"I'm just a holy fool

Oh, baby, he's so cruel

But I'm still in love with Judas, baby."

- Lady Gaga, Judas

He says the words to me in a whisper, his lips hovering on my ear, a low growl in his throat that has me freezing. He said it slowly, as if he's threatening me. I don't know why his voice twists something inside me, in my stomach. He pulls his face slowly, his lips away now from my ear, and looks at me in the eyes; I stare back, can't help but to stare back in those evil yet beautiful eyes of his.

Surprisingly I feel calm, but my heart is still beating fast. His eyes remain focus on mine, and my eyes start to flicker between his eyes then to his lips. Realizing that my eyes keep lingering longer on his lips, I blush, starting to look away. His arm shoots forward, hand cupping my face and he keeps it still, forcing me to look at him. Then he starts to lean down; those sinful lips of him are tempting and full of sin and I feel my breath hitch. His lips set from thin line to a small curve upwards, slowly, and the way he smiles at me, as if he's planning something evil, makes my heart race even faster.

Slate leans down, pressing his bare chest against mine and when our skin makes contact, I feel it burn, making me gasp. It's a different kind of burn. It's triggering something inside me. He leans forward, the tip of his nose barely touching the most sensitive part of my neck; I moan out, which I try to suppress but to no avail.

"You smell good. Really good," he inhales my scent deeply. When he runs the tip of his nose across the sensitive spot of my neck, I almost lose it, almost throw my arms around his neck and force him to bury his face in the crook of my neck. But I fight myself from doing so.

This is wrong. This isn't supposed to happen. He's a demon. I'm an angel, who has been punished to be a human for who knows how long.

Despite the voice in my head, protesting, a different part of me wants to urge the demon more. I want to touch, to fist my hands in his dark brown hair. His brown eyes, almost black, are captivating and breathtaking. I feel like I could just stare at it all day and all night and I would never ever get bored of staring at those. My heart is slamming against my chest, beating faster and faster as Slate continues to inhale my scent.

The room gets warmer and warmer; my body keeps heating up as he presses himself more into me, leaning down until his soft and surprisingly warm lips make contact with my Adam's apple. I let out a gasp, feeling something travelling through my veins down to my groin. His hand roams all over my body, feeling me, his thumb now brushing, running circles around my abdomen. His touch is burning my skin in a good way. I feel light, dizzy, and fuzzy.

"Slate..." I hate the way my voice sounds; it sounds like I'm needy, like I'm asking for something. He looks up at me through his lashes as his tongue slides out of his mouth, the tip already teasing my skin in my neck. I flush, blushing harder.

He hovers back on top of me, his face inches away from mine, his breath fanning my face. I can't look away, can't move my face away. He pulls his hand, and slides the back of it across my check oh so gently, as if he's admiring me. His lips parted, making a silent invitation. I lean forward, desperately, breath hitching, heart racing, and then I lean back, realizing that he's a demon, who obviously tempting, making me commit a sin. I shake my head, pushing him hard, as much as I can. He falls back on the bed, glaring at me and I stand up, getting out of the room, never bothering to look at the magnificent view of the East River.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is freaking wrong.

If an Angel commits a sin made by a demon, there will be consequences. I wouldn't want to know that. I head to the kitchen, grab an empty glass, tap the faucet, and fill up the glass until the water is spilling from the glass. I take a huge gulp, downing the glass of water in one go.

When I turn around, a gasp escapes my lips; I let go of the now empty glass of water in my hand and he moves swiftly, catching it as it's about to hit the floor. He puts it on the counter and pushes me back until my back hits the edge of the counter, trapping me.

Slate leans forward, smirking at me, his eyes flashing red and black. "You know you want me," he says huskily, sending shivers down my spine, making the heat rush up to my cheeks. "I know you want me. Don't try to deny it, Adrian. Hadraniel. You're only going to lie to yourself."

I shake my head vigorously, denying it to myself. I repeat the statement over and over inside my head – I don't want him, I don't want him, I don't want him. Repeating it over and over will make me believe that it's true. Or I'm hoping that that's what going to happen. He presses himself into me, caging me. Slate puts his index finger underneath my chin, tipping my head so I'm forced to look into his dark but beautiful brown eyes. I whimper at the intensity of his eyes. He's keeping me glued. I shut my eyes instead. If I close my eyes for a very long time, I tend to forget everything.

But his hands cup my face, his thumbs massaging my cheeks. The tip of his nose is now touching mine; the intensity of his eyes is still the same, but it's twinkling with familiarity. I feel like I've seen those... what? I can't even explain it, but I feel like I've seen that thing – that flashing recognition, or something – thing.

