Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, but all OCs belong to me. That includes Saiu.
DEVIL'S SMILE
Chapter 11
Tōshirō let his mouth turn down in a scowl, unable to fully contain his anger. Damn that Kurotsuchi. He was a madman, and all of the Gotei 13 knew it. Unfortunately, he was also a genius. His Research and Development Institute was indispensible, but Tōshirō didn't think the man should also be a Captain in command of a full Squad of Shinigami. He knew Kurotsuchi had killed his own men in the past, but the Captain-Commander turned a blind eye. The Gotei 13 needed the madman.
Personally, Tōshirō would rather have seen Urahara Kisuke reinstated as Captain, especially now that his innocence had been proven. His banishment had been unjust, and it was only right to offer him his position back. But the Captain-Commander was a stubborn man—plus he'd never liked Urahara—and he continued to ignore the situation. And Urahara, being a proud man, had never asked.
Knowing he was stuck with Kurotsuchi did not soothe Tōshirō's temper. The madman-Captain had said he only wanted to do a short, simple test on Nakita—but that had been over twelve hours ago. After hours of demanding answers only to be brushed off, Tōshirō had threatened to invade the R&D Institute by force if Nakita wasn't released immediately. Kurotsuchi, with the prospect of irreparable ice and water damage to his facility looming, had very reluctantly promised to have Nakita back to Tōshirō by midnight.
Kurotsuchi had five minutes left before Tōshirō really lost his temper.
He stood in the lobby of the main facility, surrounded by cold, sterile tile in a large, echoingly empty space. His feet were planted, his arms folded, his stance still and ready. Four minutes. If Kurotsuchi had harmed Nakita in any way . . . some of his experiments were truly horrific. Tōshirō couldn't understand why the other Captains tolerated Kurotsuchi.
"I told you," came a loud, angry voice, "that I can walk just fine on my own. Where's the damn exit?"
Tōshirō straightened, his anger growing as he recognized Nakita's voice. Those disgusting research goons had upset her.
A door snapped open at the other end of the lobby and Nakita swept through, her kimono swirling around her legs and the red ties of her obi floating out behind her. A handful of lab-coat-wearing researchers trotted after her.
"But Matsuo-san, Kurotsuchi insists on a physical exam just to be—"
"He can insist until the sky falls down on his head. I am done with tests."
"But Matsuo-san—" The researcher reached for her arm, his expression agonized but determined. His fingers closed around her arm, dragging her to a stop.
Tōshirō started forward, his eyes blazing with anger.
"I said," Nakita said, her voice rising furiously, "to keep your hands off me!"
She grabbed his arm with her free hand and yanked him forward off balance. She twisted his wrist until she broke his grip on her—and kept twisting his wrist around sideways until the man keeled over, howling in pain. Another researcher lunged for her and she spun, her leg coming up as she pivoted on the opposite foot and pistoned her heel into the man's gut. He staggered backward, wheezing.
Tōshirō froze for a moment, staring. Nakita had just executed a perfect, textbook side kick. And the move she'd used on the first man was a simple martial arts throw, using leverage and technique to take down a larger opponent. Both attacks were among the most basic techniques, but they still weren't the kind of thing likely to happen by fluke or instinct.
He shook off his surprise and started forward again as the research goons tried to surround Nakita. He reached the group before anyone noticed him and grabbed the nearest man by the back of his lab coat. A quick toss sent the man flying, and the yelp when he hit the floor had everyone turning.
Nakita's gaze met his, her eyebrows rising. Ire shadowed her eyes, but there was no fear. She looked tired but otherwise unhurt—which was lucky for the goons, or they would have ended up in far more pain.
"Gentlemen," she announced, amusement mixing with the irritation in her voice, "I believe my escort has arrived. Unless you were planning to argue with him, I'll be taking my leave now."
The researchers reluctantly backed away, nervously eyeing Tōshirō. He ignored them, offering his arm to Nakita instead. She tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow and let him lead her across the lobby and out into the cool night air. Once the building was out of sight, she casually slid her hand away. Tōshirō swallowed against an uncalled-for stab of disappointment.
"Thanks," she said grudgingly after several minutes of silent walking.
"No need," he replied. "You seemed to be doing well on your own."
She shrugged. "There was a man in Rukongai who was giving some basic self-defense lessons. I learned a few things before he . . . well, he disappeared, but I hear that happens a lot."
