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A Devil in Your Heart [Prince & Story]

She had made this journey before, but even she paused in consideration at the empty ferry house when they arrived. That was not typical and kept her on high alert to their surroundings as she worked on easing the horses and wagon onto the ferry to begin their course across the furious waters. Though if there was one thing that Damon was learning about the woman even in her silence, it was that she was both efficient and proficient at getting a task done. And that she enjoyed her silence and pensive thoughts, though on more than one occasion she caught herself singing under her breath during the course of their journey to that point.

She stood near his cage when she finally loaded them onto the ferry, pulling them across with a strain of her muscles and an uncertain look etched across her features. Something that was wearing a thin as the rope in her hand, it seemed, for she turned to look at him with a dark look on her face.

“Please be silent, demon, this is--” Her voice snapped, then the rope snapped in her hands. Ofélia had a moment of horror frozen on her face as she looked down at the now limp rope in her hand before her brain kicked back into gear, though by that time, she felt herself being flung from the ferry as it smashed against the rock.

Though the armor was a hindrance, the woman was agile as she curled her body and strained her arms to tighten her grip on the edge of the wagon, though she was beginning to fear that if she tried to lift herself up further, she would lose her grip entirely and drown. She was just beginning to panic, and it showed in the desperate look on her face, when she felt her captive’s hand around her wrists. It was all she needed.

Her fingers latched around his arm as she struggled against the tide that wanted to drag her down and her expression strained as she swung her lower torso up to catch the edges of the wagon instead. It was all precious, even with his hands holding her up like they were.

“Shut up,” she hissed at him again, but there was an understanding on her face. “I will not let you drown,” she assured him, sputtering as her feet lost their traction and she slipped. Only this time her fingers curled tight around the cage’s bars and she was able to hold herself up and swing her feet back in place. It left her in a strange crouch, arm wrapped fully through the bars while her other hand wrestled inside her utility pouch at her waste. A key glinted in the sunlight and jammed into the lock of the cage door. It swung open with little resistance, though she still gasped at him, “Use that, unlock your hands with the other key, or else you will not be able to swim.”

No sooner had she unlocked the cage, though, and they crashed against another rock that jutted up from the water’s depth. She grunted out loud, her fingers sliding free of the grip they had, and knocked her off the boat and into the water. She slammed back against the rock that they had collided with as the remainder of the boat and the wagon capsized.

Head spinning, Ofélia felt herself sinking, her arms weak as they propelled through the water.
 
It was chaos.

Damon was on a fucking wagon, not a boat, in the middle of a mighty raging whitewater river, with a stone walled canyon as the banks. And everywhere there were rocks. Large ones loomed out of the water, but even more were unseen just below the frothing waves, battering the wagon and spinning it, chunks of wood disintegrating with every bump.

He was dead, that much he knew, but the instinct to survive was amazingly strong so he kept moving. Saving Ofélia hadn't really been a choice, he needed the key to have any chance of living, but she had surprised him by handing it to him. Maybe surprise wasn't the right term, she had validated his hope that she'd do the right thing. Truth be told, he wouldn't have been surprised at a member of the Order letting a demon spawn die as they sought to save themselves.

Yet now, as his frozen fingers (had he mentioned that the water was ice cold snow melt?) fumbled and tried not to drop the precious key that held his freedom, he realized he was already waist deep in water as the wagon continued to sink. At least he was out of the cage, standing next to Ofélia who clung to the metal bars as waves buffeted her repetitively. There, somehow he'd gotten the shackles off and he threw the cursed metal into the water with a groan of relief.

Now, how to escape?

The rock they hit this time was a full broadside, stopping the wagon for a second before exploding it into pieces. Ofélia's back was to the boulder and her body slammed against the rock, her head striking it loudly, as the cage tipped into the water. Damon found himself holding onto the rear half of the wagon, or what was left of it, more like a primitive raft at this point that at least seemed to still float, as he watched Ofélia begin to sink below the water.

Dammit! Devil take me for my conscience.

The current was going to sweep him around the rock in a second and Damon jumped in out of reflex, diving under to grab Ofélia's sinking body. He'd had to make his decision quickly, and he wondered if he had time to think whether he would do it again. It was ludicrous, she was in full fucking armor and he'd jumped in to save her! They were sinking, but the weight of the current worked in his favor as it pinned them high against the rock under the waterline. Were they in deep water, she'd be down at the bottom already.

Damon could barely see in the white froth, but he could feel as his body pressed against Ofélia in a tight embrace. He tugged at her and knew he had to shed weight quickly, her armor was an anchor on her. His fingers fumbled as he found the straps on her breastplate, then the hilt of a dagger. Pulling the blade, he cut through the leather buckles and pulled the heavy metal plate off her chest.

Still she seemed too heavy as he tugged upward, and his lungs were beginning to burn now. His demon blood gave him some physical advantages, but his air wouldn't last much longer now. Cursing bubbles as he worked, he cut her thigh cuirasses off, sawing quickly through each buckle and gave a final mighty tug upward. Somehow, he didn't exactly understand how, she seemed to lighten, and they both got their heads above the raging water, letting Damon took a deep breath of air.

By some stroke of luck the back half of the wagon had flipped sideways and shielded them, slowing the current slightly, and Damon held Ofélia within the ruins of that wooden frame, a piece of railing above him and below and the wagon bed in front. Some rope, used to tie the cage to the bed, remained and seemed to be tied securely still to a bolt in a good plank of wood. Grabbing that rope, and making a final prayer to any god that cared, he shoved off the rock with Ofélia in his arms, and pushed the wagon free.

It was a wild ride, bouncing and ricocheting off rocks as he pulled on the rope to throw first Ofélia, and then himself, onto the makeshift raft, but at last they both were on and the river seemed fast, but smooth. Ofélia seemed to breathe still and he let out a sigh of relief as he lay on his back and stared upwards a the incongruously sunny blue sky. It looked so peaceful up there, while the river seemed to roar even louder despite being oddly unbumpy.

With a start, he sat up and looked downriver to see a cloud of mist rising up and a sharp edge of water as the approaching horizon, with distant trees of a vast forest beyond and below.

A hell sent WATERFALL!

What could happen next!? Frantically he tied a rope around Ofélia, who was moving slightly now, and lashed himself tightly to her for good measure as well, He hugged her in a tight embrace as the roar of the cataract grew to a crescendo and mist filled his eyes. He couldn't die without a final kiss, so his last act, before they entered free fall, was to lean over and give his captor a big fat kiss on the lips.

Then they were fallling...
 
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The woman was glowing. Or at least the necklace that hung around her neck was glowing, which made it seem like the rest of her was glowing, even as she sunk at a rapid pace while being carried along with the current after being slammed into the rock hard enough to knock her silly and only semi-conscious.

She moved like a rag doll that dangled to him like a dead weight, head lulling until she was tossed up onto the makeshift raft, devoid of the armor he had cut off her. The boots still held her down and the heavy utility buckler around her waist. Both items would need to be shed if they were thrown back into the water, weapon included.

Luckily, the groan implicated her return of consciousness, her head turning and eyes fluttering. Just in time for her to spit up a mouthful of water in his face as his lips pulled away from her own, which transitioned into a series of spluttering coughs that she turned her face away from him before she realized the full extent of the danger that they were in. Heavy limbed, she moaned, and turned her face towards his with a look of pale shock drawn on her features as they went right over the edge.

Her eyes were golden, shimmering pretty like the sun, and her touch sent tingles through them both as she latched onto the demon and screamed as they went into their freefall. Her eyes squeezed shut at this last moment as she prepared for impact---

That never came. Or at least, neither of them would feel it except for the spray of water that drenched them all over again as the raft landed and flipped them clear off. Ofélia was conscious now, though, and before she could sink under the current again, she was picking her belt and letting it sink, followed by her boots.

