The Devil Inside

by Jenna Black

  Val laughed, but it was a tight sound. “Yeah. Silly, I guess.” She raised her glass and tried to look less worried. “Who cares why it happened? Here’s to you still being alive and whole!”

  “I’ll drink to that!” I clinked glasses with her, and we moved on to lighter topics of conversation. But I was still unnerved.

  After our drink, we went for a fabulous Midwest steak dinner. My appetite wasn’t up to the task, but I tried my best to enjoy it. We went back to the hotel right after dinner, and I called Brian to let him know I was okay.

  I didn’t want to rehash everything again, so before he had a chance to ask me for details about my ordeal, I said, “I’m thinking of a number between one and one hundred. Can you guess what it is?”

  There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line. Either his mind wasn’t as dirty as mine, or he was debating whether to let me distract him. My money was on the latter.

  “Um…ten?” he said, but the mingled laughter and lust in his voice told me he knew exactly what number I had in mind.

  “Strike one.”

  A dramatic sigh. “Let’s see then…How ’bout thirty-five?”

  I swear, I think I giggled. I am so not a giggler. “Strike two.”

  “Hmm. This is a hard one.”

  “Hey! Isn’t that my line?”

  He ignored my protest. “Would that number be sixty-nine, by any chance?”

  Nice to know we were on the same wavelength. My mouth suddenly watered at the memory of the taste of him. “Slugger, you just hit a home run.”

  “Too bad home plate is in Topeka.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Guess we’ll just have to improvise.” With the phone cradled against my shoulder, I pulled back the comforter on the bed and fluffed up the pillows before climbing in.

  “I like the sound of that,” Brian said in a low, husky voice. “Are you making yourself comfortable?”

  I snuggled into the pillows. “Yup. And you?”

  “Oh yeah,” he responded.

  I heard the distinctive rasp of a zipper being dragged down. I closed my eyes, the better to picture what lay behind. I rubbed my thighs together, loving the mental image and wishing I could be there in person to see the real thing.

  “You’re whipping it out already?” I asked in mock disapproval while I unzipped my own pants, fingers playing over the strip of lace between my legs. “I thought you had more stamina than that.” I pretended my fingers were Brian’s tongue, and my breath hitched.

  He made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a growl. “Not when I’m imagining your mouth wrapped around my cock. And where, might I ask, is your hand at the moment?”

  I laughed. Caught red-handed, so to speak. Awkwardly, I maneuvered my way out of my pants and underwear while still holding the phone. “Where I wish your tongue was,” I answered breathlessly.

  He groaned, and I think I heard him lick his lips, but that might just have been my imagination.

  I swear, Brian has the most amazing tongue in the history of mankind. Far and away superior to any other specimen I’d sampled. I squirmed, the touch of my own fingers inadequate in comparison. “What are you doing?” I panted.

  “What do you think?” he asked in reply, and another distinctive sound came over the phone line. My mind’s eye filled with the vision of his fist wrapped around his cock, and my own arousal reached new heights. Watching him touch himself always drove me wild.

  Just as I was really working up a head of steam, however, the sounds and comments stopped, replaced by a harsh breathing. I knew he hadn’t come yet—he wasn’t one to keep quiet about it when he did. Fighting against frustration, I stilled the hand between my legs.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said between panted breaths. “It’s just that you’re going to be home tomorrow, and I’d rather wait for the real thing.” I groaned, and Brian laughed. “You don’t have to wait just because I do.”

  Patience has never been my virtue, but his words sounded almost like a challenge, and I don’t like to back down from challenges. “I’ll wait,” I said between gritted teeth.

  “It won’t be long,” he assured me. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

  I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see it. “Don’t. I’m going to need some time to decompress after all this. I won’t be good company.” Quick, hot phone sex I could handle, but I doubted I could have in-person sex without having to tell him all about my lovely trip to Topeka. And I needed a little distance before I could manage that.

