Page 12 of Exorcise Me (Hotter than Hell)

“You called?” Lucien said softly.

Relief crashed through me so powerfully that my knees nearly buckled. “You came.”

His smile was gentle, lacking its usual sardonic edge. “I promised I would.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Though I expected you’d need more time.”

“I had a visitor,” I explained. “Father Finnegan.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned in his eyes. “And how is the good father? Still convinced the world is overrun with evil spirits who live to corrupt innocent humans?”

“More or less.” I found myself moving toward him, drawn like a magnet to its polar opposite. “He sensed you’d been here.”

Lucien’s eyebrow rose. “Did he, now? Impressive for a human.”

“He’s been doing this a long time,” I said, stopping just short of touching him, suddenly uncertain of my welcome. “He could feel your… presence.”

“My presence,” Lucien repeated, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Despite everything, I laughed—a short, surprised sound that seemed to please him. He reached out, his fingers brushing mine, and that simple touch sent electricity racing up my arm.

“I missed you,” I admitted, the words emerging before I could consider them.

Something softened in his expression. “Did you? Even while questioning if I’ve been manipulating your mind and corrupting your soul?”

I winced. “You know me too well.”

“I’m trying to,” he said simply.

I laced my fingers with his, drawing strength from the contact. “I have been questioning—everything. My faith, my calling, what I’ve been taught about demons…” I met his gaze directly. “What I feel for you.”

Lucien’s thumb traced gentle circles on my palm. “And what conclusions have you reached in your scholarly ruminations?”

“That I don’t have enough information.” I squeezed his hand. “That I need to learn more. Experience more.”

“Experience?” His eyes darkened slightly. “What kind of experience did you have in mind, exorcist?”

The way he said ‘exorcist’—like it was both a tease and a term of endearment—made heat pool in my stomach.

“The kind Father Finnegan would definitely not approve of,” I said, stepping closer until our bodies nearly touched. “The kind that involves you. A lot of you.”

Lucien’s free hand came up to cup my cheek, his touch achingly gentle. “Noah,” he said, my name a caress on his lips. “Are you sure? Once we cross this line—once you consciously choose this—there’s no going back to the person you were before.”

I leaned into his touch, my decision already made. “I don’t want to go back to who I was. I want to discover who I can be.” I turned my face, pressing a kiss to his palm. “With you.”

Something flashed in his eyes—a hunger deeper than mere desire, a need that mirrored my own. Then his mouth was on mine, and conversation became unnecessary.

This kiss was different from our others—less frantic, more deliberate. A conscious choice rather than a dam breaking. His lips moved against mine with exquisite patience, as if we had all the time in the world. Perhaps, for him, we did.

I wound my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his, seeking the heat and solidity I’d missed these past days. He responded by deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing mine, his hands moving to my waist to pull me closer.

“Three days is too long,” he murmured against my lips. “Don’t send me away again.”

“I won’t,” I promised, then gasped as his mouth moved to my neck, finding a spot that made my knees weaken.

“Good,” he said, voice rough with desire.

“Because I’ve thought of nothing but this—” his teeth grazed my pulse point “—and this—” his hands slid under my shirt, fingertips tracing patterns on my skin “—and especially this—” he rolled his hips against mine, the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against my own.

I groaned, head falling back to give him better access to my neck. “Bedroom,” I managed. “Now.”

His chuckle vibrated against my skin. “So demanding.” But he was already guiding me backward, his mouth never leaving my body for more than a moment.

We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothing as we went. My shirt was discarded somewhere in the hallway. His followed moments later. By the time we reached the bed, we were both down to just pants, breathing hard, skin flushed with desire.

Lucien pushed me gently onto the mattress, following me down, his body a welcome weight above mine. In the soft afternoon light, he looked almost otherworldly—too perfect to be real, yet solid and warm against me.

“I missed you too,” he confessed, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “More than I should have.”

The admission made something warm bloom in my chest. I reached up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip. “Tell me something true,” I whispered. “Something real about you that no one else knows.”

He stilled, surprise flickering across his face. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ve existed for seven centuries,” he murmured, “and no one has ever seen me the way you do.”

The words settled into me like stones dropping into still water, ripples of meaning expanding outward. I turned my head, capturing his mouth with mine, trying to pour everything I couldn’t yet say into the kiss.

He responded with equal fervor, his hands exploring my body with newfound reverence, as if mapping territory he intended to claim permanently. I arched into his touch, my own hands busy with the button of his pants, eager to feel all of him against me.

“Patient,” he murmured against my lips, even as he helped me push the fabric down his hips. “We have time.”

“Three days was enough waiting,” I countered, working my own pants off with his help.