Another sharp prick of disappointment. So her martial arts skills hadn't been dormant muscle-memory. He sighed, wondering if he'd ever stop looking for signs of her memory that would never be there. Kurotsuchi's many test results had been clear as crystal: Nakita was a soul wiped clean. She had no memories at all, buried, dormant, or hidden.
"So," she said after another moment, "where are we going?"
He stopped. Without thinking, he'd started back toward his Squad's barracks. But of course, Nakita would want to go home.
"It's late," he said after a moment. "I can take you back to Rukongai now, or if you'd prefer, I can provide you with a guest room for the night and have an escort take you home first thing in the morning."
She faced him, a long stride of empty space separating them, nothing but the dark, silent street and the stars above for company. Shadows cast across one side of her face gave her a haunted, ethereal mien.
"How did we meet, Hitsugaya-san?" she asked abruptly. "How would I have known a Shinigami in my past life? I didn't think Shinigami interacted with living people."
He remained silent, not knowing how to answer. He shouldn't have told her they had a past.
"In fact," she continued, her voice softening in an ominous way, "I was under the impression living people can't see Shinigami, let alone speak to them or 'meet' them."
His heartbeat leaped with nerves. He really shouldn't have told her.
"So if I did in fact know you in my past, that would suggest I've forgotten more than my memories from when I was alive."
He held perfectly still, mind scrambling for an explanation that didn't involve damnation in Hell.
She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "So which is it, Shinigami? Did we know each other once, or did you just say that?"
A scowl quirked his mouth. "Why would I 'just say that'?" he demanded, offended. "What do you—"
She moved in another step and reached up, grasping his face with both hands and pulling his head down until they were eye to eye. Taken aback, he just stared at her as she peered fiercely into his eyes as though if she looked hard enough, she'd see the truth somewhere inside him.
And suddenly, all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, pull her close and hold her like that, unmoving forever until she remembered him. She was as strong and beautiful and determined as he remembered her, as passionate and grumpy and willful. Standing with her in the dark street, he felt like a piece of him had been missing all this time and he'd finally found it.
But she'd forgotten him, and there was nothing left of the bonds that had brought them together in the first place. Unable to keep staring into those familiar eyes that held no affection or recognition, he averted his gaze, waiting for her to step away.
Unexpectedly, her hands gentled. Surprised, he looked back at her.
Her expression was soft but somehow distant, somehow sad. "You're telling the truth," she whispered. "You don't seem like the type to tolerate this kind of touch from a stranger."
He blinked, realizing she was right. He would never have allowed someone else to touch him as she was.
Her fingertips brushed gently across his cheeks as she withdrew her hands, her eyes roaming over his face. "There is pain you, Hitsugaya-san, when you look at me."
He stepped back, shaking his head slowly. Even without the Diviner's Sight, she saw too much.
"Tell me, Hitsugaya-san," she said, voice soft and eyes intense. "Please tell me. How did we meet? How do we know each other? Where? When? How long ago?"
He shook his head again. "Matsuo-san, that part of your life has passed. You cannot go back to it, and I don't think you would want to. You have the chance to move on, to start anew. You can't trap yourself in a pointless search for a past that no longer exists."
"It does exist!" she exclaimed. "It exists in you! You look at me with pain and unhappiness, with eyes clouded by memories—memories I don't have!" She reached for him again, but he caught her wrists before she could touch his face. "Tell me who I am!" she cried.
Light caught on her eyes, sparkling off a single tear that slipped down her cheek.
He didn't think, just reacted. With a swiftness that made her gasp, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She went rigid, but he held her lightly, carefully, a china doll that might break at any moment.
"You are Matsuo Nakita," he murmured against her hair. "You are a strong, brave woman of integrity and principle. You're the most courageous person I've ever had the honor of knowing. That is who you are. That's all you need to know."
"That's not enough," she whispered, desperation cracking her voice.
He squeezed her gently, and she finally relaxed against his hold. "The Nakita I knew would face any challenge without flinching. The future you face now is a great unknown—and the unknown is always frightening. Will you let fear defeat you?"
She was silent, standing in the circle of his arms, her face turned away from him. With his chest aching and sadness weighing down his lungs, he let his arms fall and stepped back. Once again, he'd acted inappropriately. She'd handled it very well considering she'd just been hugged by a complete stranger.
He sighed again. "Come, Matsuo-san. I'll take you to a guest room."
She nodded silently and fell into step behind him. He was glad he didn't have to look at her. His emotions had already taken enough of a beating. They walked for nearly a quarter of an hour in silence, the city still and sleeping around them.
