Page 36 of Love At the Gates of Hell (The Seven Sinners Trilogy #1)

twenty-three

Benny

Benny’s childhood bedroom was a time capsule to the teenaged version of herself who loved pastels and ballerinas and the lead actor in a high school drama that she watched with alarming regularity during its six-season run.

Pale pink walls were covered in faded posters, and the ceiling still had those glow-in-the-dark stars scattered just above the white wrought-iron bed pressed up against the wall.

The quilt that covered the queen-sized bed had been hand-stitched by her grandmother, the patchwork a collection of stars and moons in muted versions of all her favorite colors.

A very long and very hot shower had been her intent as she climbed upstairs but she hadn’t gotten very far.

She was standing at her dresser, staring into the mirror adorned with photos crammed in the frame, stickers reflecting off the glass.

Photos of Jamie and Benny from prom, Imani and Olivia on the quad, old Polaroids faded from the years.

Benny was a blight in the otherwise sweet bedroom.

Her hair matted with blood, her hands streaked with ash, and her clothes covered in the remains of what Christian had become. Or always had been.

She looked down at her hands, surprised to find them steady.

The layer of ash clinging to her skin was a small physical reminder of her magic, the cost of what she had done.

The blood on her hands, literal and not.

There was always a price. And didn’t killing someone come with the biggest price of all?

And yet, her conscience felt clear. The ash a powerful reminder of what she could accomplish instead of a price to be paid.

The last few days had been a real whirlwind understanding of the true potential of her abilities.

These weren’t the kinds of things found in a history book, and her grimoire had never hinted that this was a possibility.

She wished she had her mother. She wished she could ask her for advice, to help her understand.

To just tell her how much she missed her.

How sorry she was that the last thing she ever said to her was in anger.

She still couldn’t wrap her head around the connection they shared now, their place in this sadistic ritual.

So much had been taken from them both and for what?

To build a man up with power he didn’t deserve?

Was that all Christian wanted?

She was never very good with relationships.

Benny thought it was a by-product of being a Strega. The allure of a long-term, monogamous relationship never held much appeal when you were constantly worried about your lifespan. But she’d had various flings over the years, men and women she’d meet on campus or witches from other covens…

But a demon? That was new.

It was hard to believe there was a time that she had been attracted to him. She groaned, her head hanging low. Maybe she’d never had a long-term, monogamous relationship because her taste was garbage. A literal bone-cracking, pain-seeking, demon kind of garbage.

She’d never seen anything like it before.

The transformation had happened so quickly, his attack on her so swift. If it weren’t for Gideon… He had thrown himself to the wolves so many times for her. She kept telling herself ‘a job is a job.’ But that didn’t stop her from wanting it to be more. Mean more.

Because she had finally learned how to control her power.

It was Gideon. Protecting Gideon.

The man who used his body as a shield for her with zero hesitation, just like he had at the quarry. The same man that walked into that room with her so she wouldn’t have to face Christian by herself. The thought of anyone hurting him…

She could feel her palms heat at the thought.

Benny blinked her eyes shut.

She needed to stop thinking and just get in the damn shower.

But to her surprise, the moment she opened her bedroom door to grab some extra towels from the linen closet, she came face to face with Gideon, a duffle bag swung over his shoulder and his tie loosened around his neck.

Her eyes drifted to that little patch of his throat, his shirt unbuttoned, the hint of that tattoo peeking out. She tried not to stare.

Had she somehow summoned him?

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he replied. “I was… just looking for the bathroom.”

“Other side of the hallway,” she said, pointing just past him.

Which he knew well enough, having already spent one night here. But she didn’t mind. She wanted to see him. She wanted to make sure he was alright, to heal the parts of him that got hurt at her expense.

And maybe he wanted to be here too, because he lingered in the doorway, his eyes working their way up and down her body, in that way he did that first morning. Like he was tracking each and every inch of her to ensure she was all in one piece. Except this time, she felt her skin flush.

Everything was different now.

“You okay?”

His favorite question.

Or maybe it spoke more to how many weird and dangerous situations they had fallen into since knowing each other.

