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“No.”
“Jameson…” Lily opens her mouth like she’s going to full-name me and gasps. She waves her hand in a quick, hurry-the-fuck-up circle.
“Hill,” I supply, because I’m a fool.
“Jameson Hill, get into the bed.” A cute little frown. “It’s missing something.”
“August.”
“It’s June.”
“August is my middle name, angel.”
“August.” Lily tastes it, the last part of my name on her tongue. “Jameson August Hill.” It reminds me of wedding vows. She’d say my name like this. “Angeldoesn’t sound as scary and powerful asdemon girl.”
“That tells me you’ve never seen what an angel looks like.”
“I don’t think anyone has.”
“All of them are terrifying,” I point out. “Google it sometime. You’ll see.”
She shakes her head, red hair spilling down her back, rustling. Angelic. Beautiful. “This is only a distraction. You’re stalling. Get. In. Bed.”
I walk until my legs hit the edge of the mattress and fall into it with no grace to speak of. It was supposed to be funny, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, a sickening wave of exhaustion hits.
So does a mild wave of panic.
“Nope. Fuck no.” I push myself off the pillow.
Lily comes to the side of the bed and pushes my head back down. “I’ll wake you up.”
“You’ll be too late.”
“I’ll wake you up every thirty minutes. And if you have a nightmare, I’ll wake you up then, too.”
My heart aches. My ribs. All my chest muscles. I’ve never asked anybody to do this. There’s no guarantee it’ll work, and it’s such a pain-in-the-ass thing to do, and I don’tneedsleep, I need to not have nightmares.
But I’m so tired.
“Ready, go,” Lily says. Oh. My eyes are already closed. “Here.” An ice pack wrapped in cloth settles on my face, over my eye. “Keep this right where it is.”
A gentle touch on my shoulder. “Jameson. Wake up.” I push off the pillow. Open my eyes. She’s still here, wearing a pair of my sweatpants and one of my shirts. “Everything’s okay,” she whispers, and guides my head to the pillow. More ice on my eye. The cold is soothing.
I don’t know how long this goes on.
All I know is that I close my eyes, and the nightmares don’t come. It’s dark and quiet and peaceful.
Jameson.It’s Remy’s voice, Remy’s seven-year-old voice, and the next thing I know, that hand is back on my shoulder.
“Sit up. Jameson. Up.” Lily’s firm but not loud, and I roll to sitting on the edge of the bed. She fits her body to the space between my knees and tugs my pants down. That’s all it takes. Lily on her knees. Her red hair everywhere. I’m hard instantly, the dream still trying to pull me in, and she pauses with my waistband in her grip and looks into my face. “Please? Can I touch you?”
“Yeah.”
Lily takes my painfully hard cock out and wraps her hand around it, stroking experimentally, studying it with intense concentration. I can’t help myself. I get my fingers in her hair and hold on tight. My hips are already working up to fuck her. I’d take anything. The pressure of her hand on my shaft chases away whatever nightmarethatwas going to be.
Then she kisses my tip. Swirls her tongue around the head. Takes me tentatively into her mouth.
“Holy hell, Lily, I want to fuck your throat.”