"Hitsugaya-san?"
He stopped but didn't turn, keeping his eyes fixed on the distant lights of a far-off building.
Nakita hovered behind him, a shadow he could see out of the corner of one eye. "Are you . . . are you sure I wouldn't want to know my past, if I'd had the chance to choose?"
He wasn't sure. He'd never asked her, and she'd never told him. But he knew of the horrors that had carried her to Hell in the first place, and he knew her experiences in purgatory had been an endless nightmare of demonic dangers and human cruelty that had hardened her, aged her, and iced her heart.
Ever since he'd learned of her ascension, he'd been waging a battle with himself. He wanted her to remember. He wanted her to go back to the old Nakita, the one who knew him and shared experiences with him. But it was wrong and unspeakably selfish to feel that way. Even with her current suffering, she was still far better off now than she'd been in Hell.
"I don't know," he answered quietly, his throat tightening as the truth of his next words settled deep inside him and softened the sharp edges of loneliness, "but if the choice had been mine, I would rather you forgot it all." Even if that meant forgetting him.
A long moment of silence. He stared at the distant lights, determined to behave as a stranger should, trying hard to step back from the crowding memories. Just as she was strong enough to face a future with no memories, he was strong enough to accept a future that didn't include her. After all, he'd known all along that their destinies were never meant to intertwine.
Then a small hand brushed hesitantly against his, and warm gentle fingers curled around his palm. His hand closed automatically around hers, and he had to exercise a conscious effort not to crush her fingers in his grip.
"Thank you, Hitsugaya-san." Her voice washed over him, soft and musical and low with emotion. "I'm glad I met you. Again." Humour lightened her tone with the last word.
A small smile lifted his lips. "So am I," he whispered, and was surprised that he meant it. He was glad.
Without another word, they both started walking again, hands twined together like neither ever intended to let go.
. o : O : o .
Ichigo ran.
The dark halls flashed past on either side, and nerves fluttered in his belly. Being alone in the depths of the demon palace was more intimidating that he'd thought. Every shadow looked a demon about the leap out at him. His footsteps pounded against stone like thunder, and his breathing was loud and harsh in the silence.
He could really have used some Diviner's Sight, not just to figure out which way to go, but to check ahead for possible company. He didn't want to run into any other demons, especially any more females now that he knew he wouldn't be able to hurt them. Had that been why Seiko had fallen to the floor, seemingly in too much pain to attack? A defense mechanism of the demoness?
He ran until he reached another intersection of halls and stopped. None of them presented a downward staircase for him to take. Which way? He debated the possibilities for a moment, then closed his eyes and concentrated.
Glittering blue water flashed through his mind's eye. In the next moment, he stood on a rooftop under blue sky—but there was no one waiting for him.
"Saichi!" he bellowed. "Need some help!"
He counted to twenty in his head, but no orange-haired specter appeared beside him. He waited a moment more, then scrunched his eyes shut and felt vertigo swirl through him. He blinked the dark hallway back into focus.
Damn it all, why had Saichi chosen now to disappear? Ichigo needed some directions! Saiu undoubtedly knew every single room and corridor in his palace, and whatever Saiu knew, Saichi knew. But if Saichi wasn't going to answer his call, Ichigo was screwed. He didn't have time to go looking for the spirit in his inner world.
With a growl of frustration, he decided to go straight for now and hope to find a stairway leading down. He broke into a fast trot, the empty, featureless halls flashing past. After two more junctions, he came into a hall lined by simple sliding doors of dark wood. He paused and opened one, surprised to find a spare bedroom, futon already unrolled on the floor. Were these the servants' quarters? He shook his head sharply; he must have gone too far.
He stepped back and turned around, anxious to get away from sleeping quarters that could have demons returning to them any moment—and jerked back, stumbling into the open doorway behind him.
The silver-haired demoness stood in the center of the corridor, her large eyes fixed on his face.
"Y-you!" he gasped. "I thought you ran for help!" He looked quickly up and down the hall, expecting a horde of demon lords to be closing in—but there was no one. He couldn't sense anyone nearby.
She continued to stare at him, a shadow of confusion in her dark eyes. "You saved my life," she whispered. Her voice was low and throbbing with emotion, higher and sweeter than Tsuibosana's lustrous velvet tones.
He leaned back slightly. "Uh—well, I guess I—"
"No one has ever protected me before."
"Um." He blinked rapidly. "I couldn't let her kill you. You weren't even attacking us."
