The feel of his tongue undid her. It was burning hot, textured velvet as it brushed and tangled hers, as it danced and laved over her lips. He kept flicking it against the corner of her mouth, as if he couldn’t help himself. It was such an erotic, earthy, male caress—that flicking of his tongue—that it made her head spin out of control.
The tips of his fingers kept kneading her jaw, reminding her that he was the master of their embrace, no matter that she had instigated it. Heat emanated off his bared chest in suffocating waves. Her hands had to touch, had to feel and grasp at that gorgeous skin.
She pressed her palms flat against the large, rounded mass of his pecs. His nipples were tiny, hard nubs beneath her fingertips. She rolled them gently between her fingers and he moved against her like a surge of the sea.
He definitely liked that.
He parted her lips wider with his, pressing harder against her until her mouth was completely open and gasping beneath his kiss. He was devouring her, ruthless and completely demanding. There was nothing she could do to protect herself, and if there had been, would she have wanted to?
Oh, he tasted like sin. Like rock-hard man and dangerous predator. Utterly primal and completely unpredictable. His tongue flicked the corner of her mouth again, and then once more, wringing a moan from the depths of her. He kissed like a man on death row. But, too, he kissed like a man who was used to spending a small eternity in bed with a woman.
Her hands swept up his body, over his—oh damn, they were so wide!—shoulders, and further, to reach around his neck. His hair was so long. Thick and silky and completely, gut-wrenchingly, sexy. She’d never felt hair so soft before. It seemed unfair that it should belong to a man.
There was so much heat, touching him was like touching the sun. But the burn of him only made her burn for him all the more.
When one of his hands moved to cup her breast, she nearly screamed with excitement. As if he had all the time and patience in the world, he held her there for long, endless moments. Then, slowly—so achingly, arrogantly slowly—he flicked his fingers over the straining erection of her nipple.
She bucked beneath him, gasping into the moist hot depths of his mouth. His tongue swept over her upper lip, as if to praise her—or punish her—for her response. Everything he did drove her wild. Wilder. She was going insane with lust!
He was practically lying beside her on the bed now. Lounging like a god with the world but a toy in his hands, he seemed completely in control of the situation, whereas she was a puddle of sheer excitement.
“Feel something,” she rasped into his kiss.
“I feel.” He flicked his tongue against the corner of her mouth again.
She turned into him—they were both on their sides now—and he never once let her lips free. His hand plumped and squeezed her breast as she arched into him. He turned, taking her with him, the hand at her throat and chin moving to tangle fiercely in the hair at her nape. His other hand moved down and around to cup and squeeze her buttocks, and then she was lying fully on top of him.
The bass rumble of thunder echoed about the room and Niki wondered if it was the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.
He arched his hips into hers, at the same time pulling her down with the hand on her ass, so that there could be no doubt just how much he felt the effects of their embrace. The loose, soft fabric of his trousers hid nothing from her…thank god.
“I feel,” he murmured softly, patiently. “I feel you.”
She melted onto him, like a pool of honey fresh and warm from the hive. He pulled her head down to his, and rejoined their kiss as if she’d never interrupted it. His hand toyed with the waistband of her jeans before slipping beneath it and beyond. She was wearing a thong and there was nothing to shield her skin from his palm and fingertips. He hooked one of those fingers in the strap of lace that lined the crevice of her bottom and tugged gently upon it.
He was using her panties to caress her from anus to clit. The feel of the delicate lace rubbing against her with each tug of his finger had her whimpering helplessly. He swallowed each sound she made, lapping them up with his tongue to savor them as his due. Each tug of his finger grew stronger, each of her gasps more desperate, and she wondered crazily if she could come this way.
No. He would not let her. Just as she teetered, preparing to step off that sheer cliff into oblivion, he eased her, stroked her from nape to thigh as if she were a pet.
She growled, frustrated beyond any boundary she’d crossed before.
His tongue flicked the corners of her mouth.
She bit at him, angry that he would and could deny her such pleasure so easily and not seem fazed by it at all.
He jerked her head back by the hair and pressed a hard, rough kiss to the vulnerable arch of her throat. When she would have protested, Tryton rolled her beneath him, taking her down deep into the mattress with his weight, and sucked her skin into his mouth, marking her.
