But I didn't take my own advice as I stood there, watching her fucking breathe for a moment before I noticed the way her back was arching a bit as she let out the noise again, as her leg slid against the couch cushion a bit rhythmically.
And I realized she wasn't making noises because she was uncomfortable.
Oh, no.
She was having some sort of sex dream.
"Mmm," she whimpered as her leg rose again, this time sliding up the back cushions until her foot planted. A low sigh escaped her as her other leg rose then hinged open, making her tee slip up, exposing her completely.
"Fuck," I hissed as desire made a sharp, stabbing sensation course through my cock as my gaze fell on her delicate pink pussy, slick with her desire.
Self-control had never been an issue for me. After this many years of life—both in hell and trapped above it—very few things felt important enough to lose my composure over.
Least of all sex.
If anything, some other so-called "sins" got harder to control the longer I'd been around.
My pride, namely.
But there was no denying that I was having zero self-control over myself twice in the span of a few hours around this woman.
It made no rational sense, either.
Yes, she was beautiful. So were millions of other women. Sure, she must have been smart and capable to do her job. And again, so were many other women.
I didn't understand my reaction to her.
Unless it was simple exhaustion and worry about Red mixed with Josephine's proximity and the fact that I hadn't gotten laid in a while.
Still, even knowing that, I didn't even try to muster the reserves of control to look away, to walk away.
I just fucking stood there. Staring at her pussy as her hips did little circles as her dream heated up. The hand above her head gripped the armrest of the couch as her back arched higher.
If she were any other woman, I would have reached down, ran my finger between her lips, worked her clit until she was screaming for release.
But she wasn't any other woman willingly, happily in our company, knowing what to expect from us.
She was a woman stolen off the street and being held captive very much against her will.
I couldn't put my hands on her.
I had no right even to stare at her in a compromised state.
Yet I didn't move away.
It was fucking Daemon that did it. Came stumbling out of his room with whatever fuck-buddy he'd brought home for the night, giggling and knocking something over in the kitchen, making Josephine's eyes snap open.
There was surprise, then panic as she tried to remember where she was, what she might be hearing.
Then her head shifted down toward the end of the couch, landed on me.
There was still some of the surprise and the panic, but it mingled with some other things right then too. Confusion, sure. But something else, something I couldn't put my finger on. It was something, though, that made me move toward her instead of away, lowering down on the armrest of the couch, making her suddenly aware of her compromised position, snapping her thighs together as her eyes went saucer round.
"Interesting dream you were having," I said, eyes roaming up her body, seeing the flush on her thighs, her neck, across her cheeks.
"I...I wasn't having a dream," she insisted, letting me know one thing about her for sure. She was an atrocious liar. Even by human standards.
"You were," I countered, sliding onto the cushion at her feet, making her scramble up slightly to give me more room.
"No."
"Your back was arching, your breathing was fast, your hips were rocking," I told her, watching her shake her head. "You were moaning," I added. "And," I went on, "your pussy was drenched."
"I, ah, no," she insisted, sounding breathless.
"Saw it myself. Want me to check to confirm?" I asked, lips curving up until I saw the way her lips parted, her breath sucked in.
"You can't."
"I can," I countered. "But only if you tell me to," I said, one fingertip teasing the inside of her ankle.
"I can't."
"You can't or won't?"
"Same thing."
"Very different," I shot back, finger tracing up the side of her calf, feeling the muscle flex under my touch.
It was right about then that Red let out a whimpering sound that made the nurse stiffen, head whipping over toward her for a moment. When she looked back at me, all the lingering desire was gone.
"Stop," she said, voice quiet, but it didn't need to be firm with that word, did it?
Pulling my hand back, I tried to deep breathe some calm back into my body as she slipped off the couch, made her way over toward Red, reaching out to touch her forehead, humming to her patient as she looked her over.
She was bending over to inspect Red's back when Daemon and his date started making noise again in the living room.
"No, come on," the woman said, laughing. "I have to get to work. You need to drive me home."
I watched as realization crossed Josephine's face.
There was someone else in the house who wasn't loyal to me, someone who could possibly save her.
Even as she was braced to run, her mouth was opening to scream.
I flew off the couch, making it in front of her as her first sound escaped her lips, my hand slapping across her mouth as I shoved her back against the wall.
"Sounds like someone else is having fun too," the woman said in the other room.
As soon as the words were said, I could feel the nurse's defeat course through her body, making the tension leave her muscles. Even so, I pressed forward, pressing my front to hers, feeling her breasts crush against me.
Her breath sucked in as my pelvis pressed to hers, making her as aware of my hard-on as I was.
My gaze held hers as my hips shifted slightly, my cock pressing just above the juncture of her thighs.
When her breath exhaled, it shook through her chest.
I knew desire when I saw it, when I felt it.
But I kept my body still, waiting for her to make the next move.
