I lie back down on the comforter. I let my head rest against the pillow, scrunching it up so that I’m propped up enough to watch the flames dance.
Jerif grunts, but I smile across at him where he’s still resting back against his hands. For a few minutes, I just watch the flames as they turn sensually around each other, moving to the tune of their own crackles and sparks. Jerif watches me.
I sit up and lift up my hand, appreciating the soft glow the fire emits on my skin as I look over at Jerif. “What’s it like having fire power?” I ask curiously.
His eyes briefly go to the flames before settling back on my face. “It can be addictive,” he admits. “I’ve always had more of an issue tamping it down instead of not having enough power. I have to expel it often, or it gets uncomfortable, like when you eat too much food and you feel like you need to hurl.”
“Nice visual.”
“You asked,” he counters.
Can’t argue that. “Is that why no electric lights?” I wonder.
“Yes,” he replies. “Being able to expel my power for everyday little things helps to take the edge off.”
I nod and scoot over to him, taking his dark hand in mine. He lets me, though his body tenses. I really want to see him lose the tension that radiates off of him. I want to see what Jerif looks like when he stops holding back. Maybe it’s the Gate, his personality, or a combination of the two, but he always seems like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. At first, I thought he was just an arrogant prick, but now I think he’s an arrogant prick who carries a lot on that big strong back of his.
I gently hold his palm in mine, and then trace over his lines like a palm reader might. Except, instead of looking to tell his fortune, I just want to feel his presence. I want him to feel me, right now, and not have any doubts.
As the pads of my fingertips softly trace his hand, I smile when I see him shiver. I brush a single finger across his palm again and then start tracing the edges of his fingers and thumb. “I wish I could make fire like you,” I muse. “I’ve been a proper Nihil demon for a full two days now, but I still haven’t done any cool tricks,” I say, slightly put out.
He stops my palm petting by taking my wandering hand and threading our fingers together. I love the feeling of him taking my smaller hand in his, clasping me in his heat. “You don’t need fire power of your own. You have me,” he states matter-of-factly.
I smile shyly at him, and then I turn and swing a leg over his hip, straddling his lap. He pauses and looks down at me as I sit on him, and in the firelight, his eyes look like they’re practically glowing. “Do you know what you’re doing, Warrior Princess?” he challenges me.
“Yep,” I answer without hesitation as I thread my fingers around the back of his neck. “I’m playing with fire.”
His lips notch up an inch before dropping back down, and I shift on his lap, noting that he’s hard as a fucking rock. No half hard-on here. Jerif is like a steel rod beneath my ass.
I’m no longer slaphappy from the demon spirits. Instead, I simply feel uninhibited. I want Jerif. Badly. I want to combust just like he promised. I want to light up what we have and let the ashes of our passion rain down on us as we claim a permanent place in each other’s existences. I want to pull him into this moment with me, but he’s not there yet. I can feel him holding back, doubting, and there’s just no place for that between us anymore.
A flash of Jerif methodically being stabbed and cut as he battled to get to me in the Vestibule flickers through my mind. I play with the hair at the back of his head and release a deep breath.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I confess, closing my eyes as I try to chase the rush of images and sounds away. “I hated myself for running, for not being tougher and better. For not being the kind of demon who could stop all of the bad shit from touching each of you.”
I open my eyes to find Jerif’s flickering flame eyes studying my