They had to dive down under before they could swim back up and she burst through the surface of the water with a strangled gasp, her voice strained and terrified as she called out, while groping for the rope that tied them together. “Damon! Swim! To shore!”

She was still dizzy. And glowing from the necklace. And questioning why they had not died. Only there was no time to question any of those things as she pushed off with her now bare feet and headed for the muddy bank. Now, at least, the rapids had calmed, and they only had to fight against the current.

Once her hand gripped the mud slicked bank, she hoisted herself over and rolled onto her back, making sure that her captive had made it as well, then allowed herself to heave up another mouthful of water onto the ground.
 
Damon would have been offended at her spitting water in his face if he wasn't falling off the side of the waterfall. Odd that he was dwelling on her reaction as he died. You would think he'd have better things to think of as they tumbled together in the air, surrounded by white sheets of mist. It was almost peaceful, if you ignored the rapid acceleration to their death that he felt through the butterflies in his stomach.

The last thing he had seen was her shocked face. Not the best image to take to his grave, but at least it was better than the sight of his own prick cut off and being paraded around before they lit a bonfire under his feet. Well, he'd at least seen her naked in the dream world, so he decided to dwell on her breasts instead. They'd been quite nice, not too big of course as she was a warrior and larger breasts would have gotten in the way. Likely she'd been screened at some point by some breast committee at the Order to continue her training. That would be a nice job, actually, the kind of work that Damon could sign up to do for the Order. And of course, he could be there to console the poor women with too large breasts.

Oh there, was the water! A violent explosion happened, but strangely peaceful without the impact Damon expected. So this was death... it was colder than he expected, and quite violent, with tugging and all sorts of jerking on his limbs.

He opened his eyes and he was underwater! He was dubious at first, thinking it was a post-death hallucination, but through the aerated bubbles of the waterfall's pool, he saw a taut rope. Someone was pulling him!

It took him a second to realize he was alive, and he tugged on the rope for a second before setting out after it with his arms and legs. His lungs were burning, but he burst to the surface with a lusty gasp.

HE WAS ALIVE!

“Damon! Swim! To shore!”

Ofélia was calling to him, and he swam towards her voice in the churning water of the waterfall base. He couldn't see her at first, then just her head bobbing in the rough water and misty air. The rope tugged at him as she moved, and he tried his best to keep up. He felt like he was making no progress, with nothing to gauge his distance against, but gradually, trees appeared, and then at last, a muddy bank that Ofélia was almost at already. It gave him hope, and he redoubled his efforts, his lungs burning as he coughed out water and tried to breathe at the same time.

Finally, completely exhausted and spitting up foam, his hands touched ground and he was able to put his feet down and crawl his way to the shore before collapsing, utterly exhausted.

"Well, we are alive," he said at last, rolling to glance at Ofélia. He should just run now, he knew, but she was unarmed. He'd take his chances on outrunning her if needed, or at least being able to prevent her from somehow tying him up without a weapon to keep him a prisoner. Plus, he felt bad leaving her here in, well, in the middle of fucking no where by herself. Honestly, where would he go either? He'd just be running into the wild woods in this uncharted and likely hellish part of the world. It wouldn't be the worst of things to at least amicably part ways. Surely she still couldn't want to bring him in as a prisoner, her survival was more important, right? He grinned at her, "Truce? I think we are both a long ways from home now."

He sat up, eying his soaked and freezing clothing, and stripped off his shirt, then began unbuckling his pants. "You should undress, you'll freeze if you don't dry off your clothes... it's getting late. Don't worry, it's nothing I haven't already seen."

He gave her a wink. Wait... was it a trick of the light, or was she glowing?
 
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She was still coughing up water onto the ground when he started talking, but at least she had pushed herself up onto her hands and knees so that her hair streamed over her face and water ran in rivulets off her. The armor she had been wearing had been compromised to the water, leaving her in nothing but a tunic and undershirt and breeches with leggings and socks that clung to her frame like a second skin. The demon could see the outline of her figure through it all, reminiscent of their shared dream, but with more to the imagination. Not to mention that she looked like a drowned rat now that she had also gotten mud all over her.

She even smeared her cheek as she swiped her hair from her face and collapsed again on the ground once she could breathe, head turning to stare at him where he had rolled. Normally dark eyes were still shot through with gold, a mesmerizing sight now that they weren’t in the process of drowning. They reflected back at him, the iris shimmering, laced with power.

Moaning, she struggled into a sitting position, only then noticing that the necklace that had survived the fall was also emanating light, and that pulsed through her to outline her frame. Shaking, she dropped her hands to her side and rolled her shoulders back, where her shoulder blades tingled.

“We n-need.. We need to find shelter, build a fire. We cannot stay on the bank like this. There are wild animals,” she insisted, though she was not at all surprised when he started removing his own sopping clothes. She was shivering as she got to her feet, goose flesh popping up over her skin as she trailed water across the bank.

“Stay here, demon,” she tried to say with some authority, but the reality was that her voice sounded weak. “I will find dry wood so that we can begin to kindle a fire. I--”

Her voice broke as a spasm of pain rippled through her, followed by a surge of fire that lanced through her back. The woman whimpered and stumbled back down to her knees, fright suddenly taking over her calm demeanor. Her hands scrambled at the edges of her shirt, but could not quite reach her back, where the source of the pain was. She writhed with it though, scrambling like a madwoman as fire and pain ripped through her from between her shoulders.
 
What the Hell was happening to her? Damon was bit addled still, almost dying in whitewater, then going over a waterfall, and then nearly drowning again does that to a man! Part of him was still unsure if he wasn't dead and somehow having a final hallucination. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head to clear it. No, he still was seeing it...

Ofélia was glowing!

Her eyes were golden, blazing orbs and an aura seemed to surround that became more obvious as Damon started at her. She seemed confused, or at least in a bit of shock as she started to bark orders to him without any regard to her odd state. Her air of command was as IF she was still in charge or something, but that was a topic he'd address after they sorted out what the hell was going on with her eyes. Another bright spot seemed to be hidden by the wet clothing and erupting from her chest.

What in a devil's tail was this...

She suddenly stumbled, and fell to her knee in what seemed like pain. Writhing, she reached behind her, as if trying to claw at her back. Damon was so stunned at first, that he was frozen, then he leapt into action. Shirtless, he sprang up and ran to her, hands gripping her and steadying her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his black eyes barely able to meet the brilliant sun her eyes had become. "Are you in pain? Why are you GLOWING?'

It didn't seem as if she could talk, whatever ailed her seemed to be causing her extreme agony and she writhed in his arms. Damon felt some panic. As much as he hated his captor, or at least the Order, he decided that Ofélia was merely a brainwashed servant of them versus innately evil herself, he couldn't bear to see her like this. He reached down and grabbed her tunic, tugging it up and trying to pull it off of her.

"Take this off! Don't fight me," he ordered, hands firm. "Let me help you. I need to see what is going on."
 
Ofélia’s response to the demon was to gasp out in shock as another sharp ripple of pain contorted her features and made her shake. Her hand lanced out, plucking at the pendant around her neck, and easing it from around her neck to set on the ground as if she knew exactly what was the matter. Only another spasm of pain wracked through her and with another pained cry, she turned and pressed her face against his bare shoulder.

“It will pass,” she insisted, voice strained. “We were saved. The Order has blessed me with a gift, but it comes at a price,” she informed him in a voice that pitched high as she writhed against him, knees curling in, coating her breeches in mud as she struggled to breathe.

