"Don't rape me," she demanded, voice choked.
"I don't fucking rape women," I snapped, more offended than I likely had a right to be. I had been eye-fucking her naked body after barging in on her shower. I'd been around the humans for long enough to know that wasn't acceptable behavior.
Their customs changed a lot over the years, but a woman's modesty usually was something considered sacred, even if some human men always refused to respect it. We had a fun way to make rapists suffer back home. It involved a very slim hot poker that would be driven ever so slowly up their dick holes.
It was a fitting punishment for what they'd done.
And the screams.
Fuck.
Those screams were music to our ears.
"Then why are you in here?" she asked, voice sharp.
"Towel," I said, showing it to her before hanging it on the hook. "Shirt," I told her, waving it before putting it on the sink counter. "You have five more minutes," I added, moving back into the hall, leaning back against the wall, feeling the pressure of my hard cock against my pants, trying to deep-breathe past it.
I wasn't a man controlled by his sex drive.
Did I fuck the women who came to our parties, who showed up at rallies? Sure I did. When someone was throwing pussy at you, it was stupid to turn it down.
But I didn't crave it when they weren't around.
The human concept of blue balls had always meant very little to me.
I was starting to have a personal understanding of what they were talking about.
The water cut off, and I had to actively force my thoughts to other things than her pert tits, her smooth skin, the soft, feminine folds of her pussy.
My hard-on was still raging when the door opened all the way, and there she was in my tee that swallowed up her body like I'd thought it would.
"Do you have a blanket?" she asked as I led her back to my room, motioning toward the couch.
"No. Go to sleep," I demanded, walking out of the room, closing the door, and moving into the living room.
I thought I would pass out as soon as my ass hit the cushion of the sofa. But I found my mind racing, ping-ponging between possibilities until I eventually felt wide awake, revved up even.
So I made coffee, feeling the heat chase away the chill of this world, the kind of cold that got amplified when you went without sleep. I tried to read, but found the words swimming on the page.
Finally, more worried about Red than I cared to admit to the others, knowing I needed to put on a calm and collected face for them, I snuck back into my bedroom, making my way toward the bed where she was writhing a bit again, though seemingly while asleep this time.
"You need to shake this shit off, Red," I demanded, sitting off the edge of the bed. "I need answers. The crew needs you back. Aram looks like a lost puppy," I added, sighing out my breath. "You should be healed by now. I don't understand what's happening. Shake this shit off, Red. You come back, and I will skin whoever did this to you."
We'd all hurt at the hands of humans in the past. Rival MCs got territorial or someone fucked the wrong guy's old lady or whatever stupid shit humans worried about. And it led to some sort of altercation. One where we needed to pretend to be weaker than we were, so no one caught on. Which meant we took a lot of blows.
But I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was going on with Red had nothing to do with humans.
Even though I'd never heard of our own kind attacking one another.
If that was what happened though, I didn't care if it took another couple of generations, I would find my way back to hell and make good on my promise to Red. Then I would take it one step further. And I could bring the case before Lucifer himself. Because this shit should not be happening amongst his followers. We used our bloodlust on the humans as punishment for the ugly shit they'd done on Earth. We didn't turn on one another.
A low, mewling noise dragged me out of my swirling thoughts, making me turn to find the nurse passed out on the couch, shifting what seemed uncomfortably in her sleep.
Curious, I rose, making my way across the floor to stand near the end of the couch, looking down at her with her arm slung over the top of her head as her heavy breathing made her breasts press against the material of her tee, making her semi-hardened nipples poke out further.
I needed to walk away.
I knew it even before I felt my cock stirring again.
But I didn't take my own advice as I stood there, watching her fucking breathe for a moment before I noticed the way her back was arching a bit as she let out the noise again, as her leg slid against the couch cushion a bit rhythmically.
And I realized she wasn't making noises because she was uncomfortable.
Oh, no.
She was having some sort of sex dream.
"Mmm," she whimpered as her leg rose again, this time sliding up the back cushions until her foot planted. A low sigh escaped her as her other leg rose then hinged open, making her tee slip up, exposing her completely.
"Fuck," I hissed as desire made a sharp, stabbing sensation course through my cock as my gaze fell on her delicate pink pussy, slick with her desire.
Self-control had never been an issue for me. After this many years of life—both in hell and trapped above it—very few things felt important enough to lose my composure over.
Least of all sex.
If anything, some other so-called "sins" got harder to control the longer I'd been around.
My pride, namely.
But there was no denying that I was having zero self-control over myself twice in the span of a few hours around this woman.
It made no rational sense, either.
Yes, she was beautiful. So were millions of other women. Sure, she must have been smart and capable to do her job. And again, so were many other women.
I didn't understand my reaction to her.
Unless it was simple exhaustion and worry about Red mixed with Josephine's proximity and the fact that I hadn't gotten laid in a while.
Still, even knowing that, I didn't even try to muster the reserves of control to look away, to walk away.
I just fucking stood there. Staring at her pussy as her hips did little circles as her dream heated up. The hand above her head gripped the armrest of the couch as her back arched higher.
If she were any other woman, I would have reached down, ran my finger between her lips, worked her clit until she was screaming for release.
But she wasn't any other woman willingly, happily in our company, knowing what to expect from us.
She was a woman stolen off the street and being held captive very much against her will.
I couldn't put my hands on her.
I had no right even to stare at her in a compromised state.
Yet I didn't move away.
It was fucking Daemon that did it. Came stumbling out of his room with whatever fuck-buddy he'd brought home for the night, giggling and knocking something over in the kitchen, making Josephine's eyes snap open.
There was surprise, then panic as she tried to remember where she was, what she might be hearing.
Then her head shifted down toward the end of the couch, landed on me.
There was still some of the surprise and the panic, but it mingled with some other things right then too. Confusion, sure. But something else, something I couldn't put my finger on. It was something, though, that made me move toward her instead of away, lowering down on the armrest of the couch, making her suddenly aware of her compromised position, snapping her thighs together as her eyes went saucer round.