“Exactly what I want to do. Tell me to stop if you object.”
He doesn’t say a word. I tug his pants lower and admire the size of him. I’ll have to unhinge my jaw like a snake to fit him in. But nothing is going to stop me from trying. I leanover and lick a drop of moisture from the tip, then circle my tongue along the ridge.
“Fuck,” he growls, his knuckles turning white where he grips the chair. I lock eyes with him before running the flat of my tongue along his length. He mumbles something in another language that sounds like a prayer, but he doesn’t tell me to stop. I suck him deep to the back of my throat.
His breath saws in and out of his lungs. I can hardly fit my lips around him and have to use my hand to accommodate his length, but I make up for it in enthusiasm. Swirling my tongue over the head of his cock, I revel in his moan and then take him deep again. I hollow my cheeks and pick up speed.
“Release my hands,” he growls, his voice cracking.
“You can let go,” I say between strokes.
He does, then grabs the back of my head and thrusts into my mouth again. I take him, all of him I can manage, my eyes starting to tear as he fucks my mouth in earnest, finding a tight, even rhythm. God, he tastes as good as he smells, his smoke and spice scent translating to a rich flavor I can’t get enough of. I reach between his legs and stroke the heavy weights there, all the time watching him watch me. And what I see is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. The want, the need, it’s raw and powerful.
His fangs are elongated, and he tugs on the back of my hair, but I only suck him deeper, scraping my teeth gently along his shaft. That’s all it takes. With a low growl and a jerk of his hips, he empties himself down my throat. I love the way he looks in this moment, hunched and vulnerable. I may be the one on my knees, but he regards me like I’m a goddess, like I’m something to worship.
I sit back on my heels, and hereaches down to gather me off the floor and into his arms. “Gods, Eloise. Please be who I think you are.”
I’m not sure what he means. I’m about to ask him when I realize what he’s done. “You called me Eloise.”
The kiss he gives me then makes me forget all about my questions. When he pulls back, I can tell he’s hungry, but when I draw my hair to the side to offer my neck, he shakes his head.
“No.” His expression is unreadable. “I need to go.”
He stands, taking me with him and setting me gently on my feet. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I have some business to attend to, but I’ll be back in a few days. If there’s an emergency, use the candle to call me.”
I nod.
“I won’t give up, Eloise. I’ll follow Tony every moment of the night if I have to.” He flashes a wicked smile. “Or I could just kill him.”
I sigh. That option is becoming more and more tempting as the clock ticks down to my court date. “Not just yet.”
He kisses me again. The lights flicker. And then he’s gone.
25
Dreams
ELOISE
Idream of Damien that night. We’re on the cliffs at the back of our property, having a picnic. His head rests in my lap as I run my fingers through his hair. Our children play around us. Faceless, laughing children who run too close to the edge. I’m not worried. My mother is watching over them, keeping them safe. She’s calling to me again, saying something into the wind I can’t hear.
When I wake, the happiness from that dream sticks with me, but then I realize it’s impossible. A picnic in the sun would weaken Damien. Even if he’d do it for me, I wouldn’t want him to. And we could never have children, could we? We’re not even the same species.
Am I actually lying in bed thinking about having children with Damien? Yes, I am. Damn it. I’m falling in love with my monster. It’s a terrible idea for many reasons, not the least of which is that I do intend to destroy the candle when we’re done saving my house. Afterward, he’ll disappear. Probably find his shade friends and a way home. He'lldefinitely steer clear of the Gowdies. Once he’s liberated, I fully expect he won’t waste his newfound freedom with a human in cashmere sweater sets and pearls.
I roll my eyes. I’m so sick of dressing like Tony’s little Barbie doll. All my clothes are really his. How he wanted me to look. How he wanted me to act. Who he wanted me to be. If I wasn’t on the verge of bankruptcy, I’d buy a new wardrobe.
I sit up in my childhood bed, my eyes widening as an idea ignites in me like I’ve tripped an explosive force in my brain. I’m an artist. I’ve worked with diverse media to produce creative work for most of my life, first at my mother’s side and then to get my degree. I have talent, my mother’s art studio, and fabric.
I don’t need to buy new clothes. I can make them.
Popping out of bed, I dress in overpriced yoga gear, then run to check on Grams. Once she’s settled, I visit my mother’s studio.
The door is painted deep blue with stars and a moon, and my mother’s favorite dragon curled and sleeping at the base. I think of my tattoo, how I’d always thought it was a key but Damien thought it was a dragon. How he said if I was ever to win this house, I’d have to wake my inner dragon. I understand now. I need to wake the part of me that fell asleep to please Tony. I need the girl who was reckless and wild. That was a girl who could get things done. And the tools I need are in this room.
Since the day I moved back in with Grams, I’d walked past the door to my mother’s studio but refused to go in. This is Mom’s part of the house. Opening the door feels like tapping into her soul. Pressure builds in my torso, forcing my heart into my throat, as I turn the knob and the smell of stale air, oil paint, and dust hits me squarely in the face.
