Free Confessions of a Demon by S. L. Wright Page A

evil was—how could he, when he didn’t know about demons?
     
I cupped his warm cheek in my hand. His skin was hot and moist against mine, so human and alive. After I had been possessed, my flesh had perceptibly cooled. I was drawn to him like a snake basking on a sunlit rock. The image was repellent but true nonetheless. I was a dark creature living on the fringes of existence.
     
Yet here and now, I felt human again. I savored each slow kiss he left on my palm, one after another. His satisfaction sent pulses of delight through me, awakening my body.
     
It had been too long.
     
I hesitated, wanting to be sure before I leaped. But I had nothing to lose—nothing left to lose.
     
Leaning forward, I kissed him, wanting to feel his lips against mine. I sank my hand in his thick black hair, the ends curling around my fingers. His lips were full and firm as he kissed me slowly, savoring my plump lower lip and licking the tip of my tongue.
     
His fingers grazed my cheek, running along the hollow. His other hand went around my back, pulling me in closer until I was leaning into him, one hand against his hard chest.
     
I was as giddy as a teenager, back when I was kissing my boyfriend for hours on the beach, when everything lay ahead of us. Nothing had been so monumental as our budding love and fierce attraction for each other. He had been my first lover, though the reality of our short relationship hadn’t turned out nearly as wonderfully as the illusion I had created on the beach.
     
A little illusion can be good for the soul. . . .
     
I wanted the feeling of wonder and promise that a man’s touch could give me. In this man’s arms, I could be a girl again.
     
I didn’t have to deal with the consequences. There wouldn’t be any. This guy would be off and running come tomorrow morning. I could have him here and now, and not have to deal with anything else. I was capable, even ready, for so much more. But the lies involved made it impossible.
     
So that left me with this.
     
“Hmmm . . . ,” I murmured, relaxing against his chest as we kissed.
     
As if he had been waiting for that signal, Theo pulled me up onto the chaise, so I lay with him, our legs intertwining. His hands ran down my sides, curving in at my waist, then down to my hips. He pulled me into him, against the rigid shaft that lay against his belly.
     
My eyes opened wide—he was raging hard already. His torrent of passion was emerald green, the true color of fertility and desire. His need burned my fingers, but his lazy mouth and gentle caresses were under strict control, as if he didn’t want to scare me with his urgency.
     
I flung myself into him, losing myself as he bucked up against me, his teeth biting down on my lip. I moaned, my hands pressing his shoulders to hold myself away from his chest, not wanting to hurt his damaged ribs. But he ran his arm up my back and pulled me close to him. It caused a flare of pain and I soaked it up. There was so much more desire and need inside of him that it seemed insignificant.
     
“I must have you,” he whispered into my mouth.
     
I almost came at his words, spiraling into bliss. Nothing else mattered but him; his hot fingers tugging my T-shirt over my head; his calloused hand against my breast, squeezing the nipple until I gasped, then dropping lower to my belly. I cringed, instinctively protecting my core, but I didn’t want to stop him. For a moment it didn’t matter that this wasn’t really my flesh, that it was a simulation of what I used to be.
     
Most men told me that I was beautiful, but Theo didn’t. He seduced me with a touch.
     
He unfastened the buttons of my jeans, pulling them so they softly popped apart. His hand ran underneath the denim, burning across my tender skin. I raised myself up so I could slide them down, rolling away to kick free my legs. I helped him pull off his T-shirt, stopping him from raising his arms because of the tape around his chest.
     
Then he unzipped