by Anne Conley
As one, mouths opened in the walls and a warped shrieking rose all around her. Cynthia was powerless to do anything but cover her own ears and join them with screams of her own.
She awoke in her own bed, sheets twisted around her legs, screaming.
Gasping, Cynthia looked around at her familiar surroundings, forcing a calm into her herself with huge gulping breaths. Damn pineal gland. She had no idea exactly what effects this tumor was having on her brain, but Cynthia now had another reason to look forward to her surgery. If it worked.
After the first dream, Cynthia had gone back to sleep, only to be woken repeatedly by more dreams. The first one was the only one with the handsome man looking sexy. The rest were filled with visions of him in various, consecutively more frightening beastly disguises—dragons, demons, even a dream starring a horrific moth decorated with distorted skulls on its wings. If she were a spiritual woman, she might have believed the dreams were telling her something. But she wasn’t.
She knew her brain was trying to create some sort of outlet during her ‘restful’ hours. While it’s a myth that humans only use ten percent of their brain, it’s astounding to realize the mysteries behind the particular organ. Cynthia found the brain fascinating, and she’d studied it in depth for her research with the fragrance, enough to know these dreams were totally unexplainable. She also knew she’d gotten no actual ‘rest’ last night.
Which was what Cynthia told herself when she continued to see the handsome man in inexplicable places. Her mind was playing tricks on her when she smelled his earthy, scorched scent in her sheets. Her imagination showed him to her in the foggy mirror after her shower. And those tortured eyes she’d seen through the window of the coffee shop this morning were just more evidence she hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night.
It wasn’t until she thought she saw him there the second day, tormented dark pools under shaggy black eyebrows and a shock of black hair, she stopped. Cynthia had already passed the man before her brain registered those eyes tracking her movements, and she went back into the coffee shop to find him sitting at a small table by the window. Where he could watch her.
Stalker much?
While it was creepy that he seemed to be following her, there was a pull to this man Cynthia couldn’t deny. Each time she thought she saw him, her pulse started beating erratically, and her body started pumping dopamine. As the hormone hit the different neurotransmitters in her brain, the physical reaction to seeing the man spread through her body in the form of pleasure—pure, unadulterated addiction. She had to be near him, to get more. And she didn’t even know him.
It was terrifying. But terrifying like a drug to which she didn’t want to form an addiction because she knew how good it would be.
She couldn’t help but think residual effects of the fragrance had triggered some sort of response in the man to make him follow her. The scientist in her wanted to question him, find out what was causing him to think she was worthy of his attentions.
Allowing her curiosity to win over caution, she walked over to where he sat, his dark gaze piercing her as she moved.
“Hi,” she offered. Gesturing to the crowded coffee shop, she asked, “Come here often?” Lame joke, she knew, but Cynthia was trying to get a conversation going with this mysterious stranger.
He shrugged, offering her a weak smile. “Not until yesterday. I like it. Good espresso.” He took a sip out of the tiny cup made even smaller in his enormous hands. Despite his innocent words, he gave off a dangerous vibe.
Cynthia couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly, except possibly the way he held himself, every muscle tense, as if coiled to attack. It reminded her of the dream, where he’d been holding on to his control by a thread, ready to snap and devour her any second. Lust poured through her, and she shook it off.
He didn’t have any visible scars to indicate he was a fighter. In fact, he looked perfect—strong, chiseled cheek bones, a square jaw, and a Roman nose. He looked at her curiously, eyebrows raised, but not taunting her. Cynthia thought she must look ridiculous, standing there, staring at him.
“This is creepy, you know.” She gestured around, vaguely, at a loss for words but needing to say something.
His tossed a smirk her way, the first tangible evidence of some sort of danger. His smirk was certainly deadly if used with the wrong intentions. Of that, Cynthia had no doubts. “What?” he asked, the picture of innocence, eyebrows raised, eyes laughing.
“You following me.” Maybe she should cut him some slack. “Or at least turning up everywhere I go.” Taking a deep breath to fortify her nerves, she continued with a lame chuckle. “The least you can do is ask me to dinner.”
This guy was a conundrum. When he wasn’t aware she was watching him, he seemed lost, unsure of himself. But when he was focused on her, he was eerily self-assured. As if he knew women better than anything else and was manipulating her. But when Cynthia said he should ask her to dinner, he reacted in a way that challenged her thoughts about him.
He nearly dropped his tiny cup, setting it down so fast. She giggle inwardly at his sudden awkwardness. It was odd to see a man so beautiful, so seemingly self-assured, so dangerous, be flustered.
“You want to go to dinner with me?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe the luck, but if Cynthia was honest with herself, after the first part of the dream she’d had a couple of nights ago, dinner was the least she wanted with this guy. His eyes searched her face, as if looking for the catch, while he waited for her answer.
“No.” She giggled when she saw his face tighten at her teasing. He pushed his chair back with a heavy sigh. “But lunch would be a nice first step.”
His face melted into a grin so perfect it made Cynthia’s knees weak to the point she had to sink into the chair opposite the man. Definitely dangerous. She’d never experienced that sort of physical reaction to a man before. Maybe the fragrance was having some sort of residual effect on her, too?
