Demon's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  “So you were saying. About Ian…”

  Her smile slipped and then faded altogether; his disdain for Ian flared again.

  “Ian. Ian,” she said, the love she held for him—and the exhaustion he caused—carried on the weight of the word. “What can I say about Ian?”

  She sighed yet again, but he waited, suppressing the urge to rush her or to find Ian and break his hands.

  She tapped the fry she held against the plate and then dropped it in clear disgust.

  “It’s an awful thing to admit, not to mention say out loud, but I almost wish he was addicted to drugs or gambling or whatnot.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s probably stupid, but I always thought if his problem were something I could target, isolate, like drugs, I’d have a fighting chance to help it. I mean, I see how addiction ruins lives, see it every day in fact, but at least that’s something specific. With Ian, it’s almost like fucking up is his addiction, you know what I mean?”

  He huffed. “I think I do.”

  A far-off look came into her eyes, and she looked over as if staring into the past.

  “We are only eleven months apart, spent all our time with our grandmother. We were so close growing up. Donnie and Marie. Michael and Janet. But even when we were kids, there was trouble. Small stuff. Him asking me to help with his homework, which I’d end up just doing myself. Just hanging around with the wrong crowd, going from minor scrape to scrape…”

  “He’s violent?” Demon heard the note of urgency in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

  Shayla’s gaze snapped to his and she shook her head emphatically. “Oh no! Never. I guess instead of ‘scrape’ I should say ‘trouble.’ He made messes and usually ended up alienating people, but he was always well liked and got along with everyone. You’ve met him, seen how good he is with people.”

  Demon thought the guy was a jerkoff and had the very first time he’d seen him, but he reserved his comment.

  “He just…he never wants to work for anything, always looks for the easy path, easy money, easy women, easy life. I don’t think he’s realized how hard it actually is.”

  “Why would he? You won’t let him.”

  Chapter Eight

  Shayla felt her jaw slacken at his sharp tone, and she refocused her gaze on him, his jaw set, lips a tight line of disapproval, eyes chips of moss-green ice. It was a startling shift from the easy, carefree vibe she’d grown accustomed—and looked forward—to. For the first time, she felt like she was seeing behind his facade, and while there were hints of his fun-loving self, there was also another dimension, something harder, more complicated, almost dangerous. It was a heady combination, and she felt herself dampening at the sight of the fierce, unyielding man sitting across from her.

  It was almost a farce, Shayla Rodgers, MD, undeniably turned on while sharing fries with some guy who was probably a criminal and discussing her screwup brother’s moral failings. She laughed bitterly, but wouldn’t let his meddling go without a fight.

  “How dare you?”

  “What? How dare I acknowledge what you refuse to?” he asked, his voice remaining light but threaded with iron.

  She glared at him, but his gaze didn’t waver an iota. He was supposed to be fun, a distraction; he was most certainly not supposed to challenge her.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said with a resolve she didn’t feel, not that she’d reveal that to him.

  “So explain, then,” he said as he leaned back, the casual, loose way he held his body at odds with his no-nonsense stare.

  She huffed. “Jesus, how is this my fault? I’m just trying to support my only sibling while my grandmother is dying.” She felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head. “You know what? I’m done. I’m not even going to further dignify this conversation with a response.”

  She stood and rushed out of the restaurant, an almost identical scenario to the first time they’d been there, though this time rather than being driven by anger, she was driven by fear of her desire for him, fear that she might act on it. And from herself, from what he made her feel, good and bad.

  He didn’t try to stop her, and she squelched the tiny kernel of disappointment that bloomed in her chest as she got into her car and drove off. That disappointment turned to pleasure—and annoyance—when she pulled into her driveway and spied him there, leaning against his car like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “How’d you even get here so fast? And how do you know where I live?” she asked as she walked up the driveway and opened the door, him following.

  “I was motivated, and I’m quite resourceful when I need to be,” he said as he walked in behind her, closed the door, and turned the dead bolt.