"I could have alerted the palace to your presence, but you chose to save me anyway."
"I, well—wait, you could have? You mean you didn't tell anyone?"
She shook her head. "You saved my life. They would have killed you."
He stared into her eyes, uncertainty clogging his brain. Was she lying? Telling the truth? Did she really care that he'd saved her? She was a demon, and as everyone kept reminding him, demons were evil and treacherous. Plus, if Seiko was right then she could very easily hurt him—and he would have no defense at all. Even if she didn't attack him, demons had all kinds of nasty tricks, like mind-warping auras and Kidō binding spells that could be invoked in an instant.
But then again, Saiu had his own brand of personal integrity. Maybe this demoness did too.
"I, uh, appreciate you not blowing my cover. I swear I'm not here to cause trouble, I just—need to check something."
She nodded and stepped closer, her gaze still trained on his face. He felt heat creep up his neck, very aware of just how beautiful she was. She was dressed in shades of red and purple, accented with a silvery white obi the same colour as her hair. Her skin was porcelain and looked softer than anything he'd ever seen.
She took another step toward him and he stepped back. There was no sense of violence about her, nor any hint of aura. Not that he was too worried about being attacked; if she'd had any skill at all in battle, she would have defended herself against Nozomi. A whole different kind of nerves was making him want to keep his distance. Interacting with beautiful women—or demonesses—wasn't one of his strong suits, especially when he wasn't sure if she was his enemy or not.
"Shinigami-sama," the demoness breathed. She stretched a hand out, and he felt himself freezing in place as her fingers brushed across his cheek. "You saved me. You protected me. I have never . . ."
As she shifted closer still, he jerked back, eyes widening as he frantically checked with his inner senses for her aura's influence. He couldn't sense anything, but warning bells were going off in his head. With Nozomi's Kidō spells hiding his reiatsu and pure soul, he couldn't harden his reiatsu against any aura she might be giving off.
She stood where she was, one hand outstretched toward him. Her expression softened.
"Do not fear me, Shinigami-sama," she murmured. "I will not harm you, I promise. A human . . . A human with honour and valour who would protect an enemy at his own risk." She drifted toward him so smoothly that he didn't realize it until her fingers stroked his cheek again, her touch light, making no demands. "Please," she whispered. "You saved my life . . . Let me thank you."
There was a hungry kind of look to her as the glistening tip of her tongue wet her lips. He stared at her mouth, unable to look away.
Then her arms were winding around his neck and he couldn't move for surprise, having not noticed her move. Her warm, soft weight pressed against him. A zing of adrenaline swept through him, but he felt no fear—he couldn't sense an aura, and she was so tiny and fragile. Even if he couldn't hurt her, he doubted she could hurt him.
The sultry dark of her eyes filled his vision, framed by thick silver lashes. Blood warmed his face as he felt the length of her body against his, unfamiliar and titillating. The sweet scent of fruit enveloped him, clogging his thoughts.
Seeing his lack of resistance—why wasn't he resisting?—she smiled. With gentle determination, she pulled his face down and brought his lips to hers.
Her mouth was impossibly, delightfully soft as her lips pressed against his. He froze in place, caught between the logical urge to shove her away and the stronger, baser need to do the exact opposite. She stroked the back of his neck with her fingertips as she kissed him again, lightly, a gentle question. Her lips encouraged him with quiet insistence.
The indecision was starting to kindle panic in the back of his head as he stood rock-still, fingers cramping around Zangetsu's hilt. His lips parted as he sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing what he was going to say—and the demoness pressed her mouth into his with sudden, unexpected intensity.
And with that the logical part of his brain blew a circuit and went dark, leaving his mind blank and his heart pounding as hot desire flooded his veins. He exhaled in a rush. The tension receded from his muscles, and the demoness made a small sound of pleasure. A corresponding swoop of heat lifted his belly.
He tentatively slid both arms around her waist, sword still clutched in one hand, and pulled her closer. She stepped into him, pushing him back into the tiny room. Her lips feathered across his, and then the wet warmth of her tongue brushed his upper lip in a teasing touch. When she pressed her mouth more firmly to his, he parted his lips and almost died when her tongue slid into his mouth.
Hunger erupted in him, a fierce longing he'd never felt before. Fire was flowing in his veins, condensing in his center until he realized he was crushing her against his chest—but she was clutching him just as tightly, her tongue flicking over his, her lips urgent with need, her hands tight in his hair. Zangetsu clattered to the floor, and he swept her up until her feet came off the floor.