But she did let him jerk her tunic up. Or perhaps she was just in that much agony. She made another whining noise and finally lifted her arms up to struggle out of the drenched garment and let it plop wetly to the ground. Eyes squeezed shut, she pressed her face again against his shoulder and willed for the tremors in her body to stop. It did, when she had inadvertently touched on the strength that she was so sure that the Order provided to her.

When the truth was a much different thing.

It was written and erased from her memory by her own design, though the canvas of scars that revealed itself across the entirety of her back told a different story than what she would have preached. There were many, some pale and barely visible, others shining streaks or deep gouges. The two most prominent, however, held the grisly reality of what Ofélia currently struggled with. Her bones and muscle appeared to be shifting underneath the scar-riddled and cold pebbled skin between her shoulder blades. The scars were heavy here, smooth and pink instead of smooth and caramel like the rest of her body, and looked as if something had been carved right out of the woman’s back.

And whatever had previously been there was trying to rip back through.

“We almost died,” she continued to try to explain, her voice a strained grasp as a line of blood split one of the ugly scars. Her fingers had risen and clenched hard against his arms, clinging there as she rode out the latest spasm. “So the power that had to be invoked had to be especially strong, in order to save us--mmm…” she cut herself off and pressed her mouth against his skin, scraping teeth to stop herself from crying out.
 
The amulet, for that what was glowing under her shirt, seemed to be causing some of the pain Ofélia was feeling, and he was careful to avoid it as he cradled her in his arms.

"The Order?" Damon asked, a stab of fear suddenly in his heart. Was there some other blessed or cursed charm that was placed on him, or her, that would suddenly bind him, or even kill him? Ofélia seemed to think this was a passing episode, of some sort, but he was wary of the amulet still as she yield to his touch. She didn't resist him as he tugged at her tunic, which was good, but he feared what he might find underneath given the pain she appeared to still be in even with that amulet on the ground. "What price? What have they done to you?"

For once, Damon felt no prurient thrill as he lifted a woman's shirt off her body. Well, he did feel a little when he saw Ofélia’s breasts, which appeared as magnificent in real life as they had in their dream last night. Fine, he admitted that it was always exciting to undress a woman, but sexual titillation was not the main focus of his mind right now as he pulled the soaked tunic off of Ofélia's shuddering body and left her topless next to him. Her nudity was only a small, and minor part of his awareness, as he was truly primarily concerned about the pain she appeared to be in. The fact that her caramel skin was so smooth was just a happy coincidence and... any such thoughts vanished as he saw her scarred back.

What had they done to her!?

"By my cursed horns..." he began, eyes wide in shock. The torture she must have endured was unimaginable, for he knew the pain of whips well and had some faint scars still on his back from various misadventures of his youth. But Ofélia... it was like a forest of white lines. "What happened to you? Was this... the Order?"

Then his eyes focused on the larger scars, the humps of white pain that the whip marks covered only partially. They seemed to be almost moving, roiling as he watched them, with a line of blood appearing on one, as if something living was trying to rip out of her. She clung to him like he was the raft again in the raging whitewater, gripping his arms so tight and burying her face against his chest in pain. He felt helpless, scared for her, but mostly confused.

What those twin scars hinted at was definitely not... human, but she was in the Order... His mind spun.

It could not be possible.

One of his hands went gently up the scar rippled skin of her back, sliding up closer and closer, scared to touch it, until his fingers were spread around that cruel mass on her back that almost seemed to have its own life.

"W-what... are you, Ofélia?"
 
He didn’t have to be so warm. Even with them both still being wet from the churning river, she at least did not feel the chill from the air pressed so close to him. Even with the riptide of pain that cascaded through her spine, she was acutely aware of the naked press of her breasts against his bare chest and how much more tangible it felt here instead of in a dream state. She would have cared more if she had not been so distracted by her own body’s rejection of harnessing the power to save them from drowning.

With her head knocking up against his chin, she whipped her face away from his chest and away from the spicy masculinity that seemed to emanate off him once his fingers grazed the uneven landscape of scars.

“Part of my training only,” she reassured him, voice tinged with something defensive and uncertain as well as laced with the strain of pain. Almost like she was trying to convince herself that the punishments doled had been deserved. “It is to cleanse the impurities from our souls.”

Only her skin rippled underneath his touch, almost soothing, and the woman squeezed her eyes shut again and instead focused on breathing. Meditation and discipline usually settled the pain, and this should be no different. Breathing deep, her brows knitted together in concentration, and slowly the grip of her hands loosened on his arms. The pained noises that she fought to stifle she managed to dampen almost completely and, as the minutes ticked by, the odd rippling and pushing and shifting underneath her skin lessened, until it stilled completely.

She relaxed suddenly in the curve of his arms, her breath released in a shudder. The amulet that she had taken off had stopped its glowing and likewise, so had her body, though her eyes were still shut against the world. She also seemed reluctant to want to move away, now that she was there, even though awareness crept back into place now that her body was not struggling against her will to be freed.

“You know what I am,” she finally said, defensively, though there was an undertone of cold fear ringing in her voice. Of denial latching onto the edges of the statement. “And I saved your life,” she retorted, hand pressing against his chest to push herself away, eyes opening but averting away, before her arms crossed over her chest to hide her breasts.

“We have.. We have to ..find kindling, try our clothes, and get a move on,” she insisted, stubborn but quiet. “Or we shall freeze in the night. We… will need to follow the river down once our clothes have dried and see if there is a village to replenish what we have lost.”

Ever the pragmatist, even in vulnerability. Glancing at him with eyes gone dark again except for a silver of gold glinting through her iris, she snatched back up her necklace and looped it back around her neck now that its enchantment was no longer at work. Scowling, she felt a trickle down her back and, reaching back, she swiped it away. Only to bring her fingers back forward blotted with the crimson of her own blood. Inhaling sharply, she hastily wiped her fingers on the grass and sat up straighter.
 
It was pleasant holding her, but surprisingly not in the sexual way Damon would normally expect when embracing a half-naked, beautiful woman. Perhaps it was the cold water that had chilled his perpetual state of lust (he was literally a horny demon after all), or the emotion of near death that gave him new appreciation for enjoying life and therefore some misguided affection for Ofélia once he'd seen what she must have endured. Whatever the reason, she was cold, clammy and shuddering in pain, and his embrace was out of pure compassion and comfort, his thoughts only of trying to soothe her. In fact, he barely even noticed her nipples, hardened from the cold, as her breasts smushed against his bare chest, which made him proud for some perverse reason.

"Cleansed? They tortured you... they cut your..." Damon replied, pulling her back to him after he felt her tense and stiffen. He couldn't finish his words, the idea of what they did to her based on those horrific scars was too unspeakable to voice out loud. Instead, he tightened his grip as she relaxed into him, burying his own face into her hair and squeezing her close. She was still so cold, like a corpse, and he willed his heat into her. This poor girl, for that is what she felt like to him right now. "Ofélia..."

Whatever fleeting moment of closeness they had seemed to pass as Ofélia came to her senses. She pushed herself away from him, with Damon releasing her freely. Too late she realized she was showing her bare bosom to him, and her hands arms reached up to cover herself only after he was sure she'd noticed him taking a good look. Old habits die hard after all, and those breasts were quite spectacular in Damon's expert opinion.

"Thank you for saving my life," Damon answered. So that's how he'd survived the waterfall. Looking back now at the cataract, which stretched over two hundred feet in the air, there was no way they could have lived without some magical aid. "But at what cost... it hurts you?"

She was trying to go back to her normal, disciplined and practical self, as if what appeared to be a deep denial about what she truly was extended to the absurdity of their current situation. He knew all too well how a person could twist logic and their own feelings to rationalize something that if view rationally was insane. He'd seen it firsthand in some of the lovestruck women he'd courted, who'd lost their minds and begged to run off and give up their lives just to be with him. This was the reverse, as if she sought to ignore the abundant evident of her own abuse by clinging to her rigid, Order training and focusing on useless logistics instead.

