Free Confessions of a Demon by S. L. Wright

guess it’s my one and only romantic streak.”
     
“I’m sure you have others.”
     
I shrugged, feeling as if I had taken advantage of him enough. It was depressing that a stranger had saved my life, and I couldn’t even convince him of that. “Do you want to rest here for a while? Or would you be more comfortable on the daybed?”
     
“This is fine.”
     
“Is there somebody I should call to let them know you’re all right?”
     
“No, nobody’s expecting me.”
     
I arched a brow. Why didn’t this lovely hunk of a man have a wife or at least a girlfriend waiting for him? “Nobody at home?”
     
“No,” he insisted.
     
I almost pressed him, wanting to understand. But he was resistant, tensing up after all my hard work to relax him. I owed him his privacy, at the very least.
     
I reached over and turned off the light shining in his face. That left us in the comfortable shadows cast by the small lamp next to the daybed. The tiny shade was mostly gold, the color of happiness.
     
I went to his feet and began unlacing his worn leather shoes. Theo reached out to stop me. “Don’t; they’re so dirty.”
     
“You think I can’t handle a little dirt? I work in a bar.” The corner of my mouth twisted up as I drew off his left shoe. Then I unlaced the right one, taking my time, like a mock striptease, pulling the bow untied.
     
He laughed weakly. “Making fun of me?”
     
“Not really.” As I pulled off his shoe, I let my finger slide over his bare ankle, diving deep into his emotions, as I asked, “Hasn’t a girl ever undressed you before?”
     
His instant response washed over me; a wave of pure passion. He was suddenly raring to go, even as banged up as he was, practically pumping out testosterone as the driving, aggressive engine that powered him shifted into high gear.
     
So that was why he didn’t have a woman waiting at home for him. He was the kind of guy who’d probably had hundreds, maybe even thousands of women. He wasn’t likely to settle down with one girl and start doting on babies, not when he was out driving around in a smorgasbord every day.
     
“Is that what you’re doing? Undressing me?” His invitation was clear.
     
Without thinking, I shot back, “Are you offering me the chance to be another notch on your belt?”
     
He jerked back, as if I had punctured the air out of him. I had ripped off the soothing facade he used to protect himself and had said the truth out loud. It wasn’t a nice thing to do. It made people feel bad when they had to face their own shit.
     
I was supposed to be making him feel good. I owed him that for taking his energy.
     
Apologetically, I settled a chenille blanket over him, then knelt down to check on his head wound. I smoothed the creases in his forehead, stroking back his hair. I didn’t take any of his emotions; I just wanted to touch him. I wanted it to be pure, without any taint.
     
Without warning, I felt his confusion and despair flooding out. I couldn’t help sensing it, even though I tried not to feed. Such terrible pain. It seemed everything hard and ugly and cruel had been his to bear.
     
A silent cry of agony rose inside of him. He hated his weakness; he struggled against everything he felt. But for a moment he truly felt alive again, even if it was too much.
     
“It’s all right,” I murmured, stroking his hair. “It’ll be all right. . . .”
     
He turned, taking my hand in his so he could kiss my palm. His lips were hot against my skin. “You don’t know that.”
     
I was reeling. “I know you’re not a bad man. I can tell, believe me.”
     
My hand trembled, trapped between his palm and his lips. Theo spilled his relief into me, his eyes burning.
     
Like a molten river of gold, the precious feeling filled me up, the combination of his urgent need for absolution and the comfort he found in my touch. I wondered how this poor man could have erred so badly to need such solace. He didn’t know what true