Sweet Disgrace

by Cherrie Lynn

  She stunned him to his core when she lifted herself from his embrace and crawled to her knees without losing the contact with his mouth, without releasing her hold on him. There on the ground, he sat back as she shifted and straddled him, staring up at her with something akin to astonishment. And there in his gaze, she seemed to check herself. She froze, lips hovering mere centimeters from his, fingers digging into his shoulders.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered. Those eyes were so close to his it was like a whole other world opening up in front of his face.

  She was going to stop; he was about to lose her. That was…best, really. It was. She would never have to know just how deceptive he truly was. He told himself this as he sat and looked at her and decided he would sell his own soul—or whatever it was he had—to touch her…really, truly allow himself to touch her. Everywhere.

  Celeste’s thumb gently traced over his eyebrow, her gaze searching his face. “Your eyes look normal again.”

  He opened his mouth to remark that was surprising, considering the agony she’d put him in, but what he said was, “Do I frighten you?”

  A crease appeared in her ordinarily smooth, flawless forehead. “Many times you have.”

  The thought had occurred to him before. But since she knew he posed no threat to her while they were on assignment, he’d dismissed the notion. She’d often seemed appalled by him, surely exasperated, but never truly afraid.

  “I would never hurt you,” he said, and meant it completely.

  “Well, you can’t, not while—”

  “I wouldn’t. Ever. Hurt you.”

  She was trembling against him. One touch, he told himself, that was all. He dropped his hand to her thigh, slid it upward, felt the firmness of the muscle beneath the silky fabric of her robes. Her head lolled back and she pushed her hips toward him with exquisite abandon. His thumb brushed the juncture of her thighs through the material, and a tiny cry escaped her swollen lips. The slim white column of her throat bared to him so fully, so trustingly, was too much to resist, and he dragged his mouth down the creamy expanse as his hand sought entrance under her garment.

  She stiffened as he gained it, every muscle tight and on alert, but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop him. Only gave the most seductive moan he’d ever heard as his fingertips found soft, hot, welcoming wetness—

  A sudden sound from the house broke the spell. Celeste jerked away from him, scrambling backwards as if fleeing a venomous snake about to strike. She jumped to her feet, still exhibiting a grace that made him think of an offended feline, and quickly smoothed her robes down with several swipes of her hands.

  He sat, forlorn and grudgingly devastated, while she looked down at herself as if just now realizing she could move again instead of only rolling on the ground in agony.

  “It worked,” she said wonderingly.

  Oh, yes, it worked. It had worked all too well. The dark energy he’d pulled into himself was still boiling, turning his thoughts red. He was so hard the only image his mind could conjure was taking her back to the ground and shoving his aching cock as deep inside her as he could get it. Feverishly he wondered if she would arch against him with the same liquid fluidity with which she moved. If her voice would carry its usual sweet lilt when he finally made her cry out his name. Or, even better, would he evoke such fierce, violent reactions in her that she might sound almost as savage as he knew he would?

  It was the only relief he could imagine—fucking her until all those centuries of lust were out of his system for good.

  And that might take a while.

  Now, he managed to compress all that hunger, all that desperation. He beat it into submission and smoothed it over with one carefully controlled utterance. “I told you.”

  “Thank you. That was…unexpected.”

  “That I kept my word? Or that you liked it?”

  Her lips parted as if she meant to snap an automatic retort, then she closed them again. She wouldn’t want to lie, after all. What came out of her mouth then wasn’t what he’d anticipated.

  “Will you…give me some time alone with Adam?”

  Frowning, he got to his feet. He’d had enough of her looking down on him. “Why?”

  “Please do this for me. Leave him alone for the next few hours, that’s all I ask.”

  She was striving for normalcy, apparently wanting to pretend she hadn’t just had his fingers between her legs, so he matched her. “You know, doing all of these favors for you is getting a trifle exhausting.”

  “What favors? Everything you offer is wrapped up in your own selfish motivations. This is the first true favor I’ve asked of you.”

  What could she be plotting? He waved a hand and sighed. “Fine. I don’t see what it can possibly hurt, so go on. I don’t care.”

  “Thank you.” Eagerly, she turned as if to run away, then whirled back to face him. “Again.”

  “I’m giving you two hours,” he said crossly, annoyed by her enthusiasm, but making a point to look unconcerned. “And then I’m torturing him enough to make up for it.”

  She rolled her eyes and disappeared in a flash of golden light.

  The lavish hotel suite was dark despite the dawn breaking outside. Celeste moved silently into the bedroom, where Adam and Melody’s softly breathing forms lay on the bed wrapped in dreams. The heavy drapes were pulled closed over every window, but she could see well enough. Adam was on his back, a frown marring his features even in sleep. His dreams were troubling him.

  She had yet to stop trembling herself. Getting back on the job fast was the only thing she’d been able to think of to get her mind straight again. But she could still feel the gentle bluntness of those long, tapered fingers…

  What might have happened if they’d been somewhere else, far from any distractions?

  She could have easily given in. If Damael wasn’t lying to her, it would have saved Adam.

  Saving Adam was her job.