"Ofélia," Damon began. He ignored, somehow, the flashes of her breasts she gave him as she tried to put on her amulet and wipe blood off her back. One arm was simply not enough to cover those tempting mounds. "To hell with logistics. How can you serve them..."

He rose up to his knees and seized her wrist, forcing her to look at the blood that still lingered on her fingers.

"They cut off your WINGS!"
 
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Her face was a wave of emotion that ebbed and flow between feelings like the tide did with the sun and moon. So while her face frowned and her brows furrowed, straining to find that neutral expression she had worn so well just that morning, it just as soon fell into something sad and desperate, causing her to turn her face away from him while her upper lip quivered and a strangled noise escaped from her throat. She looked younger like this, most likely her true age than how she liked to present herself. Twenties, in truth, instead of the ancient soul that she tried to channel like she was some ancient, jaded warrior.

Her vision blurred as she turned her attention down to the blood stains on her fingertips, her shoulders rolling back as if they ached still, when in reality her body remembered what she had lost like a man might see a phantom limb after it had been severed from his body. Blinking rapidly, she dragged her hand from his grasp, only to rock forward back into his embrace.

Face hot, she turned it against his shoulder as her fingers wrapped around his forearm, holding herself steady as the hot flood of tears streaked down her face. Lithe but slender, she shuddered like she was releasing years of burden that had been riding on her back, the motion ended in a rending sob. Half naked on the sandy bank of a river in muddy and sodden pants they were and the even keeled warrior had lost her grasp on the purpose of them being there.

“It’s because they made me a monster,” she finally whispered, her voice stuttering and catching. She rolled herself closer, teeth chattering as wet streaked her cheeks and hit his bare skin. Her hands had moved, curling around his torso. She stayed like that for a while, the silence of her tears broken by the occasion hiccuped sob before she pulled her face back to breathe, leaving only her cheek shoved up against his collar just under his chin.

“We need a fire, and we need.. We need to dry our clothes.. And we need to find food,” she managed, with far less conviction than she had just previously. Nor did she make any move to get away from him just yet.
 
All Damon could do was just hold her as she cried.

Ofélia was a broken thing, a hardened tool the Order had forged in pain and blood. She was either in denial, or ashamed of her own nature, and brainwashed into following a doctrine that had been literally whipped into her from some young age. He felt her grip him tighter, her arms actually embracing him for the first time of her own volition. It felt good to know she trusted him somewhat, or at least sought comfort from him, but there was none of the sexual energy, the flare of lust Damon would expect from a half-naked and quite beautiful woman holding him.

In fact, he felt nothing from her at all. That was interesting, as with his magic, even if nascent, he sensed some spark of lust within women, particularly when this close. Could perhaps the cursed shackles have a lingering effect? Or, more likely, did she have some innate resistance to his magic given her own heritage, for she was most certainly of Seraphim blood. Or was it the necklace? Damon knew he should try and learn where her apparent immunity to his magic came from and what the limits were. Could he inflame her lust, or even compel her to do something? Who knew, and he may need to use his abilities on her if her derelict sense of duty returned.

"You aren't a monster," he cooed into her ear, pressing his face into her wet hair and squeezing her tighter. "Whatever they've done to you, you are not the monster they tried to shape you into becoming."

No more than I am the monster they would have you believe I am.

She was cold, shivering in his arms still, and when she spoke at last, her voice was soft. He raised a hand to her chin, brushing it gently as she nuzzled into his neck. Comforting a woman like this was something he'd done before, but always with an ulterior motive, whereas today, he felt it right to do. She was not his enemy, he realized with a strange delight. She was just like him in many ways, just of a breed of monster that the Order had decided was useful to their agenda.

"You must rest, you drained yourself," he said, trying to sound firm. "I'll gather some wood and make a fire. But first, take off your breeches. They are soaked and must be dried." His hand went to her waist, tugging on the clothes. It looked like she had leggings on as well as socks, the entire bottom half wet with the ice cold, snow melt fed river's water and chill in the cool Spring afternoon. The temperature would drop soon and if she didn't get these hung, fire or not, she'd freeze tonight. "Come, don't be shy. I've seen it all already and I don't mean it like that, despite what you may believe about my nature."
 
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Ofélia did not like feeling vulnerable or weak. She especially did not enjoy being reduced to a huddled mass of emotion that had sparked and burned quickly when he had forced her to acknowledge things that she had long since pushed into the deeper, darker crevices of her mind. What she hated were the muddled memories resurfacing, the pain and horror, all of which had her trembling against the very being she had been called upon to drag to justice.

Another shuddering sob took her after she mustered the words, followed by a desperate gasp for air as she fought the surge of emotion that slammed into her like waves against a cliff’s edge. She turned her face harder against his chest as if to stop the tears. Her arms tightened around him before they loosened as she summoned up some minor conviction, hands trailing down his bare skin until her palms were pressing flat against his chest to push herself weakly back and away from him.

It was his hand against the waistband of her breeches, tugging the garment down her hip, that had her pulling away from him and taking a shuddering breath, the back of her hand swiping across her cheeks and swollen, red, and puffed up eyes.

“Is this one of your tricks?” She tried to snap, to put back the fierce edge of command in her voice, but the question sounded more petulant than anything. “Take advantage, manipulate so that you can have your way?” That question had a little more conviction behind it, but her voice was strangled with uncertainty.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned and scooted away from him, but immediately missed the warm circle of his embrace. That physical contact was something that she had long craved and denied herself. Like a masochist, she seemed to enjoy denying herself the things that would bring enjoyment, tormenting her own self instead of indulging in it, even if there was no one else out there to witness it except him and her.

Groaning, she plucked herself up from the ground, taking her wet tunic with her and presented her scarred back to his face once again. Though cold and clammy, she pulled the garment back over her head and shuddered as the chill pebbled her skin even more, and still did nothing to provide any sort of modesty. Her nipples were rock hard from the cold and with the way the garment clung, were visible as they poked and strained against the fabric.

Even she knew that it was foolhardy to leave on the wet garments, but she was also determined to at least somewhat prepare them for the night. The need for control would not relinquish the tasks only to him, and so Ofélia set off herself, feet squelching in the sand, to begin collecting wood for a fire.
 
She was as stubborn as a mule, and Damon could only snort at her as she stomped away, still shivering badly.

"Mind my words, Ofélia," he called after her. "This isn't a trick... I have no power over you."

He wasn't sure she heard him, and even then if she'd believe him, but he felt better telling her the truth given her natural suspicions. She was a repressed stew of emotions right now, he judged, with both her torture at the hands of the Order, the pleasures of her body that he'd shown her last night, and now their current ambiguous state, where her role and even duty was uncertain.

Did she still think herself his captor? She'd left him just now, so perhaps not. Or did she figure she could track him if he ran? And in truth, what were they to each other in this new and wild country? He could leave, and the survivalist part of Damon that had kept his balls intact over the years urged him to abandon her. He'd likely fare just as well without her as with, for surely even a trained Paladin of the Order with some sort of magic amulet and Seraphim blood couldn't fight better than a half-demon man like himself! Especially without her sword and armor.

For his own sake, Damon stripped his pants off and his small clothes, luxuriating in being naked while the sun had some warmth. His body was muscled and lean, skin surprisingly pale despite his half-demon heritage. Only his cock looked abnormal, well, it just looked quite large even when hanging flaccid in the cold like right now. But certainly, at full mast his women were often awestruck and suspicious he was fully human, not that they usually cared at that precise moment.

