The Devil You Know (23 page)

There was no way in hell I was telling him that, though. So instead, in my typical emotional cowardice, I changed the subject. “Are you going to call the cops on us?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “I must be insane to keep banging my head against this wall,” he muttered, and I winced. “You are far more trouble than you’re worth.”

I was still reeling from the pain of those words when he grabbed me, hauled me up against his body, and kissed me. My resistance to that kiss lasted perhaps a total of ten seconds. When I gave in to it, I gave in with all my heart, wrapping my arms around his neck and clinging for all I was worth.

In the weeks I’d been without his kiss, I’d almost forgotten how good he tasted. Now I was forcefully reminded, and my senses reeled. When his tongue dipped into my mouth, I let out an uninhibited moan of pleasure. His hand cupped the side of my face, and the warmth of that touch melted some of the ice that had formed around my heart.

I never wanted him to stop. While his lips were on mine, my mind went on vacation. Instead of
thinking
all the time, I merely
felt
.

Unfortunately, Brian still had more to say to me, so he broke the kiss long before I was ready. I made an incoherent sound of protest and tried to capture his lips again, but he put his hands on my shoulders to hold me off. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were dark with desire, but somehow he found the willpower to stop.

“I love you, Morgan,” he said as he stared intently into my eyes. “I think you’re worth fighting for. But eventually, you’ll have to start trying, too. I can’t keep this up forever.”

My heart constricted, but I knew he was right. I reached out and brushed the back of my hand over his cheek. “Believe it or not, I
am
trying. But we both know how screwed up I am. I was a mess even before I found myself a key player in a demon civil war. I don’t know if I’m
capable
of having anything resembling a normal relationship.”

He shook his head. “That’s a cop-out. Lots of people have fucked-up family lives and still manage to have solid relationships.”

I wasn’t so sure I agreed with that. It seemed to me that those so-called solid relationships were probably illusions. But I didn’t think I’d get Brian to agree with me, so I kept that opinion to myself.

“All I can do is my best,” I said, “I know it’s inadequate on a lot of levels, but—”

Once again, he interrupted me with a kiss. If he had to interrupt me, this was definitely my preferred method. It didn’t solve any of the issues between us, but it felt so damn good! Knowing I was probably making my life even more complicated, I nonetheless abandoned myself to his kiss, to the taste and smell and feel of him. Fire burned through my veins, and my heart hammered in my chest as I straddled him on the couch. With a moan, he shifted so I could feel his erection pressing firmly between my legs.

My hands moved with a will of their own, plucking open the buttons on his shirt. The tape on my fingers made me clumsy, and I lost patience with it. Still kissing him as if my life depended on it, I scraped at the tape with my fingernails until I found the edge, then ripped it off and tossed it aside.

My fingers now free, I hurried to open the last few buttons on Brian’s shirt, then smoothed my hands over the skin of his chest. He had very little hair on his chest, and what there was felt smooth and silky under my caress. When I found his nipples and tweaked them, he moaned and jerked beneath me. He pushed my shirt and bra up until my breasts were bared, not bothering to unbutton or unclasp anything. I pinched his nipples again, and he surged forward, seizing one of my nipples between his clever lips.

It was my turn to moan, and my back arched without my conscious volition. His tongue rasped over the hardened bud, and he sucked just hard enough to be almost painful. Then he fastened his hands under my butt, pressing me against him as he rose to his feet. I wrapped my legs around him, clinging to his neck as he carried me to the bedroom.

He set me on my feet by the bed, then attacked my button-fly jeans. I took advantage of his moment of distraction to pull the shirt off over my head and lose the bra. I pushed his hands away before he’d finished with the buttons, but his cry of protest died when I slid his shirt off his shoulders. I reached for his belt as he tackled the remaining buttons on my jeans.