Either way, she hardly knew the answer. But it didn’t matter.

Because he was standing here, on the threshold of her childhood bedroom, and the only thing she could think about was getting him out of that suit.

She leaned against the door jamb as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“I’m figuring that out,” she told him. She had promised him honesty. She only wished she was brave enough to be fully truthful. “But maybe. I might have a better answer for you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to have an answer at all, Benny.”

But didn’t she?

Wasn’t she supposed to know how to feel after killing someone?

He leaned toward her, fingers brushing the hair off of her forehead as he leveled her with a look. Like he somehow knew what was going on in her head.

“Are you hurt?”

She felt a little dizzy, but that wasn’t because of any injury. It was his hands on her skin, however fleeting. “I should be the one asking that question, Crawford.”

“I don’t care about me.”

“But I do,” she said, her voice cracking in a way she didn’t expect. “I care. You can’t keep putting yourself in harm’s way for my sake, Gideon. You just can’t— if something had happened to you tonight, I—”

“What?” he asked, his voice so gentle, his body so close. “What would you have done?”

She blinked back the irritating tears that had sprung to her eyes.

“I’d have burned down the whole warehouse,” she said quietly.

A surprised breath passed through his lips.

“Fuck, Benny,” he said, voice rough in a way that sent a wave of gooseflesh over her skin. “Come here.”

Gideon cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip before he crushed his mouth against hers without a second thought.

Benny felt her whole body sigh with relief as her eyes fluttered shut, a soft breath passing from her lips to his.

She curled her hands in the lapels of his suit jacket, tugging him backwards into her bedroom, magicking the door shut behind them with a soft click of the lock.

“Love that little trick,” he said into her mouth, his hand tangling in her hair as he deepened their kiss.

Her lips parted eagerly for him, a quiet moan caught in her throat as he pulled her flush against him, every plane of his body warm and hard and hers to touch.

He was careful as he guided her backwards, her body pressing against the door that led to her bathroom.

She could feel the weight of him as his body crowded up against hers, the little thrill that trembled through her as his hands pressed against her hips, fingers digging into the soft skin at the waist of her jeans.

He kissed her again, his lips soft and hungry, trailing from her mouth to the column of her throat to the soft spot just behind her ear. She hummed a little at the sensation.

She could hardly think straight.

Not while his hands were slipping under her T-shirt, fingers blazing along her skin.

“Gideon,” she breathed.

His hands stilled so quickly she wondered if he was waiting for her to stop him.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he drew back. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head. No. She wanted him to keep going, to keep touching her, kissing her. She wanted him to undo every button, to carry her right to her bed and slip beneath the sheets and show her if his hands were as talented as his mouth. She wanted all of it.

“You have to say it,” he urged gently, his fingers tugging at the waist of her jeans.

“Please don’t stop.”

He sighed as he ran his hands up her sides, slipping his fingers beneath the lace of her bra, pressing his thumbs against the skin just below her breasts. The pressure made her squirm with pleasure.

“Thank Christ,” he whispered.

She lifted her arms up as he stripped her of her shirt and tossed it to the floor.

He gave her a look that made her feel wicked as he shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie further, tossing them both into the small pile forming at their feet.

She reached for the buttons of his dress shirt, working through them as he watched her, her fingers leaving traces of ash against the crisp white.

She paused, frowning, looking at the marks.

“I don’t give a shit about this shirt, Benny.”

She laughed in spite of herself as she pushed the shirt from his shoulders. He wore only a white tank top underneath, the fabric stretched across his chest. She ran her fingers down his stomach, feeling the way his muscles contracted beneath her touch. God, she wanted this gone.

He seemed to read her mind, his arms rolling the shirt from the bottom and pulling it up over his head.

She could finally see the tattoo on his chest more clearly now, a portrait of a lion resting just above his heart, with gorgeous reds and yellows and oranges in the design.

But before she could ask about it, he kissed her again, teeth nipping at her bottom lip.

“We should shower,” he mumbled into her mouth.

“We should?”