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It’s not fair how good you feel.
This ache was somehow worse than the one he carried in his hip. This desire, this obsession, thisweakness. Gwen may never choose to bind her soul to his spirit, but it was her body that was driving him mad.
It’s not fair that I wake up and don’t feel this when I do.
Ambrosius' hand tightened into a fist.
A moment later, he was gone.
When Ambrosius manifested inside, it was quiet.
The room was blissfully dark, save for the soft glow of a single nightlight coming from the bathroom door. It illuminated the object of his turmoil, bringing Gwen’s face into sharper focus. From his vantage point on her ceiling, Ambrosius could see her sprawled across her bed. A thinsheet tucked messily around her waist, exposing no more than a single calf from beneath.
She had likely kicked the sheets down during the night, an unconscious need to escape the muggy summer heat. Her skin looked clammy, strands of pink hair sticking to her temple. Otherwise, Ambrosius couldn’t remember seeing her so unguarded. Even in the throes of pleasure, a part of Gwen still fought release. But here, her mouth was slightly parted and her breathing was slow and easy. Chest rising and falling beneath the thin material of her sleeping shirt, and her arms extended at her sides, fingers curling near her pillow.
Like some kind of angel.
The sickening thought made something barbarous unfurl within him.
Ambrosius appeared at the foot of the bed, towering over Gwen. He envied her ability to slumber, something that escaped him no matter what form he was inhabiting. Ambrosius pinched the thin sheet between his pointer fingers and thumbs, and slowly drew the sheet away. Gwen didn’t move, lashes still as she breathed. Serene in her obliviousness to the demon that crept onto her bed.
The material of her sleeping shirt was thin, a simple, dull synthetic. So very different from her vibrant nature. Ambrosius really needed to take her shopping. The inane thought nearly made him laugh as his fingers traced a line down her throat. A whisper of a touch as he made his way toward the neckline of her sleeping clothes.
Gwen was warm with slumber, an intimate heat that would have burned his hand if he didn’t know better. The subtle curve of her breast pressing against the crooked neckline, a tempting bit of flesh that called to his mouth to bite. She was softhere, soft and unassuming. But the artificial heart inside his human form still beat wildly. A heat igniting with possibility as his eyes bled from black to a spectral cyan.
The last shredded ligament of his sanity was barely holding together as he eyed Gwen’s face. Oblivious, foolishly oblivious to danger. The subtle shift from finger nail to claw happened within a blink of an eye. Ambrosius raised the tip toward her temple and carefully pushed the sticky hair aside.
The rush of her surface thoughts flooded his own mind with abstract memory. More importantly, the dream taking shape. The familiar phantom of his own likeness was tormenting her. A small huff escaped her lips, barely a sound, but it cemented the perverse idea within his own mind.
Ambrosius drew his hand back to the neck of Gwen’s sleeping shirt, and with a single claw, he sliced the material down the middle. It curled away, like the rind of a fruit, exposing the skin that had been taunting him for days now. Skin Ambrosius had been desperate to see, to touch right in front of him.
Demonic eyes were drawn to the generous curve of her breasts, the rosy brown nipples that he had only felt through layers of clothing. He brushed his thumb over the peak, felt her breath hitch for a brief moment. The pale, raised lines on the edge of her breasts stretched toward ribs that would crack beneath his hands. More pale raised streaks appeared at the curve of her hips, disappearing briefly beneath a pair of light blue panties. They trailed the top of her thighs before disappearing entirely into more tempting flesh. Ambrosius hadn’t realized how hard he’d been clenching his jaw until he heard her sigh.
A quiet sound, it somehow cut through the ringing in his ears. She was still asleep, but the dream must have taken root. Still unaware of the danger in her bedroom. He could easily loom over her, a real sleep paralysis demon pressing heavily into her frame until her body gasped for breath. But the thought didn’t demand his attention the way she did.
Ambrosius shifted onto his haunches, monstrous hand dipping beneath the band at her hip. The sharp tip skimmed across one of the glossy scars, following the path to her outer thigh. He could bite here, make new marks to decorate her skin and connect the freckles and beauty spots.
But that wasn’t what she had wanted, was it?
If you’re gonna haunt me in my dreams…
The customer was always right.
The sharp cut of his claws rendered her panties useless, and Ambrosius peeled the scraps away. His eyes traced the familiar sight of her mound, the precious bit of fat above her pubic bone another tempting curve. He followed the wiry, but soft hair down to the source of his madness. That perfect line, one that he had never thought twice about prior to meeting her, but now held so much power over him. The memory of her wrapped around him…
A familiar hatred burst in the base of his skull at the ache in his groin. She had spoken of frustration, but it was Ambrosius who was suffering at the sight of her. The frustration—the impatience—only grew as his claw reached out. Ambrosius’ jaw snapped shut, smothering a groan as dampness met his skin. When she parted beneath his touch, more wet heat met him, spreading easily with every lazy turn of his sharp finger.
Stillso unaware. Or so he thought, until she let out a low murmur of something that sounded suspiciously like his name.
“Ro … please…”
Fuck.
Gwen was even hotter here, precious heat radiated from her cunt. Tempting, everything about her was always so tempting. She made him pant like an animal, made him eager to please her, despite her distance.
Distant. She was still too far from him. The thought was enough to unsettle Ambrosius, causing him to disturb the light in her bathroom and cast the space in darkness. Yet, Ambrosius’ eyes glowed, illuminating the wetness he slowly eased his finger into. The slide was hot, her insides fairly acquainted with him at this point. Perhaps it was the building hysteria, but he swore her pulse against his fingers matched the one in his cock.
Gwen’s leg twitched against his knee and he could hear a soft moan, but his eyes were transfixed. This was an intimacy that shouldn’t exist between them. This was the impossible made possible. It was foolish, it was perverse, chaotic, and yet Ambrosius felt overwhelming euphoria as he withdrew from her heat to suck his fingers clean.