Demon Seed Read online

  Her question sucker punched a hole in the walls barricading his heart. He felt unclean, unworthy, too tarnished by the filth of war and tango kills to ever deserve someone so shining clean. Demon fought to control the rampaging emotions battering his iron control. “That’s why those kinds of lies are called white lies. Everyone tells them. I do. I figure any god that punishes someone for white lies isn’t a just god. And I’m pretty sure they don’t cut off tongues anymore.”

  “I believe that you are now telling me a white lie to make me feel better, no?” She set her tiny palms around his jaw. “You are such a kind, honorable man. A true warrior and knight.”

  Heat suffused his throat and face. Demon hadn’t a blasted clue how to respond. One hand would be too much to count the number of times anyone had ever applied a single one of those words to him.

  “I have not thanked you properly for all that you have done for me. I thank you from my heart’s bottom.”

  Demon choked back the automatic correction to her idiom. “Not necessary, Jacinta. We need to get going. We’ll be traveling on our own for a bit. Fredo had someone fetch all our stuff from the hotel, and he stocked the boat with supplies. If you need anything else, it’ll have to wait a couple of days.”

  “I’d like to know your real name.” She played with the third button of his shirt.

  Crap. “Demon will have to do for now.”

  She dropped her gaze from his. “As you wish.”

  “The boat’s around the back.” Loosening his hold on her warm torso, Demon ordered, “Go. Get on board. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  “Okay.” She shot him a tight-lipped, wan smile, turned around, and walked to the left of the house.

  The second she rounded the porch, Demon went into action. He picked the front door lock and made his way to the “office” where Fredo kept his radio transmitter. The man hadn’t a tidy bone in his body. Stacks polluted the tiny room—sheaves of paper, a three-foot pile of hardcover books that hadn’t seen a twenty-first-century publication date, and heaps of disemboweled weapons.

  Demon switched on the ham radio Fredo had told him about. He found a secure frequency and contacted Satan on the first try. He brought Satan current, outlined the change in plans, and requested backgrounds on Rafael Vilas and Elvira and Jose Genro. He gave Satan the numbers of the two disposable cells he’d purchased earlier and signed off.

  The houseboat proved more habitable than Demon expected. The bow had two wide benches with cup holders and a nailed-down coffee table that doubled as a trunk. He lifted the lid and spied a plastic-encased blanket and a few tools. A small but efficient engine room contained all the necessary equipment for navigation, and the mother lode—a miniature replica of the old-fashioned radio in the house. He tested the radio. It didn’t work.

  Demon had to duck under the archway leading to the kitchen. Again, small but efficient. A gas stove, a minifridge, and a stainless steel percolator. The thought of a strong cup of java had him salivating. He found Jacinta in the last room. Bunk beds lined either side of the narrow chamber. Open shelves half-hidden by a thick plastic curtain covered the far wall.

  Jacinta had used the fifteen minutes of his absence like a pro. She’d unpacked the two burlap sacks containing all their possessions. All his belongings lined the bottom bed on the left; hers had been packed into the shelves. He glanced under the bunk and spied his duffel bag, checked the zipper, and his knotted shoulders relaxed when he saw the small padlock he’d purchased earlier was still attached. The beds were made, and she’d stacked the toothbrushes and paste into an alcove above the corner built-in sink on the far right. Through the open door next to the sink, he spied the head.

  Jacinta removed her earbuds and smiled up at him. She sat cross-legged on a bunk bed—a tattered Archie comic book lay open on her lap—and looked no older than fifteen. The jailbait picture was enhanced by the pink staining her cheeks and her obvious youth and freshness. What a complete prick he was, standing there, thinking of all the ways he wanted to nail her, taste her, fucking eat her up.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and get some sleep. We travel at night from now on.” He did an about-face and hustled out of the claustrophobic room before Demon’s Rape and Pillage became the latest TV reality show. He conked his head on the archway, held back another string of curses, and tripped over his own feet before landing in the engine room.

