Page 34 of Her Deal with the Greek Devil

Sure enough, she heard the sound of water, and for once, was perfectly happy to simply stay where she was and wait to see what might happen.

Constantine was there at her side again in a moment, with a warm, damp cloth he pressed between her legs, and that was what made her suddenly feel...vulnerable.

“I had no idea that you were serious.” His voice was almost too low to hear, a thread of darkness between them. Almost. “It never occurred to me that you could possibly be an innocent.”

“Not anymore,” she said brightly, and she didn’t know what to do with that look in his eyes. She didn’t know what to do, so she got back onto her knees, and ran her hands over his chest where he stood beside the bed. She reveled in the feel of her palms against his skin, his muscles,him.

“Molly.”

Her name was a command, but she had no intention of heeding it. She let her hands wander where they would until one made its way down that fascinating arrow of hair to find his sex. Almost accidentally.

He was so hard, though not as hard as he had felt inside her. She wrapped her fingers around the width of him and he thickened, and Molly smiled. Because that, too, felt like a power she wished she’d known she’d had all this time.

“Molly,” he said again, now sounding very nearly stern. “I do not think—”

“Can we do that again?” she asked, smiling up at him. She tipped herself forward so she could rub her aching nipples against his chest and taste all the parts of him she’d admired on the walk here. His corded neck, his bold jaw. “Please? I’m begging.”

He made a low sound, but then his mouth was on hers again. And he was picking her up and turning her, rolling with her down onto that wide bed, until they were tangled up with each other again.

Constantine rolled to his back and let her explore him, but when she went to take his hardness in her mouth, he gripped her beneath her arms and hauled her up the length of his body.

“I want to,” she said.

“We do not always get what we want, Molly,” he told her, then kissed her until she melted against him once more.

He taught her how to sit astride him, then take him deep inside her from that different angle.

She rocked her hips against his, staring down at him in a kind of wonder. He looked up at her, his expression so fierce, his hands moving almost restlessly from her breasts to that place where they were joined.

He pressed a thumb down hard at her center and she dissolved, almost sobbing out at the sharp pleasure of it.

Then he flipped her over onto her belly and came into her from behind. He slid one arm beneath her hips to lift them at an angle so that he could pound his way into her, once again taking her from the middle of one explosion and throwing her like a catapult straight on into another. And another still.

And when the last one hit, she heard him roar behind her.

Then she knew no more.

Molly didn’t know what woke her, or how she knew that it was later. Much later, by her guess, and she knew instantly that Constantine wasn’t in the bed with her. She’d slept but she’d been always aware of him beside her, wrapped around her, hot to the touch.

She sat up, her heart pounding at her as if in fright, but then she saw him.

He stood by the window, and for once, she got to gaze upon his glorious nakedness instead of the reverse. The lights of Paris flowed all over his perfect form, making him seem unreal. Like one of the statues in the Musée Rodin, where she had spent many a stolen afternoon while at loose ends in the city.

He put them all to shame.

“Constantine?” She hardly sounded like herself, but that didn’t shock her. She didn’t feel like herself either, not any longer.

She felt like his.

He didn’t turn toward her, and yet she knew, somehow, that he had heard her all the same. A small, shivery thing teased the nape of her neck.

“I hated your mother long before I met her,” Constantine said, his voice gravelly, his gaze on the city before him. “I hated the idea of her, probably before my father ever met her. But then, there she was. And she had a name and a face, and told me to call her Isabel, as if we were friends already.”

Molly had spent her life wanting to have this conversation, and now that it was happening, she wanted no part of it. She wanted to fly across the room and throw her body against his, hoping that could distract him from whatever he was about to say. But just as he seemed to stand there, frozen solid at the window with Paris at his feet, she couldn’t seem to move, either.

She could only watch the light move over his dark form. And wait.

He seemed to grow even more frozen as she watched. “But as luck would have it, my new friend Isabel gave me more than enough reason to hate her, personally.” Constantine let out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. It sounded like a weapon, and this time, it wasn’t one aimed at her. Why did that make her ache? “Shetried, you see. She tried so hard. Not just to make my father happy, a doomed endeavor if ever there was one. But she went out of her way to try to love me, too.”