The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher

Poppy

I’m somewhere between a dream and the nightmare that is my reality when I hear a scraping sound.

But tonight, I’m ready. My body is tense, my heart hammering in my mouth. The plan has been swirling around in my head for hours and all I need to do is stick to it.

The door creaks open, flooding the soft light of the hallway into the black abyss.

“Do you ever sleep?” I ask the shadow in the doorway.

“Never.”

I fumble around for the lamp switch. “Don’t,” he says.

His looming silhouette comes closer, stepping into the streak of moonlight coming through the window. He’s devastatingly handsome, as always, and a crumpled version of his usually immaculate self. Disheveled hair, loosened tie. My heart sinks at the bitter smell of liquor swirling between us.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Stick to the plan.

He stares down at me, no amount of darkness can hide the intensity in his eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Missed me?”

Is that a smile on his lips? “I think I’m becoming addicted to you.”

His words snatch away my next breath.

“Is that a bad thing?”

He rubs a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging. “My addictions are never healthy.”

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, he reaches out and cups my face. His hand smells like cigars and leather, but his touch is tender.

I can hear my heartbeat thumping around my ears, in time with every burning stroke of his thumb across my cheek.

“What are you thinking about, China Doll?”

“That you only call me China Doll when you’re drunk,” I whisper back.

A noise rumbles in his chest and he pulls his hand away. “You’d drink too if you had as many demons as me.”

“You’re my only demon. One is enough.”

His laugh is contagious, and I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

There’s a sick, twisted part of me that’s thankful when his finger brushes against the rim of my lips. “You’re so goddamn pretty when you smile, China Doll.”

Hot, thick tension swirls between the inch between our mouths. I can hear his heartbeat slamming against his chest; I can hear mine ringing in my ears.

This is it.

Without warning, he crushes his lips against mine. A strong hand cups the base of my head, pulling me deeper into the kiss. Locked between his rough palm and the intensity of his mouth, I feel myself melting. He’s relentless, claiming my tongue with his, pulling me onto his lap so that his bulge nestles perfectly between my mound.

A gasp escapes me as he moves his kisses down my neck with the same ferocity. He nips, sucks and moans into my throat, sending my eyes rolling back into my head. My body is begging him to take his kiss lower, past my collarbone. I need to feel those lips against my nipples.

Then, he pushes me back onto the bed and climbs on top of me, nudging my thighs apart with his knee. “You’re mine, China Doll,” he growls, leaning back on his heels to drink me in. I bask in the glow of his hungry stare as his eyes roll over every inch of my flesh. I slip the straps of my camisole off my shoulders, letting my breasts escape. I want him to look, want him to want me. I want to make him happy.

His hands run from my hips down to my thighs, and then back up the inside of them. My body is its own entity, arching up to meet his touch, my ankles wrapping around his back. “My keepsake. My plaything.”

The blade of his silk tie slides in between my breasts, and I wrap my fist around the fabric and pull him closer. It’s my turn to crush my lips against his. He gives in to my desperate mouth, before propping himself up on his arms to look down at me. “And I’m going to take what’s mine,” he says, tugging at his zipper.

My breath hitches in my throat and the small voice in the back of my head pipes up. So, this is how it happens, it says. This is how you lose your virginity.

It was never meant to be like this. I’m ashamed that since Lorcan kissed me, it’s the first time that Sam pops into my head. It was meant to be with him. In a safe, loving, relationship on a bed full of rose petals and a romantic Spotify playlist.

Instead, I’m using my innocence as a ticket to freedom.

Lorcan pushes the slick head of his cock against my pussy. I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut, bracing myself for the pain.

It doesn’t come.

I open one eye and Lorcan’s looking down at me. I can’t read the expression on his face.

Regret? Anger?

Then, he snaps out of it and withdraws from my withering body. I watch, numb, as he gets off the bed and tucks himself away.

“Where are you going?” I croak.

“Not now,” he mutters, snatching his jacket from the floor and flinging it over his shoulder.

“Lorcan—”

“Go to sleep, China Doll,” he says with a sad softness in his voice.

And with that, there’s the scrape of the key and the footsteps in the landing.

He’s gone.

Leaving me in a fog of confusion and longing.

And underneath it all, I feel like begging him to come back.