“And you have to tell me your name. I need to know who’s taking me to lunch tomorrow.” Where her voice came from, she had no idea. Up until she’d spoken, she hadn’t thought she’d be able to, not around the sudden flopping of her stomach and the bubbles rising up her esophagus, lodging in her throat.
His smile deepened as he extended his hand. “Damien. My name’s Damien.”
Damien had known pleasure before. Lots of it. In fact, that was probably what caused his downfall in the first place. His sole purpose for existence was to trick the worthy, to find out who was unworthy. He was known as The Deceiver, The Trickster in some mythologies. But he’d gotten pleasure from it. He’d taken joy in his purpose and gone above and beyond, invoking his Father’s ire. That was back when The Boss was all fiery brimstone and death to the unworthy. He’d changed, which was probably why He’d decided to give Damien a chance at redemption.
Damien realized that now, for the first time ever, he wanted to give someone else pleasure. The all-too human emotion had been a tool for him for so many years. Giving them things they thought brought pleasure, using their own desires against them, their own gratification. Human pride. A short fall from pride to hedonism, which he loved.
The next day, he sat across from Cyn on their lunch date. His thoughts centered around how he could bring her pleasure, help her fall into hedonism, that base animalistic indulgence of lust in which two people who felt a certain connection could indulge.
He knew she was willing; Damien could sense the desire radiating off her in waves. She wanted him, probably was having her own little hedonistic fantasy about him right now. But he knew she was supposed to be more, he just wasn’t sure how it was supposed to happen. Could he lose her? Was that the trick? He was still convinced another shoe was about to drop.
They’d ordered and made some awkward small-talk, but he needed to go deeper. He knew his time with her was limited. He could sense that, too. Damien had been too distracted the first time he’d seen her to perceive the disease inside her, but n
ow that he knew it was there, it was nearly all he could think about.
He needed to make it go away.
And that was a completely foreign feeling for him. He wanted to make her better.
They’d sat here, looking and smiling at each other, trying to feel around the subject of her at that treatment facility, when they both knew he was dying to ask her about it. Finally, he just did it.
“So, what are you in treatment for?”
To her credit, Cynthia’s shoulders relaxed, like she was relieved to have it out in the open instead of it being a topic to dodge the rest of the meal.
“That was my last radiation treatment to shrink a malignant brain tumor before surgery.” Her eyes darted to her lap while her tongue snaked out to wet her lips. “It’s exhausting, actually, which was why I didn’t agree to dinner. I go home and go to bed these days.” She looked up at Damien with those vivid green eyes. “I’ve been feeling better and was actually able to rest the last couple of nights, so I think I’m going to be good until the surgery.”
“When is it?” He softened his voice, even though his insides were screaming at the unfairness of it all. The Boss had given him a sick woman? Possibly dying? He wasn’t going to ask about her prognosis. He didn’t need to. He could see it in the defeated set of her shoulders, the regret in her eyes when she looked at him.
“Three weeks from tomorrow,” she replied simply.
“You’ve got a lot of living to do between now and then.” He hadn’t meant to imply she wouldn’t survive the surgery, but she didn’t seem to mind. She nodded.
“I’ve got a lot of finishing touches to do on my project at work before I leave.” Her eyes twinkled, and he dug for more information.
“Tell me about it.” He reached across the table and stroked her hand, wanting a physical tie to her, to be a confidante. He was desperate to learn more about this woman. Since he couldn’t compel her to talk about herself, he had to convince her, which he wasn’t used to doing.
“It’s a fragrance which targets receptors in the brain, sending signals of love. The people who smell it are attracted to the wearer, and they fall in love. Or at least, they exhibit all the biological signs of love.”
He smiled. “Like, a love potion? People have been making those since the dawning of time.”
“Yeah, but this one actually has Science behind it. I’ve managed to isolate the specific areas of the brain that tell people they’re in love, and that’s what the fragrance targets. They actually do fall in love.”
“What happens when the person stops wearing it?”
“I haven’t tested it that much.” The curve of her lips was knowing, and he suddenly knew she’d been wearing it the first day he’d seen her. He couldn’t tell her, though, that he didn’t feel the effects of her fragrance. He just had to work harder to make her realize his feelings were real and not the effect of some potion she’d concocted.
Turning the conversation around, she quirked her eyebrow at him, distracting him immensely. She must have no idea how that eyebrow made suggestions to him. Suggestions with which he’d happily comply. “Tell me about yourself. Besides creepy stalker, who are you? What do you do?”
Damien brushed a finger over his lip in thought, noting how Cynthia’s eyes tracked the movement. He didn’t want to divulge too much. His past experience told him women weren’t amenable to dating the devil, so he stayed vague. “I’m between things at the moment. My line of work is difficult to describe, but you could call me a broker, if you would like. But I’m looking to get out of the business and settle down. I have enough money to last several lifetimes, so I don’t really need to work. I just need to find someone and something who satisfies me.”