  Confusion engulfed her whole. She wanted Damael, she wanted to save Adam. What was the problem?

  Damael held all the cards. She felt her lips twist with disgust. That was the problem now, and always. That damned demon always had the upper hand, no matter what. But despite what her traitorous body dictated, she still had a choice in this.

  It all depended on Adam.

  Sighing, she moved to his side and sat, leaning forward to place her hand on his forehead. Almost immediately, his turmoil all but engulfed her. His fear, his dread and anxiety. She pushed against it, forcing it to yield to her light, and watched his expression relax and smooth over.

  Oh, God. She was actually considering this.

  No second guessing now. Concentrating, she gave another push, this one taking her straight into the middle of his thoughts.

  She hated it. Hated wading through the weight of human emotion, because what she found was usually shocking or appalling to her. If she saw something in Adam that caused her to have that reaction now…

  Focusing her energy, she took control of his subconscious, his dreams. She allowed him to set the scene, giving him freedom to show her what was truly inside him.

  She should have known. The setting that formed out of the hazy, slumbering fog of his mind was a stage.

  It was empty except for a mic stand under the spotlight, and the rest of the huge arena was dark and open and echoing. The seats in the upper deck area disappeared into the shadows clinging to the ceiling all around. They might have gone on and on forever.

  Maybe that was his fantasy, to have an endless audience. Maybe he was as greedy for fame as Damael accused.

  Celeste kept to her own shadows off to the side, watching as Adam walked out onto the stage and looked around. He was wearing a simple red T-shirt and ripped jeans, his long black hair trailing down his back. His feet were bare. He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and ambled up to the microphone stand, staring at it for a long time before reaching up and laying one hand on the top.

  After a moment, he grabbed it w
ith the other hand as well, and his head fell forward. His shoulders began heaving.

  Drawn by his suffering, she moved swiftly toward him, reaching out to lay a hand on his trembling arm. But even she couldn’t reach through this. He didn’t react to her touch.

  “Adam.”

  Only then did he lift his head and look at her. He was pale, his eyes…dark. Haunted, as she’d thought before. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he was striking with angular features and full, sensual lips. His hands remained wrapped around the mic as if it would somehow protect him.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice soft but hoarse. His eyes were bloodshot.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  He swallowed, throat muscles constricting. His gaze took in the full measure of her, her robes, what he could see of her wings. “I believe you.”

  There was no point in sugar-coating things. “Rather, I can help you. But first, Adam…I need to know if you’re worthy of it.” She felt wretched even as she said it. Who had appointed her judge and jury? No one, certainly, but she simply had to know who this person was. Would he be grateful for her help? Would he even care? Or was he as selfish and greedy as Damael claimed?

  He didn’t seem to like the sound of that, his expression slackening as if all hope had fled him. All at once the lines in his face seemed to deepen.

  “Does that worry you?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I figure I’m pretty much screwed.”

  “Tell me why.”

  He shrugged, looking out at some distant point in the endless sea of seats. “I’m no fu— I’m no saint. I’ve done…things.”

  “I’m not here to judge the things you’ve done. All of that is on file and I’ve read every word. But it only gives me facts. I want to know you. I want to know why you did it. And you can’t lie to me, not here. So, will you tell me that?”

  He knew exactly what she was talking about. In waking life he could pretend the encounter with Damael hadn’t happened, but here, deep in his subconscious where he was so tormented, he knew. It was right on the surface. She saw his expression undergo a transformation at the mere mention of it, from slack fear to outright terror. But his voice remained steady. “I didn’t know…”

  “That isn’t good enough. Give me more than that. You gave your soul to a demon. A demon, Adam. Even if you didn’t read one single word on that contract, you had to know what the repercussions of that would be. You had to know this day would come.”

  He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the memory. “I knew, but I didn’t. It’s complicated. When you’re seventeen, twenty years seems like forever. Back then I could pretend this day would never come. And the things he promised me…it was everything I ever dreamed about. I know most kids dream big, but it was more than that to me. It was like if I couldn’t have it, if I couldn’t sing and have people listen, I didn’t see the point in living.”

  “How long had you been singing?”

  He shrugged. “Since I was about four. The only decent foster mom I ever had used to sing to me, and she would teach me songs. It’s weird. I can’t remember her face, but I can hear her voice as clearly as if it were yesterday. It was beautiful.”

  She could hear that voice faintly, because he was thinking of it. It was beautiful. “What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. They moved me back with my real mom when she supposedly got clean, but within a couple of months, she was using again. So eventually they kicked me back into the system and placed me somewhere else.”

  “How did the demon approach you?”

  A shudder seemed to work its way through him. “By then I was living in L.A. in a one-bedroom apartment with the guys in the band, but for some reason everyone was gone that day. I was alone in the bedroom, picking out something on my guitar. This…guy suddenly walked into the room like he belonged there. For a second I didn’t look up because I thought it was one of my roommates coming in, but then he just stood there, and all at once I felt like the air was sucked out of the room. I couldn’t breathe. I looked up and saw him, and his eyes…his eyes were…”

  “What did he say to you?” she demanded, before she could lose him to the frightening nature of his recollections. Homing in on the rapid fire images flashing through his head, she could discern hazy scraps of memory here and there. Damael’s intense, unblinking black stare. His cold beauty. The enticing lull of his voice.