Then we were both naked, skin against skin, and coherent thought fled. Lucien’s body was a marvel—all lean muscle and smooth skin that seemed to glow from within. I ran my hands down his chest, across his stomach, lower, watching his pupils dilate as I wrapped my fingers around him.

“Noah,” he groaned, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I want to burn,” I replied, stroking him slowly, reveling in the way his breath hitched.

His smile was wicked as he moved down my body, pressing kisses to my chest, my stomach, the sensitive juncture of my thigh. “Then let me show you what it means to burn for someone.”

What followed was an education in pleasure I hadn’t known was possible. Lucien used his mouth and hands with devastating skill, bringing me to the edge again and again only to back away, building a tension so exquisite it bordered on pain.

“Please,” I finally gasped, my body trembling with need. “Lucien, I need—”

“What?” he asked, raising his head to meet my gaze, his eyes glowing with inhuman intensity. “Tell me what you need, Noah.”

“You,” I said simply. “All of you.”

Something shifted in his expression—hunger giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. He moved back up my body, his face hovering above mine.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough with restrained desire. “This is… more intimate than what we’ve done before.”

I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. “I’m sure. I want to know all of you, Lucien. Every part.”

The look he gave me then was almost reverent. “No one has ever said that to me before,” he whispered, and for a moment, I glimpsed the loneliness of centuries in his eyes.

I pulled him down for a kiss, trying to convey without words that he wasn’t alone anymore.

With careful patience, Lucien prepared me, using the honey from the jar in a way that made me laugh then gasp with pleasure. When he finally pressed into me, the initial discomfort quickly gave way to a fullness that felt like completion.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

“More than okay,” I assured him, adjusting to the new sensation. “Move. Please.”

He did, setting a gentle rhythm that gradually built in intensity as my body relaxed and pleasure mounted. I’d never felt so connected to another being—physically, emotionally, perhaps even spiritually, though I dared not examine that thought too closely.

Lucien maintained eye contact, his gaze holding mine with an intimacy that was almost more overwhelming than the physical act itself. In those amber depths, I saw centuries of loneliness, of being feared and misunderstood, of yearning for connection.

I see you, I wanted to tell him. I really see you.

Instead, I pulled him closer, deepening the connection, meeting his movements with my own. Words failed, but our bodies spoke a language older than any human tongue.

The pleasure built inexorably, like a wave gathering strength before breaking. When it finally crested, it was unlike anything I’d experienced before—not just physical release but something deeper, as if some fundamental barrier between us had dissolved.

Lucien followed moments later, my name on his lips like a prayer, his body trembling above mine. As he collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest, I felt a strange peace settle over me—a certainty that, whatever complications lay ahead, this connection was real and true.

We lay in comfortable silence for a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin, my head resting on his chest where a heartbeat steadier than any human’s marked time.

“Father Finnegan says demons can’t love,” I said eventually, my voice quiet in the stillness of the room. “He says it’s not in your nature.”

Lucien’s hand paused briefly before resuming its gentle exploration. “And what do you think, Noah Callahan, exorcist and scholar of demonology?”

I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at his beautiful face, now relaxed and open in a way it rarely was. “I think Father Finnegan has never met you.”

A slow smile spread across Lucien’s face, warming his eyes. “A diplomatic answer.”

“Not diplomacy. Truth.” I traced the line of his collarbone, gathering courage. “Can you? Love, I mean?”

His expression sobered. “What makes you think I don’t already?”

The question hung between us, heavy with implication. My heart pounded against my ribs.

“In the kitchen, before the Wellington case,” I said carefully. “You started to say something. That you were in love with…”

“With you,” he finished simply, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m in love with you, Noah. Have been since you stood in that ridiculous living room with your wrinkled khakis and your doubt-filled eyes, trying so hard to be something you weren’t meant to be.”

The admission stole my breath. “Lucien—”

“You don’t have to say it back,” he interrupted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Seven centuries gives one perspective on these things. Human hearts move at their own pace.”

I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his. “My heart isn’t moving slowly,” I whispered. “It’s just trying to catch up to where it already is.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a joy so pure it transformed his face entirely. He pulled me down for a kiss that spoke volumes, his arms wrapping around me as if he never intended to let go.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I smiled against his lips. “So much for demons being incapable of love.”

“So much for exorcists being immune to demonic charms,” he countered, rolling us so I was beneath him again, his eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, warmer. “Now, shall we test a few more theological assumptions about demons?”

“Such as?” I asked, already breathless with renewed desire.

His smile was wicked. “Our legendary stamina, for one.”

As it turned out, that particular theological assumption was entirely accurate.