  “I don’t need you to be good company,” he assured me.

  A thread of irritation wove through me. Brian wasn’t much for giving me my space, and right now I badly needed it.

  “I’ll call you when I get in,” I said firmly.

  He hesitated like he was going to argue, but then he didn’t. “I never pegged you for such a tease,” he grumbled.

  My shoulders sagged a bit with relief. Usually he didn’t make things this easy for me. Maybe he was finally getting to understand me just a little bit. But if I left him unfulfilled, he might change his mind tomorrow night and show up at the airport.

  My hand started moving again, and I didn’t try to stifle the low moan that rose from my throat. Brian might fully intend to abstain until he had me in person, but I was betting his self-control had limits.

  “Changed your mind about waiting?” he asked. His voice had dropped to a low growl that raised goose bumps on my skin.

  “Mm-hmm.” Listening carefully, I could hear the quickening of his breaths. I closed my eyes and once again imagined the sight of his hand stroking the smooth, silky skin I so loved to touch. The sensation was achingly real, heating my core.

  “You’re killing me.”

  My laugh was low and throaty. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Not a damn thing,” he replied, but it sure sounded like his teeth were gritted.

  “I’m so wet,” I murmured in my best fuck-me voice. “Don’t you wish you could touch me to see for yourself?”

  “You’re an evil, evil woman.”

  “Yeah, but it’s fun to be bad.” The heat gathered in my center, and I had to slow myself down. I had to push him past the point of no return before I let myself tumble over the cliff. “Are you being bad, Brian?”

  “I’m being a perfect angel,” he gasped, but that wasn’t what it sounded like.

  “I don’t think that’s your nose that’s growing, Pinocchio.”

  His laugh sounded almost desperate. I closed my eyes and visualized the sweat that glowed on his skin, the flush that colored his face, the salty-sweet drop of pre-cum that beaded on his tip. I bit my lip, hard, on the edge of control.

  “Can you feel me squeezing you tight with every stroke?” I asked, amazed I could form coherent words.

  “Don’t,” he protested, his breath coming ever faster. His rational mind might have wanted me to stop, but his body sure as hell didn’t.

  “Can you?” I asked again. Another muffled protest told me all I needed to know. My self-control broke, and I went screaming over the edge.

  Brian let out an anguished groan as he stopped fighting against the climax he knew damn well he wanted.

  For a few minutes afterward, we were both silent except for our gasps for breath.

  “I love you,” Brian said when he had the air for it.

  I sighed in contentment. “I love you, too.”

  “Call me the minute you get home.”

  “I will,” I promised, crossing my fingers like a ten-year-old. I’d call him when I was good and ready, and he knew that. But I promised myself that I wouldn’t make him—or myself, for that matter—wait long. As sweet as our mutual release had been, it couldn’t compare to the feeling of having the man I loved inside me when I came.

  When I hung up the phone, I had every intention of getting the rest of my clothes off and properly preparing for bed. But my limbs felt so languid, my body so lim
p, that I decided to close my eyes for just a few minutes first.

  I awoke the next morning groggy as hell, yawning every five seconds. It was weird, because according to the clock I’d slept a good ten hours. I should be fresh as a daisy. I chewed my lip as I made my way to the bathroom for my morning shower.

  Had I been sleepwalking again? It had happened on and off for the last couple of months, and this was how I usually felt in the morning. Of course, those other times I’d known I’d been sleepwalking because I’d awakened in the middle of it. Let me tell you, it’s disconcerting to wake up wandering around your living room at oh-dark-thirty.

  As far as I knew, I hadn’t been up and about last night, but I still felt like shit. Maybe it was just all the stress and trauma of the last couple of days. Yeah, that was it.

  But when I was packing my bags for my flight back to Philadelphia, I found a note, scribbled in my own handwriting, sitting on the desk by the phone.

  The demon didn’t take you because you’re already possessed.

