Neon Blue E Frost (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📖

where it rests against my ribs. Squeeze. He threads his fingers through mine. Returns the pressure gently. We lie in warm silence, and I begin to drift.

I’d be human for you. If I could.

It costs him nothing to say, since it’s impossible. But it makes me feel better all the same. I drift off smiling.

After a long nap and another of his amazing dinners, he takes me dancing at ManRay, a not-so-underground gay club in Cambridge. I’ve never been brave enough to go there on my own and it was too artsy for Ro in our clubbing days. Not enough straight guys to drool over her.

I follow Jou through the front door hesitantly, not sure of what to expect. He strolls in like he owns the place, and with his dreadlocks and leather pants, he fits right in. Pink and blue strobes illuminate the dance floor, heaving with people in fishnets and leather. Piercings glitter in the hot lights. Jou leads me to the long bar where a green-haired waitress tosses him a pair of shot glasses out of a bandolier she wears over her artfully ripped black tank.

Jou hands me one of the shot glasses, which is filled with reddish jelly.

Bottoms up, sweet meat.

He downs his in a gulp. I stare into my shot glass for a moment. Whatever’s in there looks kind of like his come. Gross.

Can I take a pass? I really don’t want to get drunk tonight.

No.

I roll my eyes and pop the shot into my mouth. Swallow quickly, expecting it to be disgusting. But it isn’t. Watermelon and coconut and a tingly hint of rum. I wish I hadn’t swallowed it so fast.

C’mon, let’s dance.

He leads me onto the dance floor. I expect to have to squeeze my way into a clear space, the way Ro and I did when we used to go out. But people make way for him, parting around us easily, except a man in a white see-through shirt who backs up in front of Jou, swinging his hips and beckoning with both hands.

Jou shakes his head and turns his back on the man. He reaches for me, pulls me close and runs his big hands up my sides, bringing my arms up around his neck. I look at him blankly, not sure how to dance like this. I’m used to dancing in a group, not one-on-one. He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls my hips against his with a hand in the small of my back and begins moving us both to the rhythm. For a moment, it’s awkward. I try to anticipate what he’s going to do next and he doesn’t move the way I expect him to. Then I give up and let him move me the way he wants. My body follows his naturally once I stop trying to anticipate him. The music changes to a song I know, New Order’s New Faith, and we’re sliding into the music, getting lost in the beat.

A hot pulsing begins between my legs. Grows as Jou turns me around in his arms and holds me tight against him, rocking our hips in time to the beat. His hips and thighs are warm and solid against my ass. He moves sinuously, sexily, against my back. His hands go to my hips and I close my eyes. The memory of him taking me like this, from behind, his body pounding mine into the mattress, flashes through me, bringing my nipples to hard points against the leather halter, flooding my cheeks with heat.

Mmm, tasty.

He turns me around in his arms again, guiding my arms back around his neck. His hands close hard on my butt and he pulls me up onto his hips. I wrap my legs around his waist, to hoots and catcalls from the dancers around us. He holds me tightly, one hand in the small of my back and the other behind my shoulders. His hips pulse hard against mine. The same rhythm he uses when we’re in bed. My body tightens with the sense-memory of having him inside me, filling me over and over.

His hand slides up to the nape of my neck, pulls me backwards. I lean into the strength of his arm. He supports me effortlessly as I lean back, until it looks like I’m riding him, our hips locked together. The chorus of hoots and catcalls grows.

I feel power build, not just between us, but all around. It already pervades the club, an undercurrent of desire. The demon ignites it, makes it manifest. Sexual energy darts between the dancers in neon ripples. Swirls around and into the demon.

He gathers it, shapes it, and pushes it into me.

My body spasms, back arcing, muscles going rigid. Only his hands, his massive strength, keep me from falling to the floor. He continues to dance, hips pulsing against mine, his hand at the nape of my neck guiding my upper body back and forth to the rhythm. He bends over me, sweeping his dreadlocks over my abdomen, hair swishing across leather. A counterpoint to the pounding beat.

The power grows, lighting me up inside until anyone with the Sight must be able to see me glowing. It swells, filling me, pushing outwards until it crashes against the boundary of my aura. Witchlight flares gold and blue as power spills out of me. The demon’s aura leaps in response, rippling with actinic blues so intense they’re blinding.

I hold my hands up. Watch in awe as the witchlight plays over my skin. It ripples in waves, mixing with the pink and blue light from the overhead strobes. Flowing in interference patterns. The ripples move faster and faster, shimmering, dancing, and I feel a furnace-blast of heat ruffle my hair as my hands burst into flame.

Jou!

Ride it. It won’t burn you.

He’s right. I’m not burning, even though my hands are sheathed in flame. I stretch my arms to the ceiling. The flame licks down my arms to encase me from fingertips to elbows in burning gloves.

Come