  “Those were rhetorical questions. You heard of those?” she snapped snidely.

  “You can try to make me feel stupid if you want, Shayla. But you can’t push me away; I’m not leaving until we finish this conversation.”

  “Why do you even care?” she asked, the question coming out far more imploring than she’d intended.

  Their gazes locked.

  “It’s not in my interest to, believe me,” he said cryptically. “But you’re a good person. You shouldn’t be involved in this. He shouldn’t let you be involved,” Demon said, his conviction only underscored by the anger in his voice.

  She walked toward him, finger extended. “I’m a grown woman. No one ‘lets’ me do anything. I make my own choices.”

  She poked his chest for emphasis, and he grabbed her hand, laced his fingers through hers.

  “You really believe that, don’t you?” he said, his conviction and anger softening into something far too much like pity for Shayla’s liking.

  “Of course I do. I know it,” she said as she snatched her hand away and turned, “and if you knew anything about me, you’d know it too.”

  She felt him stalk behind her, his closeness, his scent adding arousal to the combustible mix of emotions already coursing through her. The press of his body against her back made her sigh and as embarrassing as it was, she leaned into him, craving his strength, trusting that he would hold her.

  “I know more than you think,” he said, his warm breath scraping along her neck and leaving goose bumps in its wake. “I know you’re tough, strong, and far too forgiving.” The words were punctuated by soft kisses to her neck. “I know that I’d never put you in danger, let you risk yourself to save my own skin. And I know that it pisses me the fuck off that someone else does.” His words were almost growls now, and Shayla couldn’t deny that the tone, directed at her, concerned with her well-being and hers alone, was further weakening her already shaky defenses.

  He continued his kisses, trailing them down her neck and to her shoulder, adding an occasional nip with his teeth or lave of his tongue, stroking his stubbled jaw against her smooth skin and pausing briefly to chuckle at the soft little pants she gave in return. He also splayed a hand across her waist, pushing her ass back into his throbbing erection. She rolled her hips and pressed against him harder, the feel of his cock pressed against her ass making her nipples tingle and the lips of her sex dampen. But the meager contact wasn’t enough, so, eyes still sealed shut, she reached between their bodies and touched him, both of them moaning at the same time. The last shreds of reason fled.

  For a moment, she cradled him in her palm, tracing the shape of his cock as best she could through the heavy denim of his jeans. The languid heat that had pooled in her belly sharpened, and the deep thrum of arousal that stabbed through her spurred her into action. She had to have this man inside her, needed to feel his cock pierce her, needed him to pound everything else away.

  She traced his length one last time and then reached up to her waist and fumbled with the fastening of her pants for a few seconds before remembering they had an elastic band and she could simply pull them down. She did so without hesitation, and fears of exposing her giant ass and thighs scattered like dus
t in the wind. That didn’t matter now; nothing else but having him inside her did. After turning and bracing herself against the couch, she spread her legs shoulder-width apart and arched her back, hoping he’d take her silent but not remotely subtle invitation, give her what she so desperately craved, give her him.

  ••••

  Demon almost came at the sight, her shirt still on, pants around her ankles, her ass round and high, her smooth brown skin bared to him. It was both intimate and lurid, something he’d never experienced, and he suspected, something she hadn’t experienced either. His heart stuttered at the knowledge of the gift she was giving him: her body, yes, but, more significantly, her trust. It was clear in the way she stood, body tense with desire, but somehow also open, yielding. For him.

  He felt honored, an emotion he hadn’t much cause to experience, and he silently promised her, and himself, that he wouldn’t betray this gift.

  He stepped close, and pressing his hips into hers, he ran his hands up the backs of her thighs before moving his hand in big sweeping circles over her hips and ass cheeks. Her skin was silky smooth, her large cheeks perfectly round, the flesh full and tempting. He thrust his hips against her ass, cock hardening at the push of flesh against flesh. Then he swooped one hand to her front, ran his fingers through the curls that covered her mound, and went further, tracing a finger across her slick lips, the hair that covered them damp with her moisture. He spread her lips apart and traced a finger over her hole, so hot and so wet and all for him.