  Damn. I guess I’d been up and about last night after all. I ripped the note off the pad of hotel stationery, crumpled it into a wad, and tossed it into the trash can. My skin felt cold and clammy.

  It was my subconscious at work, I knew that. As an exorcist, I just couldn’t leave the puzzle of why the demon didn’t take me alone. So clearly my subconscious had leapt to the most alarming conclusion it could manage, then left this little love note for me while I was sleepwalking.

  Nothing to worry about. I mean, if I was actually possessed, then the demon would be in full control of my body. You can’t be possessed and not know it. Besides, Val had looked at my aura and declared me clean.

  But demonic possession is my personal worst nightmare—hence, my career choice. And rational thought is no match for irrational fear, so that stupid note creeped me out no matter how I reasoned with myself.

  If the city of Topeka ever needs an exorcist again, you can bet I won’t be volunteering for the job.

  Chapter 3

  Guess who met me at the airport despite my very clear instructions not to? I should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily. Brian’s about as good at following orders as I am. When I saw him standing there waiting for me at baggage claim, I couldn’t decide if I was more pissed off he’d come or happy to see him.

  “He’s a keeper,” Val said out of the corner of her mouth, and I gave her a dirty look. She winked at me, then hurried away, leaving us two “lovebirds” alone.

  Val thinks I should have married Brian by now, and she rarely misses a chance to tell me so. He hasn’t asked me to marry him yet, but he has hinted—broadly—that we should move in together. Sometimes I think he and Val are tag-teaming the matchmaking game. Lucky for me, I see through their evil plan.

  I hugged him when he came to me, but I didn’t exactly melt into his arms.

  “I thought I told you I didn’t want you to meet me,” I muttered by his ear, then pulled away.

  Brian flashed me one of his all-American-boy smiles—the kind of smile that almost always defused me. Sometimes it was just easier to bask in the warmth of that smile than to fight with him.

  I sighed, still a little peeved, but that one damn smile had taken the edge off. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

  He snorted. “If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.” He bent to pick up my suitcase, and I just shook my head in defeat.

  “If I’m such a pain in the ass, why are you here?” I asked as I followed him out to the parking lot. I stayed a couple steps behind him, not because I couldn’t keep up but because I was annoyed.

  “Because you give such fantastic blow jobs,” he called over his shoulder, loud enough for everyone in a ten-yard radius to hear.

  My face went red hot, and I kept my eyes locked on the back of his head so I wouldn’t see how many people were giving me speculative looks. Brian loves to embarrass me. He thinks it’s funny that he can make this tough broad with the multiple earrings and the tattoo blush. When I’m in a good mood, I think it’s funny, too. I wasn’t in a good mood.

  I’d taken the train in from Bryn Mawr, so my car wasn’t here. Brian would drive me all the way out there, then drive all the way back to his condo in Center City. If I was a good girlfriend, I’d ask him to spend the night, spare him that extra drive. I doubted I would, though: not tonight.

  We didn’t say a word to each other when we got in the car. He was still grinning a little, enjoying my lingering embarrassment. I curled my sour mood around me like a security blanket.

  After he’d paid the exorbitant parking fee and got onto I-95, he opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off immediately.

  “If you’re planning to make another blow job comment, you won’t get another one for at least three years.” I can hold a grudge that long, easy.

  He laughed and put his hand on my thigh. I was irritated enough to push him away, but like I said, there is a lot of physical chemistry between us. The touch of his hand on my thigh instantly raised my pulse. And when his hand came right back, I let it stay.

  “There are only two ways to coax you out of a bad mood,” he said, watching the road instead of me. “Teasing and sex. You looked like you were in a bad enough mood to need a little of both.”

  I wanted to argue with him, but his fingers were moving up my thigh, finding their way to my zipper. When he started sliding the zipper down, I gathered my wits enough to grab his wrist.