"No, stop," I heard on the other side of the door, the woman half laughing, half-serious. "Shit. That's my sister calling to make sure you didn't murder me," she added as her phone started to ring.
It was right then that Josephine jolted. Almost like she was going to fight against my hold, but oh so conveniently shifting just enough that her hips rose and my cock pressed against the heat of her.
A shiver coursed through her at the contact, her eyes going wide, her hot air exhaling hard out of her nose and over my hand still over her mouth.
Whether there was consent or not at this point was dubious at best, but my hips shifted slightly, brushing against her pussy, making a whimpering noise get muffled by my palm.
That sound, as small as it may have been, was my undoing.
Any control I'd been holding onto snapped as my free hand lowered, yanked up her leg to the side of my hip, opening her up to me as I rocked against her.
It was only maybe a minute before her hips started grinding against me, wanting more, needing release.
As I heard Daemon's bike rumble to life then pull away, I knew his girl was out of earshot, letting me drop my hand. I braced myself for her objection, for her scream, for something, anything other than the whimper that escaped her.
A low, growling noise escaped me as I felt the Change start. It was a burning sensation up my back, in my forehead where my horns threatened to push out.
Not trusting myself in that moment, I dropped suddenly down in front of her, hands sinking into her ass as I buried myself between her thighs, eating her pussy with a single-minded focus, my tongue and lips working her clit for a long moment before my hand slipped between her thighs, thrusting inside her tight pussy, feeling the walls tighten around me, pull me in.
Her hands landed on the back of my head, holding on, not pushing away, as her whimpers became moans, as he
r thighs started to shake.
I could feel my tongue starting to fork.
I should have stopped.
Risking exposure was against the rules.
But her fingertips dug into my skull as her hips rocked against me, getting closer, begging for release.
There was no turning back as I worked her with both sides of my tongue, hearing her throaty moans as I pushed her to the edge, then right over it, leaving her crying out, half falling forward over me, her hands slamming into my shoulders to hold her body up as her thighs shook.
Slowly, she leaned back, lowering herself down the wall even as I started to stand, the pressure of my hard cock against my pants too uncomfortable to be in that position for another moment.
Tilting my head back, I took slow, measured breaths, pulling myself back together.
My gaze lowered again when I felt my cock realize it wasn't going to get any relief, finding her crouched on the floor, looking up at me with huge eyes.
Shit.
What the fuck was I doing?
She wasn't here for me to fuck her or fuck around with her.
She was here to deal with Red.
Nothing else.
A slow, deep sigh escaped me as I tried to school my voice to adopt the cold indifference I was typically so well known for. It was harder right then than it ever had been before.
"Unless you're down there to suck me off, get your ass over there and finish taking care of your patient," I demanded, watching the emotions cross her face at a breakneck pace.
Confusion.
Shock.
Humiliation.
Then, finally, anger.
That was good, I reminded myself as she got to her feet, jaw so tight her teeth must have been aching as she slammed her shoulder against my chest to move me out of the way so she could pass. It was good that she was pissed, that she hated me.
It would keep her from reacting to me in the future.
Which would help me keep a distance.
Because eventually, and it might be sooner than either of us realized, I was going to need to kill her.
Chapter Six
Jo
What the ever-loving hell was that?
Humiliation and rage were a heady concoction coursing through me as I checked out Red's wounds, searching for any early signs of infection that would make me need to open up the stitches again.
I felt shaky and unfocused, like my body was somehow both attached to me, yet not, at the same time.
Which made sense.
Because I'd clearly misplaced my head if I had just let that happen.
I wasn't even sure if I had any right to be upset about it.
I hadn't told him no.
I hadn't fought.
I hadn't explicitly consented either, though.
Then again, when in my entire life, had any man ever asked before he touched me?
Never, that was when.
And when did I ever say Yes, touch me there.
Again, never.
Until, you know, we were already in the throws of things.
It was a gray area, I guess.
One could argue that there was no way for me to consent seeing as my presence in this situation with these people was against my will in the first place.
But there was no denying that I had wanted it. That I had even encouraged it.
God, that tongue of his.
I had no idea how I was supposed to feel about the whole situation, if I should have been angry or disgusted. All I knew was how I actually felt.
Embarrassed, because I felt like he'd somehow used me, even though he hadn't gotten any sort of satisfaction.
But also confused, because he was right. I had been having a sex dream. Which didn't make sense in and of itself. Then waking up and realizing that it wasn't just a subconscious thing, that I was somehow having a physical response to the man who had plucked me off the street, cuffed me, then held me against my will.
I just needed to stay the hell away from him, that was all.
It would be easier now that he'd been a complete prick, so there would be no lingering interest in feeling that tongue and those fingers again.
Then again, pricks had always been a problem for me in the past. I was chronically attracted to assholes. I thought I was in recovery for my obvious problem. Apparently not.
"How is she?" a female voice asked softly what felt like ages later, making me turn to find the woman from the night before—Lenore—standing in the doorway holding a pile of something in her hands.