She pulled back in his arms, a soft peal of laughter escaping her. She untangled one hand from his hair and caressed his cheek.
"Oh, Shinigami-sama," she sighed. "I will make your body sing like you have never felt before."
Then she pulled his face down and locked their mouths together. She kissed him with such passion that his knees buckled. He found himself kneeling on the soft padding of the futon, and she pushed layers of kimono aside so she could slide her legs around his waist. She wrapped the exotic heat of her body around him, and he pulled her even tighter to him. Reason evaporated from his brain, and all he knew was the tide of yearning moving inside him and every touch of the demoness' mouth and hands.
Her fingers stroked his neck as her tongue moved in his mouth, flicking and flirting with teasing hunger. His hands tightened into fists against her back as he gasped for air. She found one of his hands and pulled it from her waist. With a sudden nipping kiss, she guided his hand to the soft fullness of her breast and pressed it against the cool silk. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment he couldn't even remember how to breathe.
As she worked her mouth over his, lips and tongue moving with exquisite perfection, he hesitantly explored her soft curves through the sleek silk. In moments, he was tracing her shape with both hands, his touch becoming more urgent with each frantic beat of his heart. She made a small, eager noise and arched her back, pushing into his hands. He swallowed a moan.
In a quick movement, she tugged up the front of her kimono, loosening it from the tight binding of her obi. With their mouths crushed together, she slid his fingers from cool silk to warm flesh and guided his hand down under the front of her kimono. He cupped the supple weight of her breast and brushed his thumb over her, making her gasp and arch against him.
Suddenly, he was on his back and she was straddling his hips, rocking against him in a slow, erotic rhythm. He balled his hands around fistfuls of the futon's blanket, jaw clenched against the fierce pleasure searing every nerve in his body. Still moving against him, she pressed both hands to his chest, fingers sliding between the layers of his kosode.
"So strong," she breathed as she expertly loosened his kosode and pushed it open to trace his chest with delicate fingers. "Even masked with Kidō, I can tell you are powerful." Her eyes were glowing red, but it was the light of passion.
As her hands slid down his chest and back up again, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down on top of him. She found his mouth and he met her tongue with his. She caressed his chest, her hands hot on his skin, and then she worked one hand between them, sliding it down his belly until his hakama separated their skin, then down to—
He gasped and bucked under her touch. She laughed huskily and pulled her mouth away so she could press her lips to his chin. She traced the edge of his jaw with the tip of her tongue, then brought her mouth to the soft skin under his ear and nipped playfully. Gliding her tongue over his skin in slow circles, she pressed her mouth to his pulse, sucking gently.
A thought pricked at his consciousness, nearly lost in the sweeping heat and fiery need. The thought jabbed at him until he gritted his teeth against the unwelcome distraction, wondering how anything could possibly divert his attention from—
The memory burst into fullness in his mind's eye. Suddenly, he was leaning against a wall, not lying on his back, and there was a warm weight draped languorously against his side, but it wasn't the demoness. Saiu looked at him with midnight eyes that gleamed red, and his lips brushed Ichigo's neck—in the exact same spot where the demoness' mouth now caressed his skin.
Ichigo jerked upright so fast the demoness tumbled off him with a surprised squeal. He lunged onto his knees, both hands pressed hard to his face, his chest heaving with pants.
"Shit," he gasped. "Shit! What's wrong with me? I forgot! How the hell did I forget!"
"Shinigami-sama?"
The demoness pushed herself up on one elbow, most of her cleavage revealed by the drooping front of her kimono. Ichigo quickly jerked his gaze up to her face. She blinked at him with wide eyes, bewilderment furrowing her brow.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked worriedly. "Only tell me what you want—"
He choked. For a wild moment, he was ready to abandon everything and lose himself in her lush heat all over again. He bit down on his bottom lip until he could taste blood.
"No," he said jerkily, swallowing repeatedly. "No, it's not you. You're—you are—" He shook his head, unable to articulate just what she was. "You're amazing," he finished roughly. "But—remember I said—I have to do something. You—and I forgot—and—I have to hurry before it's too late!"
She blinked for a moment, then rose onto her knees. Her hands went the front of her kimono. "I did not realize, Shinigami-sama," she said softly. "I wanted to give you the most pleasure—but if you need to leave, we can proceed immediately." Her lips curved in a smile that made his muscles go weak as she began to work her obi loose. "I have felt your readiness for me. We need not wait."
