I’m laying on his broad frame, his chest rising and
falling under my upper body. The devil is sleeping,
still I know if I move he’ll know it. He always knows,
sometimes even those things about me I have no idea
about.
The devil, the powerful dark demon is sleeping, and
the fact I dared to put my head on his chest is
frighten me sometimes. But even more, it’s
comforting. The knowledge of the strength he
possesses, the danger he is. Killing machine, living
weapon, created to kill. The man with no memory and no
past, more animal than human, the mere sight of his
snarl can set a scream in the crowd. The one who won’t
stop and hesitate if the action is needed, the one who
can stand against anything you know and then some. The
one people think has no soul. If only they had a
slightest idea how wrong they are…
Power is ripping through his muscles that stay
motionless under that heavily tanned gruff skin… even
now they aren’t completely relaxed, ready for motion,
ready to fight.
The demon is dangerous, frightening. But not for me.
Not when those hands, that can break through concrete
without so much as a wince, run over my frame with
those feather-light touches. Not when razor-sharp
claws that took hundreds of lives slowly and sensually
cut my clothes away. Not when I’m pulled in the harsh
embrace that is almost intended to crash me, still his
hands stop just a moment before hurting me, and I can
feel the powerful engine vibrating in his body,
radiating heat that licks me like living frame.
The moments when that wild uncontrollable creature
licks my neck and whispers “what do you want me to
do?” are sending me over the edge. And those baby blue
eyes, warm like summer sky, looking at me with love no
one else would ever see…
I’m not the one to own the demon. And still I am.
Since the demon won’t let someone else own him, anyone
else but me.