  The roar of the twin turbines scared a string of bats hanging upside down from a scarred guava tree into flight. Demon eased the boat into the middle of the river and loosed his hold on the wheel. The currents listed the ship to the left bank; he corrected the direction, fixed the wheel in place, slouched in the captain’s chair, propped his boots on the counter, and contemplated the merits of jerking off. His current mood wouldn’t facilitate a quick release, and he couldn’t afford a prolonged loss of concentration.

  “I made coffee.”

  Crapola.

  So lost in replaying the ecstatic expression on Jacinta’s face when she’d climaxed earlier, Demon hadn’t even heard her approach and never noticed the strong scent of coffee brewing. Everything about her tested him. His feet hit the floor with a thud, and he twisted to face her. His jaw dropped. She wore the T-shirt from the beach.

  “I like my coffee with sugar and cream. How do you like yours?”

  At once he visualized her lush breasts covered in cream, and his mouth watered. What he wouldn’t give to suck the nipples poking at the cotton fabric. Fuck, he’d never been jealous of an inanimate object before.

  “You don’t want any coffee?”

  Demon couldn’t for the life of him get a word from his fried vocal cords.

  “Are you upset because I borrowed your shirt?”

  She fingered the hem of the garment, which reached her above the knee. Did she have on the cotton panties? He couldn’t drag his gaze from the lean line of her quadriceps playing peekaboo with the material. Was she nice and wet?

  “Why are you angry with me?”

  The little-girl voice stun gunned his addled brain, and he vaulted into action, reaching her in one step, and then cradled her in his arms. “I’d love coffee. Take it black. You can wear anything of mine that you like.”

  Like his dick, his cum, freaking him—she could wear him anytime. He stared at an oval stain on the wall, too afraid he’d lose it if she so much as smiled at him. His stones jerked up high and tight when her lithe fingers lingered on his cheek.

  “Will you not look at me? And tell me what I have done wrong?”

  Fuck. She was going to kill him. He shook his head, but his brain cells refused the command to let her go. It took a few seconds, but once the distress in her voice sank into his head, he met her intense stare. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been nothing but great. Not once have you protested. Heck, you haven’t even asked where we’re going. Aren’t you curious?”

  “Sister Helen always said curiosity would be the death of me.” She flashed him that wide, gap-toothed smile he’d come to relish. “I am curious, but you seemed too worried for me to disturb you with such piffle. I know I have caused you trouble. That is why we had to leave in such a hurry, no?”

  Piffle? She could make him smile at the drop of a hat.

  He settled back into the captain’s chair, and his cock did a happy dance when she squirmed into a comfortable position on his lap. “No. First, you’re no trouble at all. Second, I’m not worried. And third, we’re heading to Roraima. I’ll take you back to the convent.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I do not want to go back to the convent. Though I would like to speak with Sister Helen. She won’t be surprised. She knew I didn’t belong.”

  A faint soapy fragrance wafted to his nose. She’d washed up. He should too. “Why didn’t you belong?”

  Their gazes met. “So many reasons. My besetting curiosity. My rash temper. My passionate nature. That I hate having every day the same as the other. Sister Helen says I relish chaos and crave adv
enture.”

  Demon didn’t know whether he’d deck this Sister Helen or bust her a tongue-lashing kiss when they met. For she had recognized that Jacinta wasn’t convent material and set her free, but she sure as hell hadn’t done a good job of preparing Jacinta for the world.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to go back?”

  He couldn’t resist giving her a squeeze when she wrinkled her nose and said, “Positive. I should like to tell you something.”

  Sexy, adorable, and alluring, she had him by the short and curlies with that cute shoulder shrug and the quick peep. “You can tell me anything, kitten.”

  “I should very much like you to—to do again what you did in the restaurant.”

  Every single inch of exposed flesh colored, even the dimples above her knees. His raging boner went into overdrive. Fuck. He hadn’t creamed his pants since the night before his fourteenth birthday—the night he’d lost his virginity. If she so much as moved an inch, he was a goner. “You understand what happened?”

