The Healer (Seven Sins MC 2)

"There's... there's nothing," I tried to claim, but couldn't force my lips to spill the rest of the lie.

"Yes, there is," he countered. "There's something here."

"There can't be," I insisted, feeling his hand slip, fingers sliding between mine, lifting my arm above my head as his body shifted, his knee pressing between my thighs, forcing me to turn until I was lying on the couch, his body hovering above mine. Not touching, but so close. Dangerously close.

My damn traitorous heart fluttered in my chest at the intensity I saw in his eyes.

"There can be," he countered, leaning down, pressing his lips into the side of my neck. The shiver that coursed through me told me that while my mind was conflicted, my body most certainly wasn't. "If you want there to be," he added, teeth gently nipping my earlobe.

"It's not that simple," I insisted, feeling my brain already getting slow and foggy with desire as his tongue traced up my ear.

"What's complicated?" he asked.

"You're my captor," I reminded him, taking a measured breath, but feeling it shake in my chest.

To that, he pressed back enough to look down at me, his eyes glowing red with his desire. "If you want to leave, leave," he offered.

"You're not going to let me leave."

"You want to leave, go," he said, shrugging as he sat back on his heels. I felt the loss of his hand in mine more than I should have, enough to almost make me reach for his again.

"And, what, you'll chase me down?" I asked.

"No."

"You can't let me go. I know about you. I can tell people."

"You won't," he said, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Because you're not stupid," he said, giving me a humorless laugh. "These days, when people start talking about fucking a demon, they get sent to a psych ward."

He wasn't exactly wrong about that, was he? I'd certainly come across several delusional individuals in my time in emergency rooms. And when they muttered about things that didn't exist—or things I thought didn't exist—someone always called for a psychological evaluation, usually ending with a hold and, eventually, medication.

I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever disbelieved someone when they'd told me their story, when it actually turned out to be true.

"I could go to people who would believe me."

"Good luck finding any these days," he said. "I've had actual conversations with holy people in my time. They never suspected a thing. And a lot of them these days don't take things quite as literally as they were once written."

"You'd really let me go?" I asked, searching his face for any small tell.

"I would really let you go. If you wanted to go."

Of course I wanted to go.

Right?

"At any time?" I asked, somehow knowing that right now was not it.

"At any time," he agreed. "I would even drive you to the airport."

"The airport?" I asked. "How far did you take me?"

"Across the country," he told me, tone unapologetic.

"I, ah, I wouldn't be, like, you know, be making a deal with the devil, right?" I clarified, deciding in a situation such as this, the fine print was very, very important.

To that, I got a smile.

An actual, genuine smile.

Not a smirk, or a sneer.

A freaking smile from this grumpy man.

"No, Josephine, your soul is yours to keep," he said, tone lighter than I had ever heard it, playful, teasing. And, damn, it was a beautiful thing from such a serious man.

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise," he said, eyes going just the slightest bit soft. "So, we're agreed? You are free to leave at any time. But you're also free to stay as long as you want?"

The issue was probably important enough to require actual thought. But did I do that? No, no I did not.

"We're agreed," I said, giving him what felt like a wobbly smile.

But it didn't last long.

"Thank fuck," he hissed, coming down on me, lips sealing to mine. Hard. Hungry.

And with that, any thoughts about him being anything other than a man I desired slipped away.

There was no hesitation as my legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him more firmly against me, feeling his hardness press into me. I greedily writhed against him, needing the friction, as Ace's hand slipped under my shirt, cupping my breast as that growling noise I liked too much moved through him.

His forefinger and thumb closed around my nipple, twisting, squeezing, then rolling, making my hips buck up against him as the need for release grew.

"Ace," I whimpered, fingers dragging his shirt up his back, awkwardly yanking it up over his head, getting a little chuckle out of him as he pressed back again, looking down at me as he got rid of the shirt.

I might have been impatient for release, but I took my sweet time looking over his chest, his stomach, those muscles of his Adonis belt that disappeared into his pants.