The fragment of my mind that still held a hint of intelligence noticed that Brian’s belt held both a cell phone and another cell-phone-sized accessory. One that I’d have to ask him about—since I recognized it as a mini stun gun—but not until later. We had better things to do with our mouths right now than talk.

Brian toed off his shoes as I shoved his pants and briefs down his legs. I meant to go down on my knees and take him in my mouth, but apparently Brian was impatient to get to the main event. He pushed me onto the bed, dragging my jeans and panties down, then cursing when everything got tangled around my sneakers. He cursed some more as he pried the sneakers off and successfully freed my legs from the bundle of clothing.

Brian was usually a slow and gentle lover, loving the foreplay and the buildup as much or even more than the climax itself. Tonight, he was too desperate, too needy. But then, so was I. He fell on top of me, using his knee to shove my legs apart. We hadn’t even managed to get all the way onto the bed, my legs dangling over the edge as he thrust home in one powerful, almost angry stroke. I wrapped my legs around him and tried to pull his head down for a kiss, but he pinned my wrists to the bed beside my head.

It was on the tip of my tongue to protest this sudden show of dominance. I wanted to touch him, wanted to feel the quivering of his muscles and the frantic beat of his pulse as he took me. And yet, once he started to move, the protest turned into a protracted groan of pleasure.

He thrust into me with such force I felt the bed moving beneath us. Sweat beaded his face, and his breath came in loud gasps. His hands squeezed my wrists brutally, holding me still so he could pound into me as hard as he wanted. My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into my palms, as I tried to control the flood of sensation that threatened to overwhelm me.

I didn’t want to like this. Brian was being so rough with me I’d be bruised and sore when this was over. Probably what he was doing should be hurting me even now, but endorphins or adrenaline or just plain desperation had me feeling no pain. The pressure on my wrists, the sensation of being pinned down, should have angered me. There was no give-and-take to this lovemaking. And yet my body sang with the pleasure of it, my back arching, my heels digging into his ass, my mouth open on a silent scream.

Then the climax hit me, and the scream was no longer silent. The sound that escaped me was raw, and urgent, and so loud they might have heard me in the next building. My cry triggered Brian’s release, and he pounded into me even harder, if that was possible.

When it was over, he went limp on top of me, his hands releasing their death grip on my wrists as his forehead dropped to touch mine. We were both gasping for breath, both drenched in sweat. I barely had the strength for it, but I wrapped my arms around him and held him to me, my hands stroking the sweat-slicked skin of his back.

As the sweat cooled, I became aware of a burning sensation between my legs and a fierce ache in both my wrists. Apparently, the adrenaline had worn off, but despite the discomfort, I couldn’t regret what we’d done. Brian might not have been the sweet, sensitive lover I’d come to expect, but he was still the man I loved.

Still panting, he slipped out of me, then slid his arms under me and scooted me all the way onto the bed, climbing on after me and wrapping me in his arms. Our legs twined, and he tucked my head under his chin, my ear pressed against his chest so I could hear the pounding of his heart.

We didn’t speak, instead lying quietly in each other’s arms as we caught our breath. I closed my eyes and inhaled the musky, familiar scent of him, the scent I’d missed so desperately in the days since I’d turned him away. And I knew I was lost.

It didn’t matter what danger being with me put Brian in, and it didn’t matter that I was handing him the power to crush my heart. I
couldn’t
keep pushing him away. I needed him too badly, needed to be with the man who loved me just the way I was, even if I wasn’t sure that love could stand the test of time.

I raised my head to say something appropriately mushy, but before I opened my mouth, the phone rang. Brian and I grimaced at the same time.

“They can leave a message,” he said, stroking my still-sweaty cheek with one hand.

I was severely tempted to ignore the goddamn phone. There was so much I still had to say to Brian, and I had to say it now or I might chicken out. But as Lugh had pointed out on more than one occasion, there was much more at stake here than my own life and happiness. I sat up with an unhappy moan, wincing slightly at the soreness between my legs. “With all the drama surrounding my life, I have to at least see who it is.”