Niki hooked her hands over the immense bulge of the muscles of his arms as they caged her. She pulled ineffectively, not even knowing what she was struggling against anymore. He rocked his hips into hers rhythmically, rubbing his erection against the ultra-sensitive core of her until she subsided and began to move with him.
It was like a dance. Withdraw, advance, withdraw. Over and over his body moved into hers, rubbing, stroking, rocking. Like the calm, endless motions of the sea, he was the god of the ocean that swept her up into passion’s depths. The tempo set between them was the beating of his heart, the slow, steady draw of his breath.
Her heart was thundering. Her lungs were shuddering, panting for air as if she were running a race and couldn’t get enough oxygen.
When he began kissing a path down her throat, she almost fainted. He caught the material of her shirt in his hands and to her complete and utter shock he ripped it down the middle, rending it from her completely with brutal efficiency. Her bra followed in much the same fashion. The soft hiss of tearing silk excited her far more than she could handle and she almost climaxed just from that sound alone.
And the feel of his mouth…she did scream when he touched her then. So hot, so wet, so tight, he drew her nipple into his mouth like a hedonist might draw upon a piece of fruit fed to him by the fingers of a lover. Her hands tangled in the softness of his hair, fisting and clenching with each deep pull of his lips.
His hips rotated in erotic circles against her. His teeth pinched her nipple, just a point beyond gentleness, and she cried out mindlessly. Her ankles crossed in the dip of his back, her arms held his head to her breast like a babe. His hands roved over every inch of her, teasing and titillating until she could have sworn that he had not two, but two thousand hands.
It felt like forever that he played there at her nipple before he moved further down to her belly. His hands worked the fastening of her jeans, pushing them down—his first real show of impatience—until she was clad only in her white lace thong. The flame of his tongue rimmed her navel, each exhalation of his breath warming and tickling her flesh.
“No more waiting,” he said, as if to himself more than to her, but nevertheless his words enflamed her further.
Tryton jerked back, rearing over her, pushing her knees up to her chest and spreading them wide. He jerked the material of her thong aside, ripping it and casting it away. She was finally fully exposed to his gaze and he took every advantage of that. His eyes drank her up, roving over her from head to toe, leaving no part of her unexplored. The wet, swollen pink lips of her cunt seemed to fascinate him, drawing his gaze again and again until he seemed unable to look away.
She’d never been more vulnerable. So fully opened and aroused.
Tryton held her effortlessly with but one powerful hand, while the other moved to unlace the ties of his pants. At that moment, Niki saw their shaking, their unsteady motions and gave a sigh. He was affected! All that iron self-control had been nothing but a show, a ruse. She would have shouted her triumph and elation to the heavens if what h
e revealed then hadn’t stolen her breath away completely.
No way. No way was that going to fit inside of her.
The thick, long swell of his cock was bigger now—oh shit, it was so much bigger!—than it had been when she’d glimpsed it earlier. She jerked back, an elemental and instinctive panic gripping her.
“No.” He held her tight, moving to cover her. “No you don’t, not now that we’ve come this far,” he rumbled.
His gaze locked with hers and would not set her free. She was trapped by his body and his eyes and there was nothing she could do about it. He sank into her. His body was so hot, so hard, so masculine. She could have wept.
She did weep, a little, when his cock began to stretch her. From pain or from pleasure she wasn’t sure and knew it didn’t matter. If he stopped now she’d surely die. He wouldn’t let her arch up beneath him, wouldn’t let her move to hasten their joining at all. Niki cried out, feeling the burn of him as each inch impaled her more deeply, more tightly, more fully.
God, he was so long. So thick and so hard. But he moved slowly into her, letting her body grow used to his invasion. While she might appreciate this thoughtfulness of his later—much later—for now all she wanted was to be fucked and fucked raw.
“Please,” she begged over and over, thrashing her head about on the pillows.
His gaze would not let go of hers. She felt afraid suddenly, not of his sex and not of his passion, but of his sheer intensity. Could he see into the depths of her soul with those bright, flaming eyes? Had she no secrets from him, no defenses?
“I own you now,” he breathed, licking her mouth erotically, still coming into her.
Oh god. She spasmed around him and he slid home at last, deep into the heart of her, to the very mouth of her womb.