Her eyes widened, and Damien watched his words take root inside her mind. “Are you difficult to satisfy?”
Damien smiled at her, wondering if the double entendre was intentional. “Not particularly.” True, he’d had more sex than anything else. Ever. And it had gotten old, a little. But something told Damien that sex with Cynthia would be different. Sure, he’d probably fuck her senseless the first time they did it, but after that, he knew Cynthia would change the way he saw the world. Of that, he had no doubt.
Her throat worked as she continued to digest what he’d said. Finally, she spoke, but her voice was breathless. “You know, I hardly know you. Are you looking for something serious with me? Because I’m not really in a position, with this surgery coming up, to be starting something like that. I just need to have fun while I can.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to have fun, Cyn.”
Damien tucked into his plate of food, not tasting anything, but needing Cynthia to feel comfortable around him. He decided to try something with her to loosen her up. She seemed so tense around him. She could tell she wanted him, but she didn’t want to. Her desire was something she wasn’t accustomed to. The trick he wanted to use was one he’d used in the past, but with different motives. With Cynthia, he wanted to show her what he could be like. What they could be together. He wanted her to relax with him.
He tossed the vision to her—implanting it in her mind—and continued eating, letting the vision do its work. Her fork abruptly stopped scraping against her plate, and a soft whimper escaped her lips. He raised his head to see her staring at him, cheeks flushed, mouth open, eyes wide.
Damien purposely avoided focusing on the vision itself, remembering how the last one affected him. Instead, he paid attention to her reaction to it, which affected him similarly.
The flush was spreading down her chest, dipping into her low-cut sweater, and Damien used every ounce of restraint he had to not touch her. A fire, low in his gut, flared to life, sending blinding need racing through him. Schooling his features, his eyes focused on her creamy neck, where her pulse pounded erratically.
“Are you okay, Cyn?”
She nodded, knuckles white on her fork, while her other hand clenched the table. Suddenly, she started shaking her head back and forth.
“No, I—I need to get—out of here.” Her voice was husky, and his balls ached with something he’d never felt before. In fact, he’d never really felt his balls ache at all. This was new. A smile quirked on his face as he tossed some bills on the table and rose.
Cynthia gripped his hand, allowing him to help her up, and as he held her elbow, her other hand clenched over his in a death grip.
“Oh God…” she murmured under her breath.
“Are you alright? Do you need the hospital?” He knew what was happening to her, and it was probably embarrassing to her, but he was turned on beyond belief, and it was something he’d never felt before. Sure, he’d indulged in carnal pleasures with women before, but this was something completely different.
“Yes… No… Oh God…” He steered her out of the restaurant, and as soon as they made it out the door, Cynthia pushed him against a wall. “Stupid tumor…” she moaned as she threaded her fingers around his neck, pulled his head down, and crashed her lips against Damien’s.
The feel of her lips on his took his breath away. The soft heat of her tiny little tongue as it swept inside his mouth with a whimper caused him to lose all semblance of control. He didn’t know what came over him, but he had to have this woman. Now.
His hands immediately grasped her ass and spun her around so she was against the wall. He lifted one of her legs, wrapping it around his hip, and ground his erection into the warmth separated from him by their clothes. He’d never felt anything like this lust before. He needed her with a burning fire that he wasn’t sure one night with this creature could douse.
She responded, pressing against him wantonly. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and the prickly pain made him groan. He pushed the vision, knowing the image of them in her bed—a mass of sweaty tangled limbs—was undoing her, the same way his mental fondling was.
The same way it was undoing him. A torrent of lust wracked his body, and he fairly shook with it. He wanted her. Right here.
Da
mien so wanted to do some real-life fondling, to sink his fingers inside her wet heat and feel her pulse around him, but some conscious thought told him that wouldn’t do. Not on the first date. He knew enough about good women to know that wouldn’t further his purpose with Cynthia.
She was whimpering into his mouth, and he swallowed the sounds eagerly. He continued his grinding, building her to heights he couldn’t even imagine. His own erection was painful, but he held back doing anything to relieve it, knowing this was for her. He selfishly wanted to show her what they’d be like together.
She flew apart in his arms—on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant—with a muffled cry which he devoured with his kisses. He could kiss her forever, he realized. As she came down from her climax, he slowly lowered her but didn’t stop kissing her, wanting her with every fiber of his being.
When she pushed him away, a sinking feeling flooded him, dousing the fire with disappointment.
“Um… I’m sorry.” She was straightening her hair and smoothing her pants, refusing to look at him.
“Don’t be.” He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, so he cradled her face with his palm, thinking that may be a classy way to reassure her.
“I have to be. That was really embarrassing.” Her eyes darted around to see if anyone had seen them, but he chucked her chin with a finger.
“It was beautiful, Cynthia.” Beautiful wasn’t the word for it. It was magnificent, celestial. She glowed with an inner light that nothing could extinguish, better than any fantasy he could conjure.
The sinking feeling intensified as he watched her eyes fill with tears before she turned away from him.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Wait. Cynthia!” But she was running down the street, and Damien knew better than to chase her.
