to Satan.

  “Nothing is the fuck wrong with you.” His tone was lighter, though still, he pinioned me down. I imagined the way my wrists would bruise at the force. My skin had always been so sensitive, coloring like a peach with even the slightest influence. “You just have to let all this go.”

  Just like that, the weight of the fingers that held me down, or whatever had been immobilizing me in the darkness, vanished, though I still sensed him looming over me.

  “Let what go?” I couldn’t believe I was even asking.

  “All of it. Your pride, longing, and regret. The weight of everybody else’s expectations, it all needs to slide.”

  “But what will that leave?” I protested. “What will be left of the Cathy I once was?”

  He leaned closer to me, his face approaching in the shadows, though I had no logical way to verify that for sure. “She will be everything she needs to be,” he told me softly. “My little Guardian whore.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Satan

  It was getting late. Too late to rehash this pointless discussion with Cathy again, too late to take her over my knee and redden her backside for her insolent backchat before I pounded her, and too late to keep relaying the same sorry argument in my mind. I wanted her, though I should not. I yearned to keep her, though it would be decidedly unorthodox to do so, and while I had no desire to tether the woman to me, I longed for more time with her, to get to know her better, to lull some of her ridiculous insecurities.

  She was such a potent contradiction. A woman of flesh and blood with authority enough to draw me back to my human form. One whose head told her to resist, even though every fiber of her body disagreed. One who had been raised with such ludicrous expectations, she was struggling to see beyond them to the glaring truth—she was a woman with needs of her own. Needs that had been overlooked for far too long.

  And for my part, I should have known better. I should have crumpled her in my hand like a piece of paper when I first encountered her fragile little body, but I had not. I could not bring myself to, the allure of the light burning inside her much greater than I had given credence. So instead, I had given in to the whim whirring inside me. I had sought to seduce the temptress rather than strike her down. To devour her, rather than demolish, and in doing so, I had brought myself to the precipice of the impossible choice. Now I had tasted the fruit she had to offer, I did not want to cut down her tree. I wanted to water it instead, to seek its shade and protection while I gorged on its produce. It was an intolerable position. To know I should destroy her, yet at the same time, know I would not, to leave the lust she summoned behind when I had no desire to. For all my might and authority, it seemed she was the one with all the power.

  “I am no one’s whore.” She spat the word back at me, defiance radiating from her aura in waves.

  “You have whored yourself for me,” I reminded her. “And you will do so again.”

  I willed the light on, illuminating her face for the first time since I had spoken, noticing her puffy eyes and the wet tracks of her tears. She had been crying again, then? I tilted my head at the thought. The mortal was always so full of unbridled emotion, and she never seemed to know what to do with it all.

  “Does fucking you make me a whore?” Her brow rose with the question, her expression suggesting she already knew the answer. “Does permitting you to claim me make me loose?”

  I smiled at the provocative query. “It makes you lucky, little Guardian. Lucky, I have not slain you. Lucky, you offer sufficient fascination to ensure I never will.”

  She snorted at my analysis. “You have a very high opinion of yourself, Master.”

  I did not like the scorn in her tone, yet begrudgingly, I had to admit, she had a point. I was well known for my audacious arrogance, and perhaps my fiery retort had done her a disservice. I was only her second lover, meaning there was no way she could be guilty of the insult I had flung.

  “I was wrong to call you a whore,” I admitted, planting a kiss at her jaw. “Not that I have a problem with promiscuity. Believe me, I do not. I me
ant only to rile you.”

  “It worked.” She swallowed but managed a small smile as I rose to meet her gaze once more. “But thank you for the apology.”

  “I did not offer one,” I reminded her, returning the smile. “And you, little Guardian, should watch your tone. I have had the desire to fling you over my knee and spank this delectable backside from the first time I found you curled up in your bed. If you do not share the sentiment, I would not offer me an excuse to do so.”

  “Spank me?” Her eyes widened, the consideration darting around her head like a pinball.

  “Oh, yes.” What was that in her gaze? She was either deeply disconcerted by the prospect or seriously turned on. The tantalizing thought occurred that she might be both. “Taken over my knee like a naughty little girl and taught a good, old-fashioned lesson in respect.”

  Her lips parted at my description, fresh heat blooming at her pretty cheeks.

  “You like the sound of that?” I smirked at her body language. At the nipples beading against my chest, at the way her breathing was ragged, the small gestures that betrayed her poker face, let alone the sordid imagery currently morphing in her mind. “How interesting.”

  “I do not!” Cathy insisted, but in truth, even she recognized the lack of conviction in her tone. “You have absolutely no right to treat me that way. I may have consented to consort with you, but I do not give permission for this!”

  “I do not need it.” I laughed at the stunned expression on her pretty face. “I will have you in position faster than you can draw your next breath, and you shall do well to remember it.”

  “Don’t tease me.” Her face was flaming, her gaze refusing to meet my eyes.

  “What makes you think I am teasing, Cathy? You think I will not color that cute little ass of yours?”