Page 92 of Demon's Beauty

Her breasts are visible above the water, round and full and tipped with rosy pink nipples that harden under my gaze.

Skin flushed from the water and the steam, eyes dancing with mirth as she watches me watch her, my witch is an absolute vision, and I’m spellbound.

Sun-struck, awed, unable to do a single thing but stand here and drink her in, wondering how the hell I’d ever be able to let her go, wanting nothing more than to give her anything, everything she could ever need.

27

Soleil

I heard Finn just fine.

Even through the heavy wooden door, his voice was clear as day.

What fun is that, though?

His eyes are wide as they rake over me, pupils huge and black as they fix on my face, my breasts, the hint of my naked body beneath the ripple of the water.

“That soap, over there.” I waggle my fingers just above the surface of the tub. “I can’t reach.”

A pulse of fire in those crimson eyes, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“How thoughtless of me,” he murmurs. “I should have made sure everything was within arm’s reach.”

He saunters over, every inch of him moving like a living work of art.

Finn is just so fucking hot.

From the long, lean lines of his calves to his muscular thighs to the trim cut of his waist and the expanse of his chest, his arms, his shoulders. The wings and the horns and the long whip of his tail don’t hurt the pretty picture he makes, either, and as he pauses beside the bath, I glance up at him with what I’m sure is naked admiration in my eyes.

He grabs the soap I pointed to, but instead of handing it to me, he kneels. Right beside the tub, with that same wicked glint in his eye.

“Is there any other assistance I can offer? Any way I can take care of you, sunshine?”

I hum teasingly, and a shot of pure need settles between my thighs. “I wouldn’t mind some help with my back.”

“Lean forward,” he says in a low murmur, reaching for the washcloth draped over the porcelain edge.

I obey, and Finn’s touch is magick as he starts to wash me. Magick in its gentleness, but also magick in the spark that blooms to life between us. Hot and heady, brimming with potential as he strokes over my shoulders, the nape of my neck, down my spine as his hand dips beneath the water.

I let out a long, satisfied sigh and lean forward, resting my elbows on my bent knees and my chin on my arms.

“That feels amazing.”

A low rumble of pleasure sounds in Finn’s chest. “I live to serve.”

Fuck, I like the sound of that.

Yeah, it might be a little selfish, but having the hottest man—okay,demon—I’ve ever seen tell me he wants toserveme? I can get on board with that.

“Anywhere else?” he asks as he continues to stroke my back. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”

He certainly proved that during our night in the tent, and in the spirit of embracing the moment and stealing pleasure where I can, I lean back in the tub.

“I don’t know. You tell me—see anything else that needs cleaning?”

Finn drops the washcloth. It floats lazily in the water as he continues touching me, as his eyes go dark and feral and hungry.

He trails his fingertips over my neck, my clavicle, down into the valley between my breasts in a lazy, languorous trail of exploration. No urgency, no rush, even when he leans in so he can press his lips to mine.