I felt his eyes on me as I reached for the phone and checked the caller ID. It was the front desk, which usually meant a visitor or a package. It was too late for a package.

I picked up the phone, then practically dropped it when Mr. Watkins, the front desk clerk, told me my father wanted to come up. My brain did a few jumping jacks as I tried to figure out (1) what the likelihood was that this was really my father, and (2) what the hell he could want to see me about if it was.

Mr. Watkins waited patiently while I thought about it for what felt like five minutes.

“Ms. Kingsley?” he finally prompted when my hesitation lasted too long.

If my father really had come out of hiding to talk to me, then I supposed I had no choice but to see him. Maybe the Spirit Society had sent him on Dougal’s behalf to try to pry information out of me. Then again, maybe Cooper had called and told him what I now knew about my past, and my father had come to try to make amends. Hey, it made a nice fantasy! “Send him up.”

Brian looked at me reprovingly as I slipped out of bed.

I gave him an apologetic smile as I pulled my jeans back on. “It’s my father. I have to talk to him.” There was so much I needed to say, but the thought of beating the crap out of him for what he’d allowed the Society to do to me was more tempting than I wanted to admit. “I’ll try to make it quick.” I dragged my shirt on over my head, not bothering with the bra. “Wait for me,” I said, then bent to give Brian a quick kiss.

But he got up and reached for his clothes. “I’ll wait,” he assured me before I could protest. “I’m just not going to wait naked in bed with your father in the next room.”

I laughed briefly, until I caught another glimpse of the stun gun clipped to his belt. “When did you get
that
?” I asked with a jerk of my chin.

“This morning. I was feeling a little skittish after everything that’s happened.”

I frowned. I didn’t like the idea of Brian carrying a weapon. Yeah, I wanted him to have some defense in the event of a demon attack, but it seemed like another step down a path I wished I could keep him from walking. I glanced at the bruises that were forming around my wrists and realized he might already be farther down that path than I liked to admit.

My doorbell rang, and though I wanted to stay here with Brian, to talk to him and to work things out, I knew now was not the time. Leaving him to finish getting dressed, I slipped out into the living room as the bell rang a second time. I hesitated before I answered the door. My father had conspired with the Society and with Lugh’s brothers to have me possessed by a demon against my will. He’d drugged me so he could take me to the hospital, then apparently left me to Cooper and Neely’s mercy without a second thought. Had he known what those bastards had been planning to do to me? Had he condoned them torturing me?

My mind rebelled at the thought. No matter that he wasn’t my biological father, no matter that we’d never gotten along, he had still raised me since I was a baby. My mind couldn’t encompass the idea that he was evil. Yes, he’d tried to give me to the demons, but in his worldview being possessed was a
good
thing.

The bell rang a third time, but despite my bone-deep conviction that my father wouldn’t harm me, I fished my Taser out of my handbag before answering. I checked through the peephole to be sure it really was my father on the doorstep, then swung the door open. As a concession to our close, personal relationship, I kept the Taser down by my side instead of pointing at him, although it was armed and ready to go.

His face as he stood there regarding me was studiously neutral, even when he saw the Taser. I had to resist the urge to punch him.

“Nice of you to drop by, Pops,” I said. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t slam the door in your face.”

His expression didn’t change. “You wouldn’t have opened the door in the first place if you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I want to talk to you about as much as I want to have my tonsils removed without anesthetic.”

“Then by all means slam the door.”

I almost did it. Almost convinced myself I’d had more than my quota of confrontations today. But I knew if I shut him out now, I might never hear from him again. And boy did I have a lot of questions for him!

With a grunt of frustration—I really hate having my bluff called—I flung the door all the way open and stepped back. Dad’s expression finally changed, a hint of triumph sparking in his eyes. He stepped through the doorway then closed the door behind him and turned the dead bolt.