Page 82 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Hmm,” he says softly, but doesn’t say anything else as he stops in front of a door and presses a small Infernal iron nugget to the lock. It clicks as it releases, and he pushes it open to usher me into the room.

The i here is similar to the lobby’s, but this room screams lust. I pull away from him and move farther into the room, not sure if I am feeling turned on or grossed out. I don’t have time to decide, because the second the door closes behind us, he grabs me and presses my back against the solid wood, pinning me to it with his large body.

“I’m not the one playing with a deadly opponent,” he snarls, his voice low and oozing menace. This male is terrifying, and I imagine that normally, any threat he makes is actually a vow.

I know all of that, but there must be something a little wrong with me because the danger he exudes doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to move closer. I gaze up into eyes that may or may not be his. They are dark like a demon’s, filled with sharpness and cunning, but there is a sparkle in them I can’t define.

“Are we still speaking of Lucifer?” I ask, throwing his question back at him. I may be shorter than him, but I lift my chin, staring him down.

He leans in, his eyes darkening even more, his breath mingling with mine. The minty scent makes my head spin a little. “Are we?” he asks, leaning a little heavier against me.

My breath catches a little, the danger of him making my core heat. “You tell me, Stranger.”

His whole body is pressed against me in a way it has never been before. The glamour he is wearing is thinner than his other form, and there is nothing between us but a few scraps of clothes. If I touched him right now, he would feel it. If he touched me, his skin would be against mine. The glamour is merely an illusion woven over reality.

His dark eyes bore into mine, and I shift slightly, trying to get free from between him and the wall, but then the sinful groan he lets out as I press against him makes me pause. He grinds slowly against me, seeming to savor the heightened sensations. His chest is heaving with shallow breaths. I can sense his anger, and I can definitely feel the evidence of his desire against my stomach.

My gaze drifts to his lips. They’re so full, and I bet they taste⁠—

No. I force myself to look away.

“I’d like a shower.” A freezing cold one, to shock me out of this desire that is overwhelming me. Perhaps it’s just a result of being in this realm. Demons are known for being sexual creatures. It must be messing with my head.

The stranger’s gaze lingers on me, and after an impossibly long moment, he pulls back. “There is a bath through there.” Not sure that’ll have the effect I want, but we shall see . . .

He really only lifted his weight off me, and I have to bite back a moan at the sweet ache in my nipples as they slide against the hard planes of his chest. They’re so tight from arousal that they are almost painful. My bare abdomen drags against his throbbing length, and I hear his breath hitch as I slip from between his body and the door. I avoid looking up at him and force my legs not to wobble as I go straight to the bathroom. When I am safely locked within the solitude of the small room, I press my back against the door and close my eyes, trying to get my desire back under my control.

“Fuck,” I whisper to the empty room.

The rush of water makes my eyes fly open, and I watch as the tub starts to fill. Hoping it will further calm my body, I waste no time in stripping and sinking into the bath. Every nerve feels overly sensitized, and even the liquid touch of the water only seems to heighten my need, providing absolutely zero clarity. After a while of trying to find an ounce of relaxation, I am unable to tolerate any more. Climbing out, I wrap a fluffy black towel around my body and quickly come up against a new conundrum. I don’t have any other clothes, and I don’t want to sleep in tight leather wrapped around my tits and ass. Maybe there is a robe I can wear.

I peer around the door, glancing at the stranger lounging on the bed. He is stretched out, one hand behind his head as he reads a book, looking perfectly at ease.

Asshole.

“Can you close your eyes?”

He lowers the book and looks at me. “Why?”

“Just do it,” I snap.

He rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his book. “Fine. Closed.”

I sneak out of the bathroom and hurry to the wardrobe, breathing easier when I’m out of his line of sight. My relief is short-lived when I find only naked hangers littering the rack. I stare at them and sigh, worrying my lower lip, really not wanting to go back out there this exposed.

The feel of soft fabric draping my shoulders makes my whole body go completely still. I can feel him at my back, and my heart stutters in anticipation. I glance at my shoulder and see the white shirt he has laid over me. The material still holds the subtle warmth of his body, and, perversely, it does more to relax and calm me than the bath did. Dropping the towel, I shrug into the shirt and button it before turning to meet his gaze, trying not to notice his bare chest.

“You said you’d close your eyes,” I say, dropping my gaze and tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He brushes his fingers over my hip. “I lied,” he says, utterly unconcerned with his admission. He goes back through to the bedroom, and I take a couple of deep breaths before following him.

He is sprawled on the bed again, but now it is worse. His cut abs, thick chest, broad shoulders, and muscled arms are all on glorious, devastating display. His pants are slung low on his hips, the leather so lovingly molded to his form that I can see the powerful lines of his thighs and the shape of his cock. The memory of how he felt in my hand earlier makes heat pool low in my core.

The emotions pummeling me as I look at him confuse me. I don’t know why I respond as I do to him, but I am drawn to the power I can feel radiating from him. I tug on the bottom of his shirt again, the hem nearly reaching my knees. He is a massive male, even in this form, and I know he is even bigger in reality. Right now, I’ve never felt smaller or more vulnerable, and I hate it. I miss being strong. I miss my muscles. I miss my curves, which still have not fully returned.

Gathering that annoyance, I come to a stop at the foot of the bed and cross my arms, glaring at him. “So where are you going to sleep?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes and puts his book down. I try not to notice the way his muscles ripple as he stands from the bed. I take one step back as he stalks toward me, but he simply reaches out and lifts me. He tosses me over his shoulder without breaking stride and carries me to the other side of the bed. He drops me, my body bouncing against the mattress a little. I squeak as he wordlessly climbs onto the bed, straddling me before swinging back onto his side.