  “He said…‘Adam Mathewson, I’m here to grant you your heart’s desire.’ I’d been smoking up from my friend’s stash, and I remember thinking Derek’s dealer must have sold him some bad shit if I was seeing freaky looking dudes with weird eyes walking into my bedroom. He was one scary motherfu—” He caught himself again and cringed. “Sorry. But there he was, telling me everything I wanted to hear. I would sing. Millions of people would hear me and love me. No more rat-hole apartment and rehearsing in my friend’s parents’ garage. I’d be rich. We’d all be rich. Platinum CDs. Touring the world. Booze and drugs and groupies falling all over us. All I had to do was sign.”

  “And you did it.”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “He explained what you were giving up?”

  “He said he got my soul at the end of twenty years. I was like, ‘Yeah, whatever, dude.’ The soul wasn’t really even something I believed in. You die, you’re dead, you know?”

  “I’m all too familiar with that mentality, yes. He made you sign in your own blood?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” he said, as if he’d nearly forgotten that point. “All he did was run his finger across the back of my hand, but it cut me somehow. I dipped the quill in my blood and signed, and the cut healed right in front of my eyes.”

  “Did he coerce you in any way?”

  “No, not in any words, but…I didn’t feel like I could refuse him, either, you know?”

  Celeste sighed, hugging herself and pacing slowly away. Yes, she knew. She knew all too well. But Damael had done all that was required where Adam was concerned. In fact, he’d gone above and beyond by explaining the terms. Most of his kind were unrepentant tricksters. “So, you believed him when he told you everything he would give you, but not when he told you what he would require in return?”

  Adam’s gaze followed her as she moved. “I didn’t really believe any of it. Like I said, I thought it was a bad trip. I went along for the ride. Like, ‘Fame and money and rock stardom, sure man, point me in the direction.’ But the thing is, at the same time, I wanted it to be real. I hoped it would be real. And then things started happening, and I began to wonder, but…still couldn’t fully make myself believe what I’d done was legit.”

  “But you know better now. At this moment, at least.” He remained silent. She stopped and looked at him. “Do you ever remember a time when you asked out loud for a deal like that? Normally they only put in the effort to appear to you when they think there’s a real chance they can win.”

  “It was a long time ago. Most of it’s a haze. I don’t know.”

  She didn’t have time to riffle through his memory, and it was of no great importance aside from her burning curiosity, anyway. “Very well. Tell me more. Tell me about your daughter. I understand you rarely see her.”

  The heartbreak that filled his eyes then almost made her start toward him, but she stood her ground. “I love that little girl more than I can ever explain. But I figure the best I can do for Alexa is provide a good life for her and stay the hell out of it.”

  “She needs you.”

  “My ex is remarried. Her husband’s a good guy, a stable guy. I know he’s better for Alexa than I am. So I stay away. I’m always either on the road or in the studio, anyway, and what kind of life is that for a kid? I’ve seen the other guys try to make it work. I don’t want to be like that. What kind of a hypocrite would I be, trying to teach her what’s right when I live the life I do?”

  “That’s a cop-out. She’s ten years old, correct? Why don’t you at l
east give her the opportunity to make that decision for herself? Because I can tell you, Adam, that she misses her father. She wants her father. She sees his face on the cover of all the rock magazines and she asks her mother to buy them for her so she can at least have new pictures.”

  He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Oh, God. Why are you telling me this?”

  “To see if you care.”

  “Of course I fucking care. But she doesn’t know me anymore, she doesn’t know—” He broke off, turning away from her and facing the vacant, eerily echoing arena. She stared at his back, seeing the tension thrumming in his tall, lean frame. From the jerking motions of his arms, she figured he was furiously wiping tears off his face.

  “Tell me about Melody. How do you feel about her?”

  His anguished reply was little more than a whisper. “I love her. Aside from Alexa, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She tries to keep me grounded, but sometimes I think I’m too much for her to handle.”

  “You’ve been together for a few years, right? How did you meet her?”

  “Backstage at a show. Tulsa. She was a local girl, but the second I saw her…” He gave a small laugh. “We were huge by then, but she didn’t know who the hell I was. She was back there with a friend who’d won passes or something, looking scared to death. Nothing like the groupies usually prowling around. I could tell right away she was different. I walked up on her, acting all cool, and she gave me the brush-off. It drove me insane. I had to have her. So I got her number from her friend and harassed her until she agreed to fly out to one of our tour stops and see me.”

  More memories, these far dreamier, more tranquil. Melody’s pretty face laughing at him. Telling him she loved him no matter what. Celeste blushed at the nature of some of the visions, one in particular standing out from the others: Adam telling Melody how beautiful she was as she trembled with nervousness and insecurity the first time they made love.

  “I haven’t let her go since,” he went on, “but I’ve been a shit to her. I can’t believe that woman has hung in for this long. If I were her, I’d have told me to go to hell a long time ago. Looks like that’s my destination after all, isn’t it?”