"It's a little soon to tell," I admitted. "But if she doesn't get infected in the next day or two, I think we can breathe a sigh of relief," I told her, shaking another antibiotic into my hand, then quickly pushing it down the woman's throat.
"She's not screaming."
No, she wasn't. But I had the strangest feeling that while she wasn't doing it outwardly, that she was somehow screaming on the inside. I had no way of backing that belief up, but I couldn't shake it either. There was just something about the way she writhed, the way her eyelids fluttered, the way her lip trembled.
"The pain medicine works wonders," I told her.
"How is your head?" she asked. "From where you hit it," she clarified when I stared at her blankly.
After washing the gunk off in the shower, I honestly hadn't given it another thought. My hand rose automatically, touching what felt like sealed skin.
"Ah, it feels alright. How does it look?" I asked.
"It's healing," she told me. "That poultice has never failed my people. It works wonders. You have a bruise here though," she said, rubbing under her eye.
"I think I have a concussion," I admitted, though I was doing so to try to convince myself that maybe it was a factor in my unusual behavior even if I knew it really had nothing to do with it.
"I don't know what that means," Lenore admitted, shrugging. "But I hope it doesn't hurt."
"No. I mean it did. But sleep helped," I told her. "Well, I only got a little bit of sleep. I was woken up."
"By Red?" she asked, gaze slipping toward the bed.
"No."
"Oh," she said, pressing her lips together. "Um, Ace can be a bit..."
"Of an asshole," I supplied.
"Yeah, that," Lenore said, sharing a knowing smile with me. "But he did ask me to bring you clothes. And a blanket. I also set out a toothbrush for you in the bathroom. I will be making some breakfast soon. The men don't usually eat with me."
"Why not?"
"Something about how I eat twigs and leaves," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't eat flesh," she added.
"Oh, okay. Well, that's fine. I don't need meat," I agreed, feeling the gnawing of my stomach. I would eat whatever I could get.
"I don't think I'm allowed to bring you out of the room, but I will bring you some when I finish making it. And then maybe Lycus can come in here and bring you to the bathroom and such," she said, giving me a small smile before handing me the pile of clothes and blankets, and heading out.
She'd brought me a floor-length canary yellow dress and a sweater that I quickly slipped on, feeling I needed the layers even if I was not exactly a dress-wearing sort of woman, finding the long skirts more problematic than pants since I was so short and they always dragged across the ground, getting filthy or trapped under my feet.
The rest of that day was relatively uneventful.
Lenore brought me a breakfast of oatmeal with fresh fruit and honey. I was maybe a bit of a Pops or Cinnamon Toast Crunch sort of girl, to be honest, but it was edible, and it proved to be the only meal I got until dinner, so I was glad I choked it down.
Lycus, who turned out to be Lenore's man, showed up sometime after to escort me to the bathroom, but let me close the door all the way for some privacy.
He, Aram, and some grumpy, angry-looking giant named Bael helped me temporarily move Red so we could get fresh sheets on the bed to help keep her wounds clean.
I gave Red her pain medici
ne and another dose of antibiotics. I checked her temperature and her wounds. I hummed to her to try to ease whatever hell she was going through on the inside.
Then, eventually, exhaustion pulling at my eyelids, I dragged myself back to the couch, curling up under the blanket Lenore had provided even though the house was too hot already. I just wanted the protection when I wasn't conscious.
Eventually, sleep claimed me.
It was a voice that woke me up some indeterminate time later.
Low, soothing.
The creaking hinge is oiled,
I have unbarred the backway,
But you tread not the trackway;
And shall the thing be spoiled?
I slow blinked in the mostly dark room, the only light coming from the low bulb in the nightstand lamp.
Ace was lounging there in a fold-up chair he must have brought in with him, a small book open in his lap, his gaze fixed on it as he recited the poem.
Far cockcrows echo shrill,
The shadows are abating,
And I am waiting, waiting;
But, O, you tarry still.
I'll admit, I had never really been a poetry fan. I mean, sure, I went through my Edgar Allen Poe phase like any teenaged girl who thought his doomed love poetry was the ultimate in romance, but aside from Annabel Lee and The Raven, I'd never really taken to verse. Not even when I'd dated a very sensitive guy in high school who dragged me to some run-down coffee house that hosted slam poetry readings in a back room.
I always found them hard to follow, especially the older poems with more archaic wording.
But, somehow, with the calm, confident, and gentle way Ace was reciting this one, it was oddly hypnotic.
"What is that?" I heard myself ask before I even realized I was going to ask.
Ace's head lifted, his cool blue gaze on me for a long moment before answering. "Thomas Hardy."
"What's the poem?" I asked, suddenly wanting to know how it started.
"I say I'll Seek Her," he supplied.
"It's pretty," I decided, feeling lame for not having anything else to say about it.
The Healer (Seven Sins MC Book 2) Page 5
