Incubus

6. Phoenix

"You beguile me you know, Jessica," the demon mused, his hand stroking his chin as he leaned back in his chair at the dinner table.

We are in some kind of dining hall that is lit by candlelight with golden walls and ceilings, the table draped in a soft golden tablecloth with grandeur candelabras on the surface. There is no food on the table, just glasses of wine in huge and clear crystal goblets. The demon is dressed in a crisply white button down shirt with three buttons free to expose his tanned and hairless chest, his navy blue trousers nice and ironed, one ankle crossed over the other to show his shiny shoes. His hair is black as onyx and if I look close the hair appears to change colors—plum, dark blue, olive, onyx, and back again—whereas his eyes blaze a deep scarlet. His lashes frame his face and I can't get past his dark and ethereal beauty. It's so entrancing how did I even face him last time without staring dumbstruck?

Before I could lose myself completely in his looks, I grew livid, the rage traveling from my fingertips down to my toes. How dare he keep me from my sleep again and for a glass of wine? Who does he think he is? I hate him. I hate him so much because he ruined me and now he thinks he has me but I will not be had.

"Oh? Do tell how," I snapped.

Amused for the corner of his lip lifted up into a smirk, he said, "You have the gall to act like you aren't pleased to see me. Plus, I see you in your regular life and it's fascinating how...different you are."

"Excuse me? I am not pleased to see you, first of all, and secondly, different how?"

He lost the smirk and rolled his eyes. "If that helps you come to terms with your life, then sure. But different as in dominant in your relationships with your brother, your employees, your sexual gratification. Yet with me you submit willingly and it's fascinating. Tell me, who has better hair? James or I?"

I blushed. I can't believe he knows about James. "This isn't funny."

"I beg to differ for I'm highly entertained. Your blushing is lovely, by the way."

"Stop trying to flatter me," I growled. "I didn't want to see you, I want to sleep. I won't become a slave to you."

"Aren't you already?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm not." I crossed my arms.

"Denial is usually the first step along this journey. One day you'll be honest with yourself."

"You're disgusting, truly." My nostrils flared. "You don't know anything about me."

"Hmm," he hummed, picking up his goblet of wine, his long fingers covering the expanse of the crystal. I bit down on my lip, remembering those hands on my skin. He lifted it to his lips and drank. When he finished, his lips were stained a light red and I wanted to lick them pink again. I shifted in my seat and he set the goblet back down. "On a scale from one to ten, how much do I disgust you?"

"Ten," I answered immediately.

"Do you always answer impulsively?"

"Maybe."

Smiling, the demon leaned closer to the table, resting his chin onto his hands that are propped up by his elbows being on the table. "Tell me something about you that you haven't told anyone."

"This is not The Bachelor, you asshole, I don't like you and this is not a date. You intruded on my sleep, my dreams, and I want you to go."

"If you really wanted me to go I would be gone because the will of a human is stronger than the want and power of a demon."

Exasperated, I blew out a frustrated breath, looking away. "Is that so?"