His jaw dropped at the same time blood rushed into his face. "Wait—no—I mean—"
Her eyebrows drew together again as she took in his expression, and her lips formed a round shape of surprise. "Shinigami-sama—could it be? Are you an untried man?"
Horrified embarrassment made his throat close. "I—well—I just—" he choked.
Her eyes widened with what was unmistakably horror as well. "Oh!" she gasped. She lifted both hands to her mouth. "Shinigami-sama, I am so sorry! I did not realize!" She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please, leave me!"
His mouth fell open again. "Huh?"
"Leave me!" she cried again, covering her entire face with her hands. "I cannot repay your kindness by ruining you, however much I want—but I will not!" She peeked at him through her fingers and shook her head sharply, making her hair fly out behind her. "An untried human cannot lay with a demoness for his first. I would damage you beyond repair. My pleasure would burn out your mind. Please—leave me before I can be tempted further."
His whole body went cold at her words, killing all desire faster than a bucket of ice water in the face. He gulped. If he hadn't somehow found the only demoness in Hell with a conscience, he would have just destroyed himself.
"I—thank you."
She nodded quickly, her hands once against hiding him from her sight. He staggered to his feet and collected Tensa Zangetsu. With slightly trembling limbs, he stepped up to the door and looked back one last time. Seeing her kneeling on the futon, her clothes in disarray and her hair mussed, her lips red and kiss-swollen, he almost decided burning out his mind would be worth it.
Viciously crushing the thought, he cleared his throat. "Um, demoness-san?"
She lowered her hands just enough to peer up at him.
"Uh, could you tell me—how to do I get beneath the mountain?"
Her eyes widened. "You don't mean the forbidden ritual chamber of the princes?"
He nodded, even though he wasn't quite sure if that's where he was going.
She shook her head violently. "No, you cannot. You will die."
"I have to," he said quietly. "Please tell me. I—" He hesitated, then decided to take a chance. "I have to—for Saiu."
She went completely still, staring with blank eyes. "Miyasama?" she whispered. Understanding swept across her face. "You—you are miyasama's Shinigami!"
He opened his mouth angrily, then swallowed his retort. "Yeah," he said grudgingly.
She studied him for a moment—then suddenly smiled. "Return to the previous junction of corridors and turn right," she said. "That hall will guide you to a narrow stairway. It will eventually join a foyer where there is another stairwell leading downward. It will take you to the chamber."
"Um, thanks," he said, slightly taken aback by her sudden forthcoming attitude.
"Please," she said softly. "Please tell me. Is miyasama safe?"
He nodded. "He's recovering, but I think he's going to be fine."
She took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment as relief swept over her face. She looked up at him again and beamed. "When your mission is complete . . . Shinigami-sama, know that miyasama is as gifted in pleasure as I—and he, without a demoness' aura, will not damage you." Her smile heated and softened at the same time. "When you have tested yourself with him—then you will be ready for me."
His eyes bulged and his cheeks were so hot he expected second-degree burns. "Uh, right. Thanks."
Without a backward glance, he bolted from the room and most of the way back down the hall. Still breathing hard, he slowed to a quick walk and clenched his jaw until the pain cleared his head a bit. That was just—He gave his head a shake. Burning humiliation at his lack of self-control was still warring with a strong feeling of stupidity—and equally strong feelings of unsatiated longing and vague regret. Of all the trials he'd worried about encountering in Hell, that had not been one of them.
As he reached the intersection he'd passed by earlier, he turned to the face the proper hall and smiled grimly. If nothing else, he knew which way to go now.
And the most dangerous phase of his journey was about to begin.
. o : O : o .
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
If you're sitting there thinking 'Where the heck did that come from?', it was not pointless smut. Trust me.
(Even if it had been pointless . . . no complaints, right? Haha.)
As much as Devil's Smile might make it seem otherwise, I love writing romance. But I will put it out there right away that I don't write lemons/erotica/literary porn/whatever. I am a limes-only writer. Steamy make-outs and foreplay, hell yes. Beyond that, sorry but no. I leave the rest to the imagination.
Anyway! I know I said I wasn't planning to update until after the weekend, but I got some really great reviews last chapter, super encouraging and complimentary, and as a result I was really excited and impatient to update again. So here I am posting a (super long) chapter at 1 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Smart, yes? ;)
Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, Happy New Year to everyone, and a virtual hugs to all reviewers! Thank you!