  She gnawed her bottom lip and ducked her head. “I had an orgasm?”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “Yes.”

  “I thought so. But it felt so different from—” She cupped a hand over her mouth.

  “From what?” His desire-hazed brain finally made the connection, and his cock leaked precum in a torrent. “From when you did it yourself.”

  Man, was he glad the cabin had great lighting. The riot of colors cascading across her cheeks had him mesmerized. He had to hear her say the words. “You fingered yourself, kitten? When? How often?”

  “Sister Helen was right. I am wicked. I like the pleasures of the flesh.” She buried her face in her hands. “On a rock by the river. But it never felt as delicious as in the restaurant. And never did I lose all my thoughts like I did then. I will have to say a great many penances when I next go to confession.”

  “Are you wearing the white cotton panties?” He couldn’t have stopped that question escaping even looking down the barrel of a gun.

  “Oh.” She pushed off him. “I didn’t mean now. Or to make you feel compelled to do it again. Not if you don’t want to.”

  He grabbed the hands she was wringing and brought each palm to his lips in turn, inhaling the clean soap scent, savoring the soft, supple feel of her flesh. “Look at me.”

  When their gazes met, he lost it. “I want to. Lose the shirt.”

  She shook her head. “No. You are feeling sorry for me. I would have you do it because you want to. Not out of pity.”

  Demon wanted to howl. Instead he gritted his teeth and settled her small hands over the bulge of his erection. “Feel that. I want to. Pity’s the furthest thing from my mind. I’m hard and aching, and all I can think of is being inside of you.”

  “Oh.” Her nostrils quivered, and she stroked the length of his arousal. “I know women like sex, a lot. And I liked what happened in the restaurant, but the other—”

  “Hurt for two reasons. One, it was your first time, and the piercing of your hymen does hurt. Two, you weren’t ready for me. Not like you were in the restaurant.”

  “I trust you, and I know you would never hurt me. I shall try it.”

  He snatched her back onto his lap and kissed the bejesus out of her. Eating at her mouth relentlessly, he thumbed her nipples to tight peaks and then shoved the T-shirt above her very naked, absolutely perfect breasts.

  A foghorn cracked the still silence of the night.

  Demon opened his eyes, tore his mouth from hers, and stifled a curse when three rows of moving lights came into focus. A river ferry approached them on the starboard side. During his inattention, they had drifted near the right bank. He should have turned off all the lights. Everyone on deck would’ve gotten a blatant peep show of the two of them going at it.

  Demon reached behind, felt for the light switch, and flicked it. Blessed darkness descended. “I want you to very slowly make your way up to the front of the boat. Get into the bunk and stay there. Try to get some sleep.”

  “I can pull my own weight. I will bring your coffee and keep you company.”

  “No, honey, you need your sleep, I need to concentrate, and I can do that best if you’re not here.” He stroked her cheek. “I want you to know that the second I find us a safe place to moor, I’ll be finishing what we started. More than once. So rest, Jacinta.”

  * * * *

  He made it through the night by studying the detailed river maps Fredo had compiled. Before dawn’s rays lightened the sky, he found a remote tributary and located a small cove deep enough to drop anchor. Thick mangroves framed the tiny bay; he couldn’t have designed a more perfect hiding place.

  After cleaning up in the kitchen, he hurried to the bed cabin. The floral drapes he hadn’t noticed the night before hadn’t been drawn, and he feasted on the sight of Jacinta in deep sleep.

  Curled on one side, both hands resting under a cheek, her lips twitched, and he had to grin for she looked like a kitten. The T-shirt had ridden above her waist, and his dick did a happy dance when he glimpsed the white cotton panties. Thongs were so not going to do it for him anymore.

  He shed his clothes in record time and set the garments and his boots within easy reach. The bunk would be a tight fit for the both of them. Tough; he’d take her any way he could. Easing onto the bottom of the bunk, Demon edged up the thin mattress until he spooned her, curled an arm around her waist, and brought them skin to skin.

