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“Why do you deliberately avoid and evade companionship?” he countered. “We shared a potent pleasure, you and I. I gave you my word that I would not harm you or compel you. You ache for something that I would gladly give you. Why do you deny yourself?”
He was getting way too close to psychoanalysis territory for my liking. I scowled. “It’s not just about the sex, y’know.”
“You desire a partner—one with whom you can share your hopes, dreams, desires, and fears. Someone with whom you can face the trials of existence and make plans for the future.”
I stared at him in surprise. Wow. He got it.
“I cannot be that person for you,” he continued before I could speak. “But would you deny yourself the single course placed before you simply because you cannot have the entire banquet?”
He sure did know how to present a convincing argument. But doubt still nagged at me. “Okay, well … I’m gonna run with your metaphor here and say that if I have nothing but dessert I’m going to be too sick to enjoy a banquet if it ever comes my way.”
He laughed and sat beside me on the bed again. “You are as clever as you are strong. It is no wonder I desire more of you.” He reached a hand toward me and then paused, not yet touching me. His eyes met mine. “May I?”
That simple request sent an erotic rush through me that nearly knocked me over. He’s unspeakably powerful, yet he respects my boundaries…. Or at least he can put on a good show of it, my inner cynic pointed out.
“What do you want to do?” I asked, somewhat breathlessly.
“Touch you. That’s all. May I?”
“Yes.” I managed to choke the word out, pulse suddenly throbbing.
He reached to my breast and caressed lightly through my nightshirt, circling the nipple casually. Heat flooded me, and I had absolutely no fear that it was due to any compulsion from him. This was 100 percent my own reaction.
A smile lit his blue eyes, then he took hold of my nipple and squeezed lightly, releasing it at my intake of breath and returning to a slow and incredibly sensuous caress.
“This is really all a dream?” I said with a shaky grin.
His laugh was crystalline beauty, sharp and bright. “Truly, it is.”
“But … I’m not just dreaming about you being here. I mean, you came into my dream, like, um … a telepathy sort of thing, right?” The inexorable movement of his hand was making it tough for me to think.
He inclined his head slightly. “That is a reasonable analogy.”
I took an unsteady breath. “Look, even though this isn’t … um … real, I’m not sure I want to sleep with you again.”
“I respect that,” he said gravely. “Yet I would still freely give you pleasure if you would accept it.”
Just a dream. Safe. I swallowed, pulse galloping in an incredible combination of anticipation and apprehension. “Why? I mean, don’t get me wrong … but what are you getting out of this?”
He was silent for several heartbeats, a brief expression of sadness skimming across his face almost too quickly for me to register it. But when he lifted his eyes back to mine, there was only the deep and potent power in them. “I enjoy your company. I wish for you to trust me.”
Is he lonely? I wondered suddenly. Did Demonic Lords experience feelings of isolation? Okay, that’s just crazy. But he was watching me intently, and I found myself giving him a nod of permission.
He placed his hand in the center of my chest and gently pushed me to my back. He kept me pinned down lightly, and I knew he could feel the mad pounding of my heart beneath his hand. He slid his hand between my legs and began to slowly caress me. “There is much pleasure I can give you,” he said, voice like silk. “You are safe with me.” He slid a finger inside me, slowly working me with an expert touch. I dropped my head back, breathing unsteadily.
“Daaaamn.” There was no denying that he was good at this. He’d probably had centuries of experience. I groaned and clenched my hands in the sheets. “Holy shit … do you do this often?” I said with an unsteady laugh.
He didn’t answer, merely smiled and continued to work his fingers. He kept his other hand between my breasts, giving me just the lightest suggestion of being held down, without making me feel trapped or threatened. My climax began to build and I moaned, squeezing my eyes closed, insanely aroused. He expertly toyed with me, bringing me repeatedly to the point of climax, then slowing and allowing it to retreat until I was nearly screaming in frustration.
He brought me to the peak again when I was near mindless from wanting it, then abruptly stopped, fingers stilling within me as I throbbed and pulsed in need.
“This is not the only gift I could grant you.” His voice was soft but intense.
I let out a low whimper. I could feel the orgasm, see it just barely out of reach. All he had to do was flick his fingers that way.
I took a ragged breath. “Please … What do you want from me?”
“Call me, Kara.” He moved his hand, skillfully bringing me to my climax, working me perfectly as I cried out and arched my back in release, keeping me at the peak longer than I could have ever imagined possible.