Carefully hanging his garments on a branch, for the felt pants would take a while to dry, he then set off barefoot into the nearby forest looking for dead wood. He'd purposefully chosen a different direction to give her some space. It took some snapping of fallen branches, made more difficult by his nudity, before he strolled back to their sandy beach with an armload of wood and kindling. While a fire might normally be hard to start, his horns struck sparks when hit with rock so he was looking forward to showing Ofélia a trick his cursed blood could offer them.
 
She heard him, but refused to answer him as she stalked away before she had another bout of weakness around him. Jaw set stubbornly and also to prevent her teeth from chattering, she gathered her own bundle of firewood, but also drifted further into the treeline. Despite being without supplies, clothing, a weapon, anything -- Ofélia had her own skill set for being out in the wild that had nothing to do with saving them from dying by waterfall. She knew how to make the most use of any situation, and now that she was starting to think more clearly even though there was a lump in her throat that refused to go away, she also managed to gather enough moss that clung to the trees of this wilderness.

She returned with an armful of her findings in time to see that he had, at least, contributed and started the fire already. Eyes averted, she dropped her own kindling next to the fire he had started, then lumped some of the moss together. She had enough, barely, to make a crude enough pallet to almost fit her entire body, but she hesitated and glanced up at him as much as she dared in his current state.

“So we do not have to lie in the dirt tonight,” she offered, dumping the rest of the moss for him to do with what he would. “And to dry off, even though it is not ideal.”

She had not even considered foraging for food. Exhaustion was creeping across her face and fatigue sagged her shoulders. Eyeing him sidelong again, she inched a little bit more away and turned her back as she peeled the tunic back up her body, shivering as the cold garment chilled her skin. She hung it from a low hanging branch as he had done, then with a held breath, she pulled down her sodden breeches, having to bend over to drag them and her leggings from her legs like peeling off a second skin.

She was shivering and shaking when she rose again now that her wet skin met the cool breeze. Slapping the rest of her clothes across the branch, all she had left were her own under things. Gritting her teeth, she tried to be as menacing as possible with her warning, “Keep your eyes averted.”

Then without another thought, she hooked her fingers at the edges of the fabric and peeled them off as well, crouching down as she also removed the socks that covered her feet, setting these closer to the fire so that they would dry faster. Remaining down, she sat with her knees up and shifted her sights on him again. Her cheeks were rosy and the woman was more than a little uncomfortable, but at least she was not looking at him like he was a hostile thing.

“Thank you,” she finally said, begrudging. “For saving my life. I owe you a great debt.”
 
Damon was feeling quite pleased with himself as he stoked the fire to a decent level of warmth. While he spent most of his days in ballrooms, at feasting tables, or having moonlit walks in gardens, it felt good to be able to deliver a primitive manly duty like building a fire. Of course, being completely naked while doing so only added to his caveman-like feeling of masculinity, and he felt a bit of his natural "horniness" returning by the time Ofélia returned herself with wood and what looked a pile of green moss. As a result, his demon prick had gotten a bit longer and thicker, also helped by the fire warming him up and his skin finally drying off.

Just the sight of his naked body was enough to force Ofélia to avoid looking at him, and of course, Damon tried his best to get his nude form, particularly the appendage swinging between his thighs, in her line of vision as he tried to help her with the wood and setting up a bed. It was amusing to see her visible consternation, and her contorted attempts to avoid glancing below his shoulders, which entailed her keeping her chin up in an exaggerated manner that made her appear a bit haughty.

"What a brilliant idea! A bed of moss, this will be much more comfortable," Damon said, reaching out to give her a thankful squeeze of her arm. Her clothes, not surprisingly, we still damp and freezing. "You really should get out of those... oh good, you are. Well, don't worry, it's getting dark out and away from the fire I won't see much. Trust me."

Damon, of course, had excellent night vision, but there was no reason to reveal that little secret to Ofélia, especially now as he watched her strip from the corner of his eyes. Those scars still were painful to look at, and he winced though he knew they couldn't hurt now. He made a show arranging his moss "bed" next to hers. He heard her command to not look, which of course made him glance over and then do a theatrical covering of his eyes to reassure her that he wasn't seeing anything improper. Somehow, she managed to get herself to a seating position, her feet crossed to cover her sex and knees pulled to her chest, without giving him more than a quick peek at what he was suddenly very interested in seeing again.

Damon flopped down next to her, his own position was cross legged and shamelessly exposed his dangling cock.

"Well, I think we'll have to do without dinner for the night, but I'm sure we can forage something in the morning," Damon said, keeping to a light topic. He pretended to squash an imaginary bug on his thigh to draw her gaze down towards his cock. The fact they were nonchalantly sitting next to each other, completely naked, when the night before he'd been locked in a cage and on his way to his execution was not lost on him, and he chuckled. "Last night I prayed to whatever god would care about a 'monster' like me that I would be freed, but I had no expectation they would listen." He tossed another stick into the fire, the red flames flickering in his black eyes. "I know you have the Blessed Order's beliefs still, but surely, this is a sign from some god, perhaps one with a sense of humor, that our fates were meant to cross."

He turned to stare at her, eyes searching.

"I mean you no harm now, as long as you mean none to me. You should know that, even though I know you doubt the words of a demon. Nor do I have any power over you, for if I did you would know by now and we'd certainly not be sitting here chastely. Anything you think you feel is just a result of my natural good looks, which frankly, few women can resist anyway."

He flashed her a smile.

"That was a joke. You are allowed to laugh. Was that a shiver... Are you cold? Here, let me hold you again. I promise, I will be a gentleman. Now, tell me your story..."

His arms reached for her, an invitation.
 
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He was insufferable. Ofélia forgot just why she had softened up to him within minutes of situating herself near the fire and was already contemplating whether she should do away with him now just for the cheeky smile he’d had on his face since she had stripped in his presence. Could she throw him back into the river and hope that he would not return?

She even glanced at the waters that bubbled behind them in thought before turning her head back to face him.

Her hair had dried some and now hung in limp clumps around her face, snaking down over her shoulders and coiling in the center of her back, where before she had worn it tightly coiled at the nape of her neck. Without her armor on - or anything, for that matter, except for the pendant around her neck - she looked softer, more feminine than she did when in full armor, which was now lost to the river and waterfall along with the rest of their possessions.

They were stranded. Like it or not, Ofélia was not thinking of attempting to drag him back to the Order now; survival was a first priority, getting back on track second. And the woman had too much to think about besides. Something had been triggered in her when he had pointed out what she had been through. She knew, in the back of her mind, what had happened to her. She knew and yet she had forgotten, pushed it all back so that she could focus on what was ahead. Now that it had surfaced again, the uncomfortable look on her face had less to do than his close proximity and more to do with what she was going to do with her own self and origins.

“You do not have to settle so close to me,” she complained, voice dry, brows creeping together. Her sights had remained firmly on his face despite his attempts to show off the make of his body, but after his little flick with his fingers that finally lured her attention down to what he was swatting on his thigh, her features recoiled into a look of embarrassed annoyance.

“Are all men so interested in their own pricks as you are?” she finally bit out, turning herself away from him so that he had a view of the side of her hip and thigh, the rest of her torso cast in shadow, except for the glimpse of her breast and a hint of a nipple hidden behind her folded arms. Though surely she could not keep her huddled up position for the entire night.

And yet, he continued to speak nonsense, and the women snorted, shooting him a biting grin. “Oh, I think I am resisting you quite nicely. Is that new to you? Are you wanting me to fall back into your arms like a silly maid and fawn?”

Only she did shift uncomfortably again, eyes wandering away from him as her legs tightened closer to her body and her toes curled in the sand. She was a maid; would always be so. What had occurred in her dreams had been a lurid fantasy only, despite the fact that now he was nude and in the flesh, as naked as he had come for her there.

