Page 36 of Sweet Surrender
Saint laughed, pretending that didn’t make him feel warm as he said, “Then you’ll have to let me get my beauty sleep.”
“Fine. Not like you need “beauty sleep”, but fine.”
Saint blushed. Underneath the covers, head on his pillow, he only let himself hesitate for a second before he tugged at the sheets, lifting them from the bed in clear invitation.
Knight didn’t hesitate, sliding underneath with him, pushing close. His left wing tentatively came around him, adding an extra, wonderfully grounding weight on top of the sheets, while wrapping them in a semi-intimate cocoon.
He felt something slide against his hip and realised it was Knight’stail, curling possessively around his thigh. Saint’s breath hitched, his heartbeat pounding the beat of an African drum.
“Okay?” Knight asked gruffly.
“Yes,” Saint whispered.
And he wanted. Fuck, he wanted so badly it was as if he couldn’t breathe. But when he thought about voicing it, it left him feeling strangled.
He’d never had sex. Never been kissed until Knight. He’d never let himself, brave enough now to admit he’d been overruled by that dastardly mix of shame and fear. But this fear felt different.
It wasn’t the fear of sin and the imagined punishment that might follow it, but the fear of surrender. Of handing Knight his vulnerabilities out here in the real world where it would meaneverything.
“You said ... you said human food doesn’t do much for you,” he whispered, his gaze somewhere on Knight’s throat. Thank God Knight was tall enough that Saint could be excused from tilting his head back to meet his eyes. “I’m just checking that you’re not—that my emotions are enough for you? You said you feed on emotion, right?”
“Yes. And you are more than enough.” The phrasing made Saint feel tender, self-conscious. “I’ve never felt more satisfied.”
“Really?” he said, disbelieving. “Are you sure?”
Knight sounded amused. “I’m sure. I swear it. There’s a reason there are entire sects devoted to feeding on human souls and emotions; for some reason, it is so much headier and more fulfilling than feeding from our fellow demons.”
“Ah. I see. And ... and you really don’t need skin to skin contact?”Oh God.
Saint didn’t need to look at him to know Knight was raising an eyebrow, his lips probably curled into a teasing smirk.
When Knight spoke again, his voice had gone about ten octaves deeper. “Is that an invitation, little bunny?”
Saint’s belly clenched up hot and tight. He swallowed, hesitating. Then said in a rush, almost bracing himself, “Maybe?”
He felt more than saw Knight’s grin, then soft lips pressing against his forehead. He trembled when those lips moved, Knight whispering against his skin, “Ask me again when you mean it.”
Saint felt the sensation of falling, but like a bird thrown from a cliff, he didn’t feel any fear.
Not when he had wings to fly.
NINE
He opened his eyes to find Knight once again staring at him jovially, his face resting on his palm, forearm resting on the pillows. His heart gave a giddy little stutter.
“Not really a morning person, are you?” Knight teased and Saint realised he was glaring.
He frowned harder. “And you’re always awfully energetic for someone who doesn’t even sleep,” he said, voice rough.
Knight laughed. He tried to move forward, his eyelids dipping. Saint held his palm to Knight’s face to stop his momentum, making the demon laugh again. The sound and the feel of his lips moving against the inside of Saint’s palm made his belly flutter.
He took that as his cue to get up, only briefly checking his phone to switch off his upcoming alarm and check his notifications.
By the time he came back out of the bathroom and had finished getting dressed, Knight had made breakfast.
Saint blushed when he saw Knight had made hash browns, fried eggs, sausages and thick, buttered toast. He’d made the hash browns on Saturday, but considering everything else he’d made, despite his ravenous hunger after his hangover, Saint hadn’t been able to eat it all. But yesterday, when he’d made thedishes again, Saint had made sure to try every single one, not knowing when he’d get the opportunity again. Knight must’ve noticed how much he’d liked the hash browns.
It felt awfully domestic, both of them leaning against the kitchen counter as they ate, Saint scrolling on his phone, while Knight thumbed through the paperback Teresa had given him when they’d gone to brunch with her yesterday.
