Page 3 of Demon’s Temptation

Chaya.

The energy and emotion she was throwing out hit him in the gut, an unfurling, erotic burn that made his skin itch and sweat slide between his shoulder blades. He took several steps forward, like she’d reached out and touched him, beckoning him closer.

Then he saw her.

In one of the cages, gripping the bars in front of her, she moved—no, fucking writhed—to the music. All that long, dark hair was wild around her face and shoulders, her skin flushed. The bass got heavier, the pace increasing, and she dipped her perfect round ass, swayed those lush hips in a way that sucked all the oxygen from his lungs. He was already hard as iron. The maddening female made him ache.

The leather corset she wore was molded to her out-of-control curves, the lacing up the front barely contained her generous breasts. The front plunged low enough that he could see a delicate chain taut across her chest. The jewelry would be clamped to each nipple, heightening the sensation of the leather moving against her sensitive skin.

What the fuck is she playing at?

He gritted his teeth, gaze traveling down over the rest of her. She wasn’t wearing one of the little leather skirts she usually favored, but instead she wore delicate black lace panties and stockings. A stark contrast to the corset, showing a vulnerability and confidence all at once.

Christ, to have her fist his hair and force his face between those lush thighs.

She continued to dance, but what got to him most, what had him close to tipping over the damn edge, were the spiked heels of her boots making her look taller than her petite five-foot-four frame. He wanted to feel them digging into his back, his ass, while he serviced her, while he eagerly gave her everything she demanded of him.

Not going to happen. Keep it the hell together.

He’d warned her, told her repeatedly that she was not to dance, that she could work the bar or waitress but the cages were off limits. He knew what seeing her like that would do to him, what seeing other males looking at her like that would do to him. By human standards that would make him a selfish, controlling asshole, but he wasn’t fucking human, not anymore. The same goddamn rules didn’t apply. He was a demon with demon instincts and desires.

Instincts he still struggled with. Instincts that had homed in on Chaya the moment he laid eyes on her and screamed for her, were still screaming for her. Desires that would get the better of him, would take him over completely if he let them, if he didn’t manage them the only way he knew how.

Desires that ruled him and would ultimately lead to him hurting her if he fully gave into them. That he was terrified would take over completely if he dropped his guard and let someone in.

He didn’t even know if he could be with just one person. If the incubus, the sex demon side of himself would be satisfied or if it would eventually drive him to seek out others. It was a risk he refused to take, even if he could keep up the pretense around her, not when Chaya was the one who would be playing guinea pig.

And right at that moment, not only was object of his deepest, darkest desires dancing up there, she had the attention of every person in the damn club.

No, the demon he was now didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit.

Her gaze lifted, came right to him and locked on him, daring him to come to her, to take up her offer. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine she was his Domme, demanding with her eyes that he come to her, that he kneel at her feet.

His knees actually went weak with the desire to drop to them.

His cock pulsed, balls drawing tight. She didn’t know what she was doing by tormenting him this way, what this little show might push him to do. What might happen.

She had no way of knowing what she might reduce him to, what she might expose.

Her eyes stayed locked on his, sending him a what are you waiting for that everyone in the room could see. Chaya was challenging him, asking him if he had the strength to strip down those hard layers to the soft, tender parts beneath.

He wanted to fucking weep because that’s what he wanted from her, more than anything.

After what had happened to him, how he’d lost control four years ago, the truth was he didn’t know what he was capable of. And until he got his revenge, until he made Garrett pay, he wouldn’t risk trying to find out.

Still, seeing her standing there like that, asking him to be that male for her—yeah, in that moment he’d never wished more that he could change who he was. That he could be the kind of male she needed.

It was hard, but he didn’t look away. Not with all these people watching. Even from the distance separating them, he could see the uncertainty shift across her features. Goddammit, she needed to understand, needed to stop this.

Chaya stilled suddenly, her thick black lashes fluttering then lowering as she dropped her gaze. She bowed her head slightly and trained those beautiful dark eyes on the floor.

All eyes moved to him, waiting to see what he’d do. What could he do? He couldn’t have her, no matter how much he craved her, hungered for her. But he wouldn’t humiliate her either.

Fighting his instincts right then was like trying to fight back a storm with a miniature battery-powered fan. But he had no choice. He did the only thing he could do—he moved through the crowd toward her. She still hadn’t looked up, her gaze sweetly downcast. Every muscle in his body was hard as stone as he moved closer.

He stopped in front of the cage. “Out, Chaya.” His voice was nothing more than a low rasp. Her gaze shot up, searching his. “Now,” he said.

The cage was opened and she climbed down. He didn’t touch her, instead tilted his head for her to follow and moved back through the crowded club. He didn’t need to turn back to know she was right behind him. He could feel her there. He led her to the opposite side of the room, where it was darker, away from prying eyes.