  She smelled intoxicating, she felt silky and soft, all curvy and round and perfect, and he had to nuzzle her neck. His lips traced that spot of velvet fuzz at her nape, moved onto the slight rise of the vein feeding her brain, and, for a second, he wished he had vampire traits and could bind them together for eternity with one suck, one taste.

  Somewhere a flock of birds chirped a welcome to the dawn. The sweet morning song coupled with the lifting of the shadows had Jacinta’s eyelids fluttering. He captured her earlobe, suckled gently, slid his hand under the white panties, and palmed her mound.

  Heat radiated from her folds; he closed his eyes and gave his fingers free rein. Her plump labia dewed after the first stroke. Demon tugged a crisp pubic hair, and she moaned.

  “Morning, Jacinta.”

  Twisting and craning her neck, she gifted him with a sleep-fogged smile and peered at him through hooded eyes. “Good morning. I will not call you Demon.”

  “You’re feisty first thing in the morning, kitten.” He hit a sweet spot, her eyes opened wide, and one tooth snagged her lower lip. “Like that, do you?”

  “You’re not wearing anything.” She slid her hand from his shoulder to his neck. “So hard and hot, like a smooth rock that has been baking in the sun for days.”

  “I’ve been baking, all right.” He guided her hand to his erection. “Feel me, Jacinta. I am so cooked for you.”

  “I want to see you.”

  She really would kill him. All he wanted was in her, but no way could he take her the way he wanted to. Not yet. Demon clenched his jaw, rolled onto his back, and jammed his hands under his head. “I’m all yours.”

  Chapter Four

  Jacinta sat back on her haunches. Never had she seen such glorious male beauty. Even the photographs of Michelangelo’s David couldn’t rival the chiseled planes of Demon’s haunting features or his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The scar on the left side of his mouth added a sinful sensuousness to his face and gave him that three-dimpled smile. Fate had gifted her this man, this warrior whose honor shone brighter than even the Greek gods, and fool she would be not to jump at the opportunity to wallow in him.

  She knew without a doubt that he was hard and jaded. That he would never believe what she herself had refused to acknowledge until now. She had fallen in love with him.

  Plain. Simple. Irrefutable.

  How else to explain throwing away all she’d been taught for a chance to know him as a woman? How else to explain her immediate and complete trust in him? The ache in her heart when she conside
red what would happen after he left had her eyes prickling. For though he spoke like a native Venezuelan, he was not, and he would leave as soon as he finished what he had to do here.

  If anyone had told her fifty-seven days ago that she would be on a bunk with a naked man and about to fornicate, she would have rolled her eyes. But fifty-seven days ago, she had not seen the outside world and had resigned herself to living out her days in the cloister.

  Freedom had her in its entrancing hold.

  The sheer joy of choice. The thrilling chaos of civilization. The hedonistic appeal of decadent foods, colors of every hue, the feel of a yard of silk. Her senses had grown drunk on all the tastes, sights, and sounds. She had succumbed to the wicked world in a heartbeat.

  And threw herself into all the confusion, the wild extremes, dirt and poverty, and shiny new buildings with glass exteriors and, miracle of all miracles, air conditioning. The craving to experience everything life had to offer had her in thrall.

  She had never expected this man, these feelings, and the way her body responded to him, as if she had been made for those large, calloused palms, the thick fingers that brought her unbridled ecstasy. And here was her chance to dive into a carnal chasm, the one sense she had never indulged: touching another human being.

  “I have never seen anyone naked besides me.” Heat burned her face, but she met his intense scrutiny. “Though I did steal the picture of Michelangelo’s David from a book in the cloister’s library. I thought him perfection until I saw you.”

  She ran her fingers up his arm, lingered on his bulging bicep, traced the three-pronged fork tattoo, and then caressed his shoulder. “You are like hot steel—hard, invincible, and unyielding. And yet your touch is gentle and when you hold me, I feel cherished. I should like you to know that I cherish you too.”