  “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on driving?” I said, but my voice came out a little breathy. There’s always a lot of traffic on I-95, and technically he really should have had both hands on the wheel.

  “I’m concentrating enough. What are you wearing under these jeans?”

  My face heated. I really didn’t want to be jollied out of my mood, but it was hard to stay pissy when I was squirming with desire. Still, I tried.

  “White cotton granny panties.”

  A taxi cut us off, and Brian had stomp the brakes to prevent us from rear-ending the cab.

  The near-death experience didn’t faze him. “You don’t own a pair of white cotton granny panties.”

  Yes, Brian is that well acquainted with my underwear. “I didn’t pack enough underwear for an extended stay, so I bought some in Topeka.”

  “That so?” He gave me a sly look out of the corner of his eye. “Show me.”

  I grimaced. “Knock it off, Brian. I’m not in the mood.”

  He grinned at me. “I’ve noticed. And I’m doing my best to change that.”

  Why is it I never come out on top when arguing with Brian? Maybe because he’s a lawyer? Never stops me from trying, though.

  “Is that why you came to pick me up?” I asked. “Because you want to get laid?”

  “No,” he said slowly, patiently, “I picked you up because you’ve just been through hell and you don’t need to be alone tonight.”

  I crossed my arms and hunched down in the seat. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

  “You could have told me to shove off. But you didn’t.”

  I groaned and shook my head. The guy was like a little yappy dog that sinks its teeth into your pants leg then refuses to let go. Which is why he wins so many arguments with me—most sensible people would run the other way when I was in this bitchy a mood, but not him.

  “So are you going to show me these new white cotton granny panties of yours?” he continued. Yap, yap, yap. Grrr. Grrr.

  “Have I mentioned that you’re a pain in the ass?”

  “Yup,” he said cheerfully.

  And, damn it, I couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, you win. I’m not wearing any panties. There. Happy?” I tried to sound grumpy, but it didn’t work.

  “Ecstatic!” He reached for my zipper again. I batted his hand away.

  “Please can the foreplay until we get off the Expressway, okay?” Those of us who know and love it refer to the Schuylkill Expressway as the Sure-Kill Expressway, because yo
u take your life in your hands every time you get on it. And I’d rather Brian take my life in both his hands instead of just one.

  Hot-blooded though he was, Brian didn’t have a death wish, so he kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel until we’d gotten all the way past the Main Line and were on our way out to the suburbs. Then the banter and suggestive comments started again. And yes, he coaxed me into showing him my invisible panties. We’re lucky he didn’t slam into a tree while he inspected them.

  By the time we reached my street, my jeans were distinctly damp, his khaki trousers were about ready to explode, and I was seriously considering jumping his bones in the car.

  Until we pulled into my driveway, that is, and I saw a very familiar, very unwelcome car parked there.

  I muttered about twenty-three curses under my breath. Brian’s shoulders slumped, and he groaned in frustration. Nothing could kill the mood better than a visit from my big brother, Andrew.

  Andrew got out of his car and leaned against the driver-side door, waiting.

  Brian shook his head. “I guess this means I’m not getting laid tonight, huh?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Bummer.”

  He startled a laugh out of me and I turned toward him as I undid my seat belt. I reached out and touched his face.

  “Thanks for coming to meet me,” I said. It was a bad precedent to thank him for doing something I’d specifically asked him not to do, but I couldn’t deny I felt better now than when I’d gotten off the plane.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured, turning his head to plant a kiss on my palm.

  His kiss seemed to burn, and I realized I would need a cold, cold shower tonight before going to bed.

  I reluctantly lowered my hand from his face and reached for the door. He touched my arm, and I raised my eyebrow.

  “Your zipper,” he reminded me with an evil grin.

  I mumbled a curse and zipped up.

  “I love you,” Brian said as I slipped out.

  “Love you, too,” I replied automatically, then dragged my luggage out of the backseat. “Drive safe.”