Page 47 of Demon Touched

I suppose I should find that comforting, but it just throws up a complicated mix of emotions, doubt being the biggest among them. I don’t really know what I am anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Syrus says, and the bitterness is obvious now. “It must be terrible knowing someone you hate so much is rubbing off on you like this.”

I want to offer some snarky response, but right then his touch ghosts down my spine and rolls over a spot in my lower back that’s way more sensitive than I ever realized. It’s perfect, and I throw my head back and practically whimper.

“I don’t hate you,” I say softly when I’m capable of coherent thoughts again.

“Such generous words,” he replies as he shifts in my mind. “Maybe I should be thanking you for the privilege of relieving your pain too.”

But his presence is anything but soothing. He’s not just easing my growing pains—he’s stoking up something else. By now my skin feels extra sensitive, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, my nipples hardening as they brush against the fabric of the sheet.

“You’re enjoying it,” I say flippantly, tipsy on this delicious sensation.

“Yes, I am,” he says, his voice low enough that I can feel it rumbling through me. “It’s the closest I can come to touching you, and I won’t pretend that doesn’t make me absolutely feral, Leah.”

Oh, this is getting dangerous. Except I can’t help myself, not when⁠—

“That feels so good,” I breathe, the release of tension from my back mingling with my body’s sensitivity to send tendrils of pleasure coiling into my stomach.

“Do you want me to make you feel even better?” he asks.

I can’t lie to him, not when he can feel the way my body is calling for it, those tendrils curling southward now, wrapping around my thighs and core to create a very different kind of ache.

Memories of our previous times together come easily to my mind. Maybe it’s just the exposed, raw state of my nerves right now, but all I can think of is the exquisite feeling of being with Syrus. The desire to experience that again burns like a thirst at the back of my throat.

Still, I’m not sure I can trust the proposition. Can I take what he offers without losing myself in him?

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I stutter out, even as my eyes flutter closed under a particularly effective touch. He knows what he’s doing, but I’m too drunk on this feeling to be irritated.

“Why not? Let me do this for you, Leah. I thought you agreed that I would help you.”

Something that starts as a laugh tumbles from my lips, turning halfway through into a breathy gasp. Syrus’s attention is still focused on my back for now, but each touch wakes up sensations elsewhere.

“This is not the kind of help I had in mind.”

“Then maybe you need to be more imaginative,” he purrs.

“What should I be imagining?” I ask, because I’m not even teetering on the edge of giving in to this. If I’m honest, I’m already falling.

“Let me take over. Let me touch you like I would if I was there with you.” He caresses the inside of my mind to emphasize his point. “All you have to do is give me permission, Leah, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Yes,” I say, too quickly, making him chuckle. But that laugh cuts off abruptly when I lie back on the bed and run my hand along the edge of my underwear. My back still twinges a little, but his touch has done wonders to ease the soreness. “You want my permission?” I ask. “You can have it. You can take over, but just this once, and only for this.” I try to put some force into my warning on the last part, but I know I sound too eager, gripped with anticipation.

And then any concern about that melts away as he sinks deeper into me, the force of his magic stretching down to my fingertips and toes.

My hand lifts up toward my face, guided by him.

Goddess, this is so weird, but it’s still so good. I lean into the touch as my palm cradles my face. It feels less like my hand than I’d expect—maybe because I no longer have control over it. As Syrus brushes my thumb across my lower lip, my pulse flutters faster at the hollow of my throat.

He makes a noise of approval, then has me shucking my underwear off so I’m completely naked. My skin is so sensitive now that having so much of it bare against the sheets is sending me up the wall, and I writhe against the bed before the steadying hand of Syrus’s magic stills me.

“Relax, Leah,” he murmurs as he slides my hand across my stomach, down between my legs.

I close my eyes and give into the fantasy that it’s not my fingers—my hand—moving lower. It’s his. He’s there with me. Syrus strokes gentle circles across my clit; the pressure is light but still manages to send twinges of pleasure through me. It has me pushing my hips down and spreading my legs wider, bucking into the touch, hungry for more.

But his magic presses down on my hips, holding me still. That only makes his firm caresses more exquisite, as I’m pinned in place and left to ride the waves of sensation without escape.

My powerlessness should frighten me, or at least make me uneasy. Instead, I love it, because I still trust him with this. Not with other things. Certainly not my heart. But when it comes to my body, I know I’m safe with Syrus.