The demon's words echo in my head. I turn them around in my mind, repeating them until they lose meaning and dissolve into nonsensical noise. Whether I was innocent or guilty of my husband's death was something I could only decide.
We still slept in the same bed. He's made it a habit to hold me until I sleep, cradling me gently until I dissolve into the darkness.
He didn't mention the kiss from yesterday and I haven't pointed out his reaction. He holds my hands as if nothing had happened between us, not squeezing them more or less tightly than usual. If he felt any affection for me, he didn't show it.
But something had changed between us, or at least within me enough to see him differently.
From the moment I saw him, I've been projecting the feelings I had for Charles onto him. The resemblance was uncanny, his disguise flawless as far as my human eyes were concerned. But at some point, I couldn't pretend that this nameless entity and my dead husband were the same people.
"I'm going to give you a name," I tell him over my coffee. He was long overdue for once, begging for a sound that wasn't an awkward pause when I wanted to call him.
He takes a sip of his English Breakfast, raising an eyebrow. "What name? I already have one."
"One that you refuse to tell me because you say that I can't pronounce it. I have no choice but to give you one that I can say."
"You can just call me 'demon.' You already do that in your head, right?"
"It would be rude to continue," I said, heat rising to my cheeks. "You deserve something less demeaning."
"Like?"
I think for a moment. Suddenly, I'm hit with a bolt of inspiration. "Jesper. I should just call you that. What do you think?"
"I almost rather you stick to 'demon,' " he laughed.
"Jesper is a good name. It will grow on you. Consider it your human name while you're stuck here."
"I was perfectly content with no name at all." Still, a smile plays on his lips.
I got the name from an old childhood friend, the boy next door who used to play with me on my parent's lawn. If it weren't for him, my early years would've been a lot lonelier. It was a shame that he had to move, but I never found out where he settled down. I still remembered his name, which I thought was fitting for a widow who only had a demon for company.
Through him, I would resurrect my old friend and learn to find myself in the complicated knots of grief.
Jesper, newly named, insisted on cooking again for me despite my protests. I've told him that everything he makes loses flavor after two bites, but the challenge only spurred him to cook more.
"Sit and drink your coffee," he commanded. "You're going to taste everything I make today. I promise."
I wasn't sure how he planned to reverse the strange effect his presence had on my tastebuds, but he was persistent enough to persuade me that he could change that.
So I sat and drank the coffee, the brew with two sugars and one cream, and watched him toil over pots and pans, shaking spices and stirring sauces like a madman. He was possessed by a frenzy of activity, his hands moving faster than my eyes could see.
I look down at my hands clutching the mug. Even with his new name, every time I looked at him I only saw my husband. I knew they were different people. They had different histories and mannerisms. I was also a different person to each of them, a wife versus a fellow inmate. But that didn't change the way I still ached for Charles.
He sets the plate down before me, tossing a towel behind his back. "Voila! Give it a taste."
I inspected the edible display on the porcelain, thinking that the whole thing was too beautiful to eat. He made small portions of everything he thought I liked, meant to be consumed in one or two bites. It was a plate with tasting portions, but with enough food to fill my stomach.
The whole thing was brilliant and I knew it couldn't have been easy to make. I pick up my fork, giving one of the portions a hesitant bite. I make it through the entire plate, tasting every bit.
"Thank you," I tell him this as I wipe my mouth. "You didn't need to do any of this for me."
"No," he said. "But I wanted to."
"Why?"
"Because I like you."
"You like my company?" My eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out his words.
"I like most things about you. You can even say that I like you romantically."
No, it couldn't be. I had been at my worst for the last few months while dealing with his death. What was there to like?
"I don't understand. Do you want something from me?"
My words don't phase him. If anything, they seem to encourage him, drawing a wicked smile to his face.
"I want you," he said plainly. "In every sense of the word."
We were both lonely, starved for intimacy. He wanted me because he was desperate. If he were in a room full of beautiful women, he would not have said such things to me. And I wouldn't have felt that pull to him if my husband was alive.
"Prove it," I told him. "Prove that you want me."
Those were dangerous words to say to a man, much less a demon.
He reaches for me with warm hands, cupping my face with his palms. Jesper presses his forehead to mine and we stare at each other, far too close than any two people should be. Then he leans forward, surprising me with the heat of his kiss.
I'm ashamed to say that I turned to liquid sugar at his touch. I melted in his arms, giving myself to his hungry mouth. I was warm, soft, and wet which made me ripe for taking.
At last, he pulls away, keeping his eyes on me. "Was that proof enough?"
I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. I stared at his mouth, a clear indication that I wanted to kiss him again.
"That was ... sufficient proof." I took a deep breath, ignoring how warm my face was getting.
He was hardly the first man that I kissed, but he may have been the first one to thrill me. My heart was racing for more of his touch. I only got a taste of what he could do, but I'm afraid it ignited an insatiable hunger within me.
I've been lonely for way too long. I need to get a grip. It was only one kiss.
"Are you sure? I can do more than just kiss you," he offered.
My eyes widened at the thought of more. I think he was only teasing because he was surprised by my reaction.
"You want more."
The three words hang in the air between us. The mood in the room has changed and my skin crackles with electricity. I feel that if I touch him, I'll implode.
"I do."
His eyes darkened at my response. "You can say no whenever you want to. You know this, right?"
"I want to kiss you again. Then we can do more."
He runs his hand through his hair, jaws clenching. He looked like the very portrait of restraint, teeming with desires he refused to act upon.
"You drive me crazy."
Likewise, I thought as his mouth came crashing down on mine.
There's more passion in this kiss as he parts my lips with his tongue. It's as if knowing that I wanted him just as much as he wanted me freed him. His hands slide down to my waist, pushing me closer to him. Slowly, he eases me onto his lap so that I'm straddling him.
His mouth falls to my neck, trailing kisses along my shoulder. I return the favor, pressing my lips to his skin and sucking hard. I finally knew what he tasted like and I couldn't help but stick my tongue out to lick him. He shivers under my touch, trembling as he tries to kiss me more. I feel his desire grow beneath me, pressing against my thighs.
He smells like fresh spices roasting in a pot, a mix of cloves, cumin, and cinnamon. Even sleeping next to him didn't give me this access to his warm, sweet scent which flooded my nostrils.
I found his mouth again, discovering that I enjoyed the taste of him more than I expected. I can't really describe it beyond liquid want. All I could think about was how I should've done this sooner.
He pushes my hair to the side, grazing the sensitive spot behind my ears with his fingertips. I let out a light gasp of pleasure and I soon found his lips there. I'm unraveling at his touch, shaking more than I'd like.
He scoops me up into his arms, effortlessly carrying me as if I were no lighter than air.
"I'm going to take you to our bed," he whispered. "And when I'm done, I'll finally know the taste of you."