Dangerous Pleasures
Lucius was waiting outside; he didn't say anything, but his dark, gentle, weathered hand was a brief but welcome comfort in the black storm clouds of guilt that swirled around me.
Ω
"Well, shove a fist up my arse and twiddle my tonsils," Jezebel said, in her usual profane way. "Here," she added, as she poured an extra double of Don Julio into my already well-lubricated tumbler. "We're going to need this."
The bottle clinked as she set it down; the table's candle's flame shivered from the vibration.
I stared at her - sultry, curvy, cinnamon-skinned, and actually at the heart of it quite gentle - wholly unlike the horror that the word Demon would usually conjure.
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