My consciousness gently returns, lulling me out of slumber.

Something magical happened last night; something I'm not going to forget for a long, long time.

I indulged. A giggle rumbles in my throat at the notion, a naughty giddiness I haven't experienced in a while. Angels aren't forbidden from sexual pleasure, but we try not to take it.

Well, last night, I took it. And goddess...I feel so assuaged, so pleased. So tranquil.

I stretch my arm out, eager to sense his skin. To be reminded of his chiseled chest and those delicious muscles I got to squeeze and lick and nibble at all night.

I spent the entire evening under him, over him, beside him, but I can't get enough of touching him.

The way he tasted—his mouth, his cock, the sweet sweat dripping from his brows—lingers on my tongue. I'm eager for another round. Two, three, four. I'm eager for a wake-up session as the sun basks us in warmth and light. Eager to—

My hand touches the mattress. Nothing but the mattress; no lump of a body, no heat of a presence.

I feel around for him; maybe he wandered closer to the edge of the bed. Maybe he's sitting up.

But it's like emptiness suddenly surrounds me, enveloping me in its cold embrace. Reality is settling in.

It's like I'm...alone. No sound of breaths, no rustle of sheets, no energy of a bulky being lying beside me, keeping me warm.

I'm cold.

I open my eyes and squint as I tilt my head to the side and see...nothing. No one.

He's gone.

I lift up, wincing at my sore limbs, my achy arms. Perhaps he wandered downstairs for a drink? I'm not sure what time Henderson opens—I'm usually gone by morning—but I don't doubt Az will hunt down a beverage if he needs one. He's a big man, surely with a large thirst.

But something tells me he's not downstairs. He's not hiding anywhere in this room.

He's left the building, again.

My skin is sticky, prickling with uncomfortable goosebumps as the covers lower and expose my nakedness. The atmosphere is thick with questions, and yet I worry I won't get answers.

Is it possible I dreamed it all? That this demonic but gorgeous man spent all night making me scream, but only in my head?

Had I imagined his handsomeness, his firmness? Had I made up a story about him sweeping me off my feet, rocking my world, literally?

It must have been an illusion. It's too good to be true; someone as exquisite as him, re-entering my life as if I'd wished him to. And I think I did wish him there. For a split second, as I approached that delectable lady last night, I prayed for him to appear.

And he did.

The hottest dream I've ever had.

But as I look down at my arm, I see scratches. Clear traces of someone marking my skin, dragging their nails down.

And as I fidget with the blanket, my inner thighs hurt. My lower lips feel sore, stretched out. And his scent is all over the pillow beside me; musky and sharp, cedar and spices. I can't make that up. I can't make any of that up.

The remnants of last night are all too real and impossible to ignore.

I wouldn't scratch myself in the height of pleasure, ever. Nor do I have the ability to make my center painful like this, swollen from so much friction. I've had some powerful masturbation sessions, for sure, but nothing that's made me feel like this afterwards.

Unsatisfied. Empty. Lost. As if something is missing inside me. Beside me.

I sense the swell of my breasts, a tenderness in my nipples that signifies foreplay, lots of suckling and nibbling. Everything about my achiness screams, I had sex!

It was a night of pleasure, I didn't make it up, and here I am now, alone.

I'm not imagining this. I didn't dream up his return, didn't concoct this sexy story to put myself to sleep.

Especially since I'd never end a dream with such a brutal outcome. He left.

He ditched me, again, without a word?

Rage funnels through me. I lurch off the bed, fists tight at my sides as I storm to the window and rip the curtains aside. Sun streams in and blasts me in the face, but I don't care.

I'm too enraged to move, to shield my eyes. Let that light come in and burn me so he can saunter back and find my ashes, the remains of what he's done to me.

I blink, letting go of the curtains before to tear them to shreds. I shudder, my limbs too weak to hold me up.

"What is wrong with me?"

This doesn't happen in this world. Leaving someone hanging, needy, confused. Giving them the time of their lives, then sneaking off without a trace. Especially twice.

Citizens of Exivaria enjoy their dark pleasures, yes, but there are rules, boundaries. Discussions that occur to ensure all parties consent and understand. To avoid the ensuing pain if there are disagreements.

I know Az and I consented...but we clearly didn't talk about what happens next.

He's a demon.

He doesn't know the rules, or if he does, he doesn't care about them. Of course he'd do as he pleases, go around fucking women and disappearing on them the next day.

But that's not how things are done here. We don't rush off after such a night. It doesn't happen.

And it certainly doesn't happen to me.

Never in my lengthy existence have I walked out on someone without warning. I write a note, or I plant a kiss on their forehead and let them wake to see me saying goodbye. There's always an agreement beforehand. The times where I do indulge in sexual activity, I always make sure things are clear.

But Az? What he did leads to—

I gasp, covering up my mouth to block myself from saying the dreaded word out loud.

Heartbreak.

Yes, what Az did is one of the actions that leads to a heart turning dark. To its veins filling with loathing and anger and infusing with the deadly disease.

And Az did that to me, of all people.

Me, the angel of love. The one who fights heartbreak. The one whose heart can't be affected.

Yet somehow, he affected me.

I fall to my knees, clutching at my chest. My heart is beating, I can breathe; but there's something different about me, I can already tell. I'm not the same person I was last night; I'm not even the same person I was a few days ago, before meeting him.

Az, the demon, has done something to me, and I fear admitting it. I fear the truth infesting me and transforming me into the kind of person I hunt and kill.

How did I not see this coming? The moment he barreled into my life, I should have known. He was too good to be true, too handsome, to earth-shatteringly incredible to be anything other than evil.

"So blind," I say to myself, placing my hands over my face, closing my eyes. "So stupid, so blind."

So blurred, so absorbed in all the feelings Az caused in me. All the newness and unfamiliarity that strangely aroused me; now I see it for what it is.

Trickery. A game.

Az is a demon.

I don't know how I let that fact slip from my mind. He enticed me, he wooed me, he warped me into his trap by whipping his cock out and licking his lips. I was his from the moment our gazes met in the tavern days ago; and now I want to break free from him, but I...

I can't.

All I can do is picture his heart, wondering if I misread it. Wondering if I was too taken aback by his beauty that I didn't see the truth.

I thought he was colorless, but did he fool me? Is he black-hearted? Is the darkness concealed under the guise of a blank heart? Is it some spell he placed on himself to be invisible to me?

Does he know what I am, what my purpose is? And did he seek to disrupt it on purpose?

I thought he was a simple demon, escaped from his realm to experiment a little before being caught. But I'm afraid, now, that he might be much more.

Because how would a simple demon get me, an angel of love, to start falling for him?

Wordcount: 1,393
TOTAL: 21,468