“The fire is warm enough,” she said stiffly. “And you know of my story, I…” she trailed off, face flinching. “I don’t… really want to speak of it…” she finished, voice hitching. “It is something that has been done and now we are… here. Just tell me what you wish, as a thank you for saving me.”
 
“Are all men so interested in their own pricks as you are?”

"My apologies, perhaps I thought you were still trying to decide whether my ego is bigger than my prick?" replied Damon with a wink.

It was strange, sitting naked next to Ofélia and feeling nothing, or at least none of the lust he would normally sense. He definitely felt something. She was a beautiful woman, and despite what he'd seen on her back, and everything they'd been through today, Damon was, of course, a horny incubus. And an incubus who hadn't had sex now in days, with a very frustrating dream last night to boot. His very nature was lust, and his physical body noticed her, even if his mind felt nothing. She was gorgeous, her figure lithe and muscled. The sides of her breasts and the dark valley behind her crossed ankles drew his gaze helplessly whenever she shifted. Her creamy skin was patterned with flickering red from the fire, making her look like some exotic striped animal.

How could he not want her?

Normally, in this kind of almost romantic setting, a woman would be child's play for Damon. He could steal a kiss from a lady with a touch, and be fucking her after only a well-timed and strong gaze. But tonight, he had no powers and he felt oddly as if he was seducing a woman for the first time. Not like a blushing boy that was too intimidated to speak, nothing that incompetent of course, but he realized he'd never tried to woo a woman before without magical help and wasn't quite sure... how? The sweet nothings he could murmur endlessly to a normal girl might sound absurd to Ofélia without his powers, and the lusty response he could rely on when he finally made his move, well, Ofélia's response might be an elbow to his face instead of a hungry return kiss!

She didn't even want him close, shifting visibly away and avoiding eye contact. Damon was momentarily at a loss about what to do. He wasn't the violent type, but he doubted there was any way he could overwhelm her physically with her training if he had desired that method. Clearly, even his good looks and demon sized cock would only go so far, and the fantasy that Ofélia would be overwhelmed by simply the sight of his nude body had long faded. For the first time ever, if Damon wanted to fuck a girl, he'd have to figure out how to genuinely get her to want to fuck him back!

Rejection was never an option for him before, ever, and he felt a little stab of uncertainty and... fear? Most of all he was a bit anxious, for he was a horny incubus and urgently craving some form of release after two days of frustration. The idea that he might not get it was suddenly... unsettling.

But, how to woo her?

He had to think and recalibrate his expectations of what was even feasible tonight. Ofélia was a virgin, likely raised and taught by the Order to view sex and lust as mortal sins. And just hours ago, she would have killed him without hesitation if he tried to flee as she'd been near brainwashed to think his kind were evil monsters that deserved death if caught, with no exceptions. It wasn't exactly great material for him to work with in terms of getting her to fuck him.

Even worse, Ofélia was in a state of emotional turmoil right now. She had long repressed angst over whether her forced-upon-her beliefs were correct, if she was a monster herself, and how she had been maimed and tortured as a child. But, Damon realized that those were here weak spots, the vulnerabilities in the armor of her heart! He'd unconsciously been targeting them already in fact while comforting her. He could just continue to comfort her, gain her trust, pretend that he cared for her, and then get her body longing for more with some gentle touches,. Her heart would want to believe it wasn't just sex he craved, and then....

Damon struggled to finish his thought. For some strange reason, this plan seemed to be a bit distasteful.

Why did he suddenly think it'd be cruel to exploit her emotions in this traumatic time just to have a cum? It was a strangely un-Damon-like thought, but maybe his mind thought clearer when not clouded by an easy target next to him, one who's own lust wasn't burning in his mind like an irresistible beacon. Ofélia had yelled at him the other day for taking advantage of women and hurting them by his actions, and now, as he sat frustrated that he couldn't just wave his cock and get Ofélia to melt into his arms, he realized just how much he manipulated women with his magic. Sure, he rationalized that his partners had always enjoyed it physically, but emotionally... he wondered now. Was it right to twist women's hearts, even if briefly, for his own pleasure? And if so, was it any better to do it with or without magic?

It would be painful, but perhaps, for tonight, he'd have to settle for another pair of blue balls.

"My wish?" Damon dropped the arms he had offered her and leaned back against his hands instead. He studied the fire. "You've had a lot happen to you today, as have I, but I think your emotions are in a worse state than mine. I've gone from my execution to freedom, whereas you've gone from thinking you served a righteous Order to realizing the truth about some of the lies you've been taught since childhood." He sighed. "As much as I would like to think it's easy to realize I am no monster, I know you also have to accept that you are not one as well." Turning, he sought her eyes, his own were warm, with no hint of mischief or trickery. "I wish only that you view me as a person tonight, not a monster or corrupting demon, just a person that is happy to be alive. I won't woo you, or try to steal your maidenhood, not that you'd give it to me anyway. Let's just be happy we both live."

He paused, then grinned, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her scarred back.

"I make no promises about tomorrow night, though."
 
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While Damon worked his thoughts on how to seduce her, Ofélia was trapped in a whirlwind of her own thoughts that had little to do with seduction and more to do with her origins. Damon’s words still haunted her, echoing through her skull as, at least for the moment, her eyes strayed to watch the sun start its slow descent below the horizon.

They cut off your wings.

The horror that had been in his voice had been echoed in her innermost thoughts. She still thought she felt the scarring near her shoulder blades tingle, that phantom presence that warriors often felt upon losing something that had been attached to them. She even imagined a twinge of pain as the memory surfaced of when it had occurred -- and then she had only been a child, strapped down and screaming. They’d had to gag her, she remembered, hold her time.

The knife had been so cold. So sharp.

Ofélia shuddered with both the memory and the sudden breeze that ruffled through her damp hair, causing her arms to tighten all the more around her knees. Uneasy and uncertain of herself now, she turned the dark, wide eyed stare back down to the demon who looked too much like a man, tracing his face with her eyes and feeling a stir of heat low in her belly as she memorized the features. A handsome being, then, with his dark looks.

But oh, so insufferable.

So it was no wonder that surprise flickered across her face at his candid reply to her inquiry, that he felt genuine and a little heartfelt with his response. She had expected something more crude, if outright crude, from him. Not this opening of understanding that, for the first time since she had settled by the fire, she relaxed her arms where they huddled around her knees and at least lost some of her uncomfortable self-awareness at her own nudity.

“I…” she started, her voice holding a tremor. It was wrong, this vulnerability; it made her feel weak that she was trembling like a scared girl, her nerves wracked and mind too jumbled to think clearly. She had spent so many years -- thinking clearly, moving in a straight line, always right in her own morality.

It had all gone to hell.

She reached behind her where his hand had fallen on the ridges and lines that scarred her back, the lack of uniformity that marred her and reminded her all too keenly of her own imperfections. Only instead of tossing his hand back towards his body, her fingers, cool to the touch, wrapped around his and squeezed, drawing it close to her body and holding it there as she turned her stare away from his again to peer into the fire. The glisten of tears were present in her eyes, the sparkle a trail down her cheek before she wiped it away on the top of her knee.

“Thank you,” she finally said, softly, still clutching his hand. “I do not…”

It was a small thing, the way her fingers laced through his, calloused fingertips exploring the backs of his knuckles, turning his palm over to fit her smaller hand in his larger one. She hardly realized that she was doing it as her lips worked through the words that she wanted to say.

“I do not know what to do, or think. I think…”

She shifted her eyes to his face again, squeezing his hand, her other joining the first to grasp his hand. “I think there are more than one kind of monster and that tonight, I can agree that you are not that. I expected less, truth be told.”
 