"W-w... w-what are you doing?" My voice fails me.

Slate smirks, starts to lean forward until his lips are hovering mine, barely touching, and his scent clouds my head, tickling my nostrils. "Mine, mine, mine," he whispers; his fangs emerge and my eyes widen at the sight. The tip of his fangs is teasing my lower lip, leaving me breathless. It's supposed to hurt, but it's only giving me this sensation inside my chest, leaving my lips tingling, burning. I start to push him away again, but this time, I'm weaker, and I feel like my legs are giving me up. Anytime I can fall down. I feel like I'm going to faint. "My angel. Mine."

"I-I... I'm..." I start to protest, but he flicks his tongue across my cheek, then slides it across my jaw, which has me panting like a mad dog. "I'm... not yours." I say through gritted teeth, hoping that it will be buried deep inside thick skull of his.

Throwing me another smirk, his hand glides around my neck until he reaches the back, then goes upward, then he takes a handful of my hair, and pulls it backwards, forcing me to tip my head up and I groan in pain. He snarls at me, his eyes flashing red again, and momentarily I'm scared, but then the longer I stare into his eyes, which are now flashing black and red, the faster my heart beats. And it's not in a bad way.

"Did Dantalion, or whoever the fuck he is to you, touch you?" he asks me through gritted teeth. His eyes flash again. I realize that he's angry. Really angry. At what, I don't know. I shake my head, looking at him in the eyes. Does he mean sexually? Maki didn't touch me sexually. "Last night I could smell him all over you. From your feet to your neck. Are you sure he didn't touch you?" Slate is beyond frustrated; the more frustrated he gets, the harder he clutches at my hair. I wince in pain, tears welling up in my eyes.

"He didn't, he didn't. Pleases stop; it hurts." That's when he stops.

I feel him loosening his clutch at my hair, and that's when I start to sob. I feel like I've been so much shit, been through a lot; I don't deserve what's happening to me. The demon just stays still in front of me, probably having no idea what to do now that an angel in front of me, who has been punished to be a mortal, is crying.

Slate reluctantly puts his arms around me, his big hand running across my back, soothing me. And that helps. My sob turns into a fit of hiccups, until I'm just staring into a distance even though I'm looking straight into the demon's bare chest.

Pushing me away, he takes a step back and watches me, his brows furrowing in confusion. He looks at himself, as if he's expecting a change, then he looks back at me. For a moment he glares, then it vanishes, replaced with an emotion I see for the first time ever since I got stuck with him. He looks really confused, and sad. His hands turn into a fist, so hard that it turns white. I want to hold his hand out, make him calm, but he's taking a step back now. He looks at me again, hard and fazed, and then he turns his back on me, as if he doesn't want to see me, doesn't want to talk to me. He sniffs the air, then turns to look at me.

"I have to go. Don't wait for me. Just do your stuff. Free to roam around the city." He says dismissively. His back is taut with muscles, but they are tensed. There's this urge to stretch my arms out, to stop him from going God knows where, but he's throwing the red orb already and a portal appears. He slips through it, and then in a blink, he's gone.

What the Hell just happened?

I still feel his warmth, his touch, the burning, the tingling sensation. I wish it never stopped. It feels so good. I wish it could happen again. I saw his fangs appear, but I never got scared. When it made contact with my bottom lip, I felt pleasure, and there was a pressure burning in my groin – there still is. I don't understand it at all.

I don't want to roam the city. I don't want to do my stuff. I don't want him to go. I want to wait for him. This is all fucked up. What's happening with me? Now that he's gone, I feel hollow and empty inside. The skin, where his lips made contact with neck, is still burning.

"What the fuck in Hell just happened?" I ask myself.

Trying to clear my mind by shaking my head, the images never go away – the image of Slate kissing my neck, his fangs appearing, the intensity of his eyes staring right back at mine, his warm and smooth skin, his sinful lips, it all comes flashing inside my head. I shut my eyes, hoping for the images to go away, but they continue to appear.

My heart is still racing faster, but it's becoming slow now.

Looking at the East River, at the city of Brooklyn, through the floor-length window, I immediately feel myself calming down. I head over to the living room, and see that the streets are crowded with mortals. Slate said I can roam the city freely. But... I sigh; I wish he could give me a tour again.

What the Hell am I thinking? He's a demon.

A good-looking, devilishly handsome demon.

I feel like I'm screwed.

Scratch that. I'm definitely screwed.

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