“Your body is mine.” He touched her breasts. “These are mine.” He moved his hand lower to her belly. “This curve, this softness is mine.” He moved it down further, taking the swollen bead of her clit between his thumb and forefinger, stroking it mercilessly. “This pussy is mine. All of you, everything you are, is mine. My goddess, my woman.”
“No.” She could not look away from his eyes.
“Yes, yes, and yes a thousand times.” He pressed his lips to hers again and again. His fingers stroked her clit in wide, firm circles. His tongue invaded her mouth and withdrew and with it, his body withdrew, leaving her bereft. She moaned. His tongue filled her again, as did his cock. Again. And again. And again.
She was panting, moaning, arching beneath him.
He was licking, stroking, and thrusting into her.
All the while their gazes remained locked, wide open, missing nothing.
His pupils flared, until nearly all of the shocking yellow fire was gone. The press and stroke of his fingers over her clit drove her up, only to soothe her when she approached too closely to release, easing her back down only to start all over again. His thrusts took her deep, until she was nearly sobbing with the need for relief. He was stretching her channel, filling her until she felt like nothing more than a quivering mass of nerve endings that screamed with the need for his touch.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she panted into his mouth.
His thrusts echoed her every sound, her every breath.
“I need it,” she begged.
“What do you need?” he urged, biting gently on the end of her chin.
“Let me,” she cried.
“Let you what?” He was merciless.
She beat his shoulders, hating his control. “You’re making me crazy.”
“I went crazy the first moment I saw you,” he said, watching her intently.
It was upon her and neither of them could stop it, even if they had tried. He pushed deep into her one last time, his gaze never leaving her face, his fingers massaging her clit to milk it from her, and she was flying.
She screamed, she cried, she choked on the sea of ecstasy that threatened to drown her. Her body shuddered beneath his, her pussy milking his cock like a fist until she was sobbing, it was just too much. Her ears roared, her heart galloped. Tremors rocked her from head to toe, centering in her lips and breasts, down to her belly and pussy. It was the most powerful thing she’d ever experienced.
And when she came down, several minutes later, he was waiting for her.
“No,” she begged. It was too much.
“Yes.” He shifted her, bringing her ankles around his back.
“Please.”
“I know, baby,” he soothed, thrusting his body in and out of her again.
“I can’t.”
“You can.” He angled his thrusts to rub against her clit, to stroke against her G-spot. “You will.”
She shuddered. He sucked her breast into his mouth as far as he could manage, drawing brutally upon her until she was gasping and thrashing.
Tryton raised his head again and met her eyes. There was something so powerful in the way he looked at her, something primordial and basic and masterful. He was a god when he looked at her like this, controlling her every move, her every emotion, her every feeling. There was nothing she could do against his will, she was his in every sense of his word. Looking at her this way, moving in her, taking her, he owned her.
“That’s it,” he urged, putting his forehead on hers. “Come on.” His teeth were gritted.
Niki felt his pulse through the length of his cock. He swelled and surged inside of her. He filled up every empty space she’d ever had, until she was overflowing with him and there was barely any room for her anymore. There was only him…
She shattered and came completely undone in his arms.
He guided it, took it and gave it back to her. With the last desperate gasp and shudder of her release, he jerked free from her. A roar of male triumph echoed in her mind and in her heart. His head at her breast, his voice still echoing about the room, he spent himself on the sheets with violent abandon.
Minutes passed. Silence reigned. They rested, pressed tight together, his weight covering her like a protective blanket. His arms held her with such gentle strength that her heart flip-flopped crazily in her breast.
Tryton was like no man she’d ever met. He was strange, but he was…magical. He was more perfect a lover than she could have ever imagined in a lifetime of fantasies. He was powerful and arrogant and incredible.
And she’d only known him one night…what was to come next?
He stirred against her. His hands stroked over her, coaxing and soothing now more than ever. “Jada is here,” he murmured into her skin.
She started, reality washing over her like a cold rain. But he would not let her withdraw. He held firm, still petting her, still calming her in the aftermath of their passion.
Niki was nearly panicked. She needed to get dressed. She needed to see her baby and make sure she was okay. It had been three months since she’d seen her daughter, three long and lonely months in which she’d missed Jada terribly.
But the separation had been necessary. Niki feared for her daughter’s life every day she spent with her. Damn, but she wanted to die. If only she could