Well, the night wasn't going the typical way Damon's normal evenings with beautiful, naked women went. His strange case of morals had made him abandon his plan of aggressively manipulating and seducing Ofélia, and he'd instead resolved that he'd comfort her, and no more tonight. The tears she shed now, against her will no doubt, spoke volumes of her troubled mind, and Damon gave her a smile of reassurance. Perhaps this decision was the right one.

Still, when Ofélia took his had and held it, he felt something. It wasn't the normal thrill of sexual desire, but a strange feeling of comfort himself as she matched their palms together. Her own hands were smaller, but tough and calloused from her years of training. They were unlady-like by most standards, with short nails and rough skin. He found himself enjoying this feeling, of almost platonic warmth, as she drew strength from that chaste contact which she doubled now as she held him in both hands.

"We can both learn new things," Damon murmured, his eyes dropping to study his own as she held it. Some thought bothered him, a rare self-reflective mood had set in and he expressed it suddenly. "You at least, believed you were doing good. I've lived a life of... debauchery and pleasure. Truly, what have I done that wasn't for my own selfish needs. I don't deserve to die for it, but still, what have I done that is good...."

The words sounded absurd to him as he spoke them, but he knew the truth behind them made him uncomfortable. Unbidden, a thought came to his mind of an incident when he was first on his own in a small village. They'd caught a demon blood, a shapeshifter of some sort who could turn into a fox, and had him caged. The poor youth, hardly older than a boy, was in a cage hung over a growing pile of sticks with a pleading look in his eyes. Villagers were taunting him, throwing rotten food and stones at him and calling him names. New to town, Damon had joined in to keep his own identity intact, but he remembered the look in the boy's eyes, the pleading look for health as if he knew what Damon truly was and had appealed as fellow brethren.

There was nothing Damon could do, or so he rationalized. But still, they hadn't burned the boy until the next morning when an Order Priest made it a public spectacle. Could he have tried to free him at night, when his own powers of vision were greatest? He could have seduced a woman or two and convinced them to distract the guards while he picked the lock. He could have tried something, anything, instead of thinking only of his own self-preservation.

That lack of action had haunted him, but he'd buried it deep. There had been other, similar choices he'd made over the years, where he'd turned a blind eye to the plight of others with inhuman blood, while he'd merrily seduced a woman for a warm bed for the night. Over the years, it had almost become normal.

Perhaps he was a monster. A selfish monster.

"Are you cold?" he asked suddenly, thinking of Ofélia as he felt a gust of cooler wind sweep through their tiny camp. His hand reached out, as he turned to look at her, and he placed it on her two that held his other one. "You can have my shirt tonight, for it at least is dry enough by now. I promise I'll be a gentleman."
 
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Ofélia did not know what she wanted. She searched his face instead for the answer to that. Somewhere between then and now, he had dropped one of his acts and what he left behind, she felt, was just as exposed as she was in the moment. She liked this better -- the open depths of his face instead of the jibing smirks.

She was beginning to wonder if that other was just a facade, planted there by expectation and survival. Or perhaps that was still just what she would have liked to think.

Dark eyes dropped back down to his hand tangled with her own, then without a second thought, she lifted his to her lips and kissed the knuckles, squeezed his palm, then dropped both back down to the side without untangling her fingers from his. She felt comforted, feeling his hand in hers like this. And though she was not yet prepared to admit it, the heat from her dream state crept into the corners of her mind, creating a simmer of heat that pulsed across her skin, throbbed between her thighs as a reminder of that particular intimacy, even if it had only been in her mind.

They were not in her mind now.

That reminder alone had her shifting, uncomfortable, her pulse fluttering in her throat as she tried to determine what to do. Staying curled in on herself throughout the remainder of the night was out of the question, but …

Her attention flitted up from beneath the fringe of dark lashes to observe his stretched out form outlined by the flickering flames and her lower abdomen clenched. Swallowing hard, she clenched her jaw and slid forward and to the side, angling herself as she moved to lay alongside him so that she presented her back and its scars to his line of sight. Her legs were still curled up, knees close to her stomach, but the shape of her bare ass was silhouetted and pressed close to his body.

“Yes, you will be a gentleman,” she agreed, voice soft. “But it is better with the chill, our body heat…” It was not a complete thought, but her voice strained through what she could put together with how embarrassing the predicament was. Her hand finally slid from around his to tuck under her cheek and pillow her face, though after a moment of staring off into the dark, she craned her neck to look up at him.

“If you had the chance to escape the Order now, would you take it?”
 
Damon felt his heart racing in his chest as Ofélia kissed his knuckles. It was a simple gesture, almost platonic, but coming from her it felt as if a lusty lady had grabbed his crotch. In fact, he felt his cock stir slightly, and he fought to prevent more blood flowing into into that suddenly awake appendage. He had to remind himself, bitterly, that he wasn't going to seduce her for his wanton pleasure tonight, that he'd decided for some perverse and foolish reason that it was immoral.

But what if she wanted me to?

Perhaps Damon shouldn't make the assumption that just because he wasn't magically inciting a woman's ardor that she might not be craving his comfort....

No, well, YES, of course he shouldn't assume that, but he still had to force himself to not actively seduce her, which was becoming increasingly hard to do as he studied her nude body, that caramel skin flickering in the light of the fire so beguilingly. Still, he reminded himself she was a virgin, and repressed, and even a toned down version of the depravity he truly craved might be vastly different than the more chaste night of comforting she could be hinting at with her gentle kiss of his knuckle.

Again he cursed the fact that he had no powers over her. It would be so easy if he could just see her heart right now, and feel the intensity of the lust that burned there. This guessing, and second-guessing, and strange worry about whether he was manipulating her, well it would all be gone if he could just tell.

"But it is better with the chill, our body heat…"

Her ass was so inviting, and Damon swallowed drily. Truly, his willpower would be tested tonight. Of course, she could be hinting she wanted more...

Only the scars on her backside gave him pause. Those horrid stripes, now shadowed and moving from the flames of the fire, were a painful to behold reminder to him of what she'd been through, and why he should tread cautiously with her emotions, at least for tonight.

"Here, let's share my shirt then," Damon replied, grabbing the dry and thin garment. He turned onto his side, strangely nervous as he scooted forward on the bed of moss and draped the garment mostly on her torso. Now, to decide on exactly how close he should get. He was a man, after all, and a horny one, and the idea of their skin touching with no effect was ludicrous, his newfound sense of morals notwithstanding.

“If you had the chance to escape the Order now, would you take it?”

"Wouldn't you?" he replied simply.

It was too awkward to lie balanced on his side, so with a sigh, he placed his arm over her, careful to let it lie over her own forearms that shielded her breasts, and scooted close. The rough and ridge surface of her back pressed against his hairy chest, lines of pain that made him wince although he knew they couldn't still hurt. HIs cock he kept away from her, arching his pelvis back while curling his knees so the tops of his thighs touched her hamstrings.

Still, he felt blood rushing to the one spot he feared it might. Her heat and warmth in his arms was too intoxicating to not have what was a very normal reaction for an incubus, particularly one who'd gone days with a release. His face burned as well, as he knew how "ungentlemanly" this reaction might appear.

"I apologize," he said in advance as he felt his cock growing. There was nowhere it could rise safely, and eventually it would touch her. Now he was wondering where it might rear its head, likely in the worst possible spot given their position. Should he try to flip it up between them, so it went up her back? "I assure you I will be a gentleman, but... men have their reactions in moments like these. I'm sure it will fade, eventually. I just... in my nature I need to have my releases... and when I've gone so long, yes, it's hard to control... just ignore it."