  “Mmm,” she cried out on a panted moan when he inserted one finger, quickly followed by another, into her moist cavern. The snug grip of her pussy around his fingers only made him want to feel her around his cock. But he wouldn’t rush it, wanted to give her the attention and pleasure she deserved. He scissored his fingers back and forth, opening her, and at the same time, he began to strum her clit, alternating between swipes and pinches. Her cream now coated his fingers, and he could feel in the way she clamped down on him and in the tight strain of her muscles that she was on the precipice.

  “It’s okay. Come for me, Shayla,” he whispered in her ear before he nipped her lobe.

  She shivered and he felt her walls clamp down even harder, the words seeming to unlock something. Shayla went even more rigid and then came apart in his arms, calling out her pleasure on a series of broken moans as tremors racked her body. It was an amazing sight, this beautiful, strong woman riding the wave of satisfaction that he’d given her. He wanted to give her more, wanted to be a part of it, so he pulled his fingers from her cunt, smiling at her protesting mewl, at the way that she instinctively pressed against him, seeking more, at the rich aroma of her essence on his fingers. He quickly retrieved a condom and sheathed himself. Hands gripping her full hips, he let his cock slide between her thighs and it unerringly found her opening, the heat and moisture centered there still scorching, even through the latex.

  He gave one tentative thrust, another, when she placed her hand on his and said, “Now, Demon, please now.”

  The words, the breathy tone of her voice, sent shocks of pleasure skittering down his spine, and rather than respond, he thrust up. The head of his condom-covered cock pierced her, and she sighed her relief, breath leaving her in a rush. He wrapped an arm around her waist and continued to push, seating himself inside her slowly, inch by inch until he was buried balls-deep, his pelvis pressing against her ass, his thighs curved under hers. His knees went weak at the sensation of her silken walls cradling his cock. He wanted to pound into her, but she was too tight for that, so he began thrusting at a leisurely pace, giving her time to adjust to his intrusion and enjoying the feel of her surrounding him. She leaned back, tried to force him to increase his tempo, so he clamped his hands down on her waist, held her still, and continued. But soon, the fire of arousal burned through him, and he couldn’t maintain his measured movements, so he found himself moving faster and faster, an almost primitive need driving him to take her. His sac drew up close to his body, a sure sign of his impending climax. He wanted her to go with him, intended to make it so, so he stroked her still-engorged clit as he jackhammered into her, her melodic moans proving that she was again on the edge.

  After one last stroke and a swipe of her clit, he held her tight against him, and they came together, him on a long, low moan, her on an exhausted exhale. He held her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his hips pressed to hers, cock still buried inside her; the warm, solid weight beneath him was a disorienting mix of comfort and arousal that made his heart beat even faster. He wished they could stay like this forever, as close as two people could be, the craziness of the outside world completely separate and unable to penetrate the bubble they’d created. But then she shifted and the movement dislodged him. They sighed in unison, and he didn’t doubt that Shayla felt the loss as acutely as he did.

  Desperate to hold the moment for as long as he could, he kissed the tender skin that connected her neck and shoulder and caressed her ass with one hand as he cupped her breast with the other, tweaking her ripe, pebbled nipple. He was rewarded with another sigh, and Shayla pushed back against him. To his amazement, he felt blood rush to his groin and despite his recent climax, the stir of arousal fluttered through him.

  Vaguely, he heard the squeal of tires and low roar of what sounded like several engines, and Shayla, having heard it as well apparently, stiffened and shrank away from him.

  “It’s okay,” he said to the startled expression on her face and then kissed her again, trying to soothe her.

  “I know,” she said, waving a hand. “It’s nothing. We’ve been getting more random traffic, motorcycles and whatnot in the neighborhood recently, but the police say it’s just jerks who don’t care about common courtesy.”

  He caressed her cheek again, tried to rekindle the connection. But the spell was broken; he could tell in the line of her shoulders and back, so pliant and welcoming just moments ago, but which now practically screamed, Do! Not! Touch!

  He rested against her an instant longer and then stepped back in an unspoken admission of surrender, at least for now. Then he watched her repair her clothing, hands steady, her smooth, efficient movements reminding him of his own state of undress and leading him to adjust his own clothing and wrap the discarded condom in a tissue.

  When she turned to look at him, the vulnerable, willing woman who had stood before him seconds ago was gone, replaced with the coolly efficient professional facade she so easily—and often—displayed. Her mask was back in place, and there was no evidence of what had happened between them at all. He bristled at the thought that she could so easily brush aside the moment, and he heard himself say, “This happened. You can’t pretend it didn’t.”

  Her gaze flew up to his, revealing shock, before she completely schooled her features and became the robot again.

  “Of course it happened,” she said, her tone infuriatingly even. “But it means nothing.”

  It means everything, he wanted to say, disgusted by the lie and by the fact that she thought him unobservant enough to believe it.

  Instead, he took a different tact, picking up the subject that had led to this all. “Shayla, I’m serious. Don’t go back to the fights.”

  When she looked away, he reached up and placed a hand under her chin, tracing her lips with his thumb as he tilted her head toward him. It occurred to him that he hadn’t kissed her since that first time, and, unable to resist, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his, smiling when he was reminded they really were as soft and succulent as they looked. She reached up and grabbed the ends of his hair, tangling her fingers in the strands and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Their tongues dueled in a battle for dominance, and when she finally sighed her defeat, he pulled her close, bringing her body flush against his before he pulled back.

  “Don’t go back, Shayla,” he said, his voice stern.

  As if in a trance, she stepped closer and hugged him fiercely, resting her head on his chest. He squeezed her, wan
ted her to know that she wasn’t alone.

  “It’s not safe,” he said, softer this time.

  “Then it’s not safe for you either,” she responded, voice muffled.

  He couldn’t help but laugh at her deadpan tone.

  “We’re talking about you. Why do you insist on doing this, Shayla? I know Ian has you in this. Is it money? What?”

  She placed her hands on his chest and looked up at him.

  “I have to protect him.” Her face crumpled. “I love him, and pretty soon he’s going to be all I have left.”

  He remembered her comment about her grandmother, supporting her only sibling, and it all clicked into place. He’d known how much Shayla wanted to protect Ian, but this gave things a new dimension. She thought, misguided as it was, that she was saving her family.

  “Shayla, I know what you’re trying to do, but this isn’t the way.”

  “Then what is?” she implored.

  “I’ll think of something. But you can’t go back.”

  He looked her in the eye, held her gaze to show how serious he was. Her lips tightened, but she didn’t contradict him, so he counted that as a win.

  “I’m going now. I know you have to feed your cat,” he said, wanting to brighten her spirits.

  She laughed, a light tinkle of sound that seemed to surprise her. Unable to resist, he gave her one last kiss and left.

  Chapter Nine

  After he left, Shayla peeled off her clothes and climbed into bed. Nana would have killed her, cleanliness and godliness and all that, but she didn’t care. She was bone-tired from the day, sex sleepy from the night, and more than she wanted to admit, she wasn’t quite ready to wash off traces of Demon.

  She couldn’t suppress the chuckle at his name. Silly name for a silly man, yet she wouldn’t pretend she wasn’t infused with warmth at the sound of it, by the man himself. She lay on her back staring at the ceiling, goofy smile that she couldn’t wipe away spread across her face. When she shifted her body, it set off a series of throbs between her legs, and her pussy clenched, grasping at the remembered feel of his thick cock filling her, the emptiness that he’d left in his wake burning inside her, making her crave him again. She wished he’d stayed. That sweet pang in her womb was something she suspected only he could satisfy, but beyond that, she just wanted him, wanted to hold him, touch him, stare into those twinkling eyes.