Heartbeat by heartbeat, his cock grew longer, hardening and thickening as if to the beat of a ticking clock. Fuck, if he didn't adjust it, he knew exactly what it would be throbbing against, and very soon.
 
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As soon as Ofélia settled down next to him, she knew that she had made a mistake. She was overly tired, stressed, too vulnerable for her own good. After all, he had all but admitted he had manipulated her dreams in order to take advantage of her even if his words had not spoken such. He was an incubus; he fed off of lust. That she was laying herself down beside him like a steak dinner should have been the last thing that she did.

And yet he had saved her, held her like he had cared, spoke so temptingly that he would not try anything this night. So she believed him until she could feel his heat against her back. Awareness prickled up her spine at just how close he was to her, that they were both naked on the ground on the banks of a river.

The sound of his rich voice that she could have sworn vibrated against the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver and stir, set her heart to pounding in her chest. Only to flinch when her mind registered his words. Her own voice held an edge of defensiveness and more than a little self-consciousness. “Are the scars so hideous, then?”

She bit her tongue as she clamped her jaw closed, mentally cursing at herself for the words. Like she scared that her life’s punishment might deter him from trying anything unwholesome with her. A deeper level of shame twisted in her stomach as she felt the damp warmth of his drying garment drape over her torso, hiding away her own reminder of what she was.

A good thing that she was faced away from her, with the way her face flinched at her own physical imperfections, her form huddling all the more inwards on itself as she curled up. His next question was a relief, though she still blew out an unsteady breath.

“Then why aren’t you?” She asked right back, her voice soft, questing for his real intention on staying so close. He could have run; he still could. He could have left her to drown, in fact, and braved the forest himself. With his abilities, all he would need was to find a live person and convince them through his will for them to take him in.

Only here they both were. Eyes closed, she turned just enough that her cheek hit his forearm when he draped his arm so carefully around her and pulled her right up against his chest. Ofélia stiffened at first, breath caught, uncertain what to do with the close physical contact, or the rush of endorphins that made her head spin and her nether region tingle with anticipation.

So she shifted again, feeling the brush of heat against the curve of her backside. Hot, hard, it pulsed against her bare skin with enough awareness that she stiffened up again in his arms. Her mouth went dry, face flushing, and like time standing still, she turned her eyes up to his face with her heart hammering hard in her chest. Her lips parted, her breathing rasping hard, but she did not jerk away. Only searched his face with her eyes, wondering, but also trapped in her own mind on what to do.

Tentatively and with her heart crawling up her throat, she lifted her hands enough that her fingertips brushed the hair on the back of his arm around her like she was petting him and silently asking for permission to do more. Or for more.
 
“Are the scars so hideous, then?”

"On the contrary, they raise my ardor and for your safety I must not be tempted," quipped back Damon, but his words rang hollow to his ear, a sad attempt to deflect her worries.

“Then why aren’t you?”

"Then why aren't you, as well?" he countered. "I've already escaped, unless you think to drag me naked through wild forests full of evil beasts with no help?"

He felt her cheek brush against his arm, and he felt her stiffen against him as his body slid near. She didn't respond as he warned her about his growing problem, but instead moved again and only hastened the inevitable as his dick bumped against an ass cheek, dangerously close to nestling into her valley. Would he find her hot, and wet? Ready for him? Bet not to think of that, but it was too late, and he felt his cock engorging now fully, rising up and throbbing as it began to beat against her asscheek and stretch down the back of her thigh. There was no way she could not feel him, and even a virgin could tell just how aroused he was.

"I... I apologize," said Damon, but his eyes had no apology in them. Those dark orbs flickered red from the fire as he met Ofélia's own. She was flushed, her face reddened despite the cool air, and he could see her neck pulse with her fast beating heart. Yet, she didn't back down and even lightly rubbed his arms, her fingertips causing his hair to stand up on edge. "I'm a weak man."

He leaned forward, lowering his face to Ofélia's and opening his mouth to meet her already parted lips. He kissed her sweetly and softly, very differently from their dream kiss last night. There was no urgency, no aggression, just a slow, gentle, and very patient exploration of her mouth with his lips and tongue, while permitting her the same. He regretted his multi-day growth of beard, as she would feel it on her face. And behind her lips, she was hot, slippery, and so warm and inviting, and it was impossible to resist letting his tongue slip inside for a taste.

His arm moved, turning her to face him and rolling her onto her back as he leaned over her. His cock, now fully hard and straining with need, flopped to rest across her stomach, a thick and veined rod that throbbed hotly against her skin. He lifted his fingers to her face, caressing her cheek gently as he kissed her, while his other arm had slipped under her neck to pillow her. It was magical, erotic, and whatever willpower Damon had called upon earlier tonight, was quickly fading.

"Ofélia," he said, breaking the kiss and breathing hard. "I... You can not tease me like this. My kind, we need to have a release when aroused... I don't want to break my word to you."

Of course, the heavy cock throbbing on her stomach was evidence that his body thought otherwise about his mind's promise.
 
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Ofélia may have been chaste and untouched, but she was not a child; she knew the passions and ardors of men and knew exactly what the hot press was against her backside. She felt him there, pulsing, and felt her own pulse jump with guilt as a rush of excitement spread the flush from her face down to her lower belly.

She felt the thrill of knowing that she was doing something wrong by even feeling the tweak of excitement pull at her and tried to hide the shine of temptation from her hooded gaze as she searched his. She wondered what he would feel like here, in the flesh, in comparison to the dream.

And to find out, she did not have to wait long with his uttered admission.

Her body stiffened again when his lips touched her own. Instead of pushing him away, however, her fingers tightened on the arm he had around her. Her face turned up towards his as a shudder of relief coursed through her, pebbling her skin and tweaking her nipples that became visible as he shifted her over onto her back. A heady gasp followed and another tremor shook the tension of her body as her mental state wrestled with conflicting desire. Until finally her eyes closed and her hand moved away from his arm, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck, teased into his dark hair, tugging him close with the hesitancy that came with lack of experience.

He tasted of heat. She hadn’t imagined, in her fantasy, what he would truly taste like. Her lips, trembling, parted further against his as he deepened the kiss, and she gasped as she felt the stroke of his tongue in her mouth that sent shivers straight down her spine.

Her hand quested higher, twining through his hair, while her other lifted, running over to rough stubble on his face, across the chisel of his jaw, then back down his neck and curving over his shoulder. Her fingers hesitated a moment more before she dropped her hand to stroke down the front of his chest, then pressed fully against it as she shifted closer to his heat.

She should not have liked it, the warm pleasure that coursed through her. She should have felt worse than she did, with her tentative exploration of his skin underneath her fingertips, of his mouth that teased expertly against her own, until she was pushing back, soft lips crushed against his and her tongue tasting his as it slipped past her parted lips.

Her heart was thrumming through her faster than the adrenaline from battle and the delicious heat that coursed through her veins and curled into her womb made her shift and press her thighs together. Her fingers curled against his chest.

Then he pulled back and she murmured her protest, not wanting him to leave her alone with her thoughts just then, or even her heady intake of breath that matched his own. Nor was she prepared to consider the length of his ardor that throbbed against her lower belly, clenching her muscles, and drawing further attention to the blooming ache between her thighs. She clenched them tighter together, as if to alleviate the sensation.

“I…” she started, her voice husky, faltering. Dark eyes searched his own, then she ducked her head and pulled herself closer to him, her hot cheek pressing into his shoulder. She breathed him in as she struggled to sort through the cacophony of her thoughts. “I.. I do not.. Will it not hurt?”

Embarrassment slapped her hard enough that she turned her cheek and froze while she pressed up against him, heart hammering hard enough that she thought it might escape her chest. Her fingers were even trembling along with her nerves as they continued their tugging in his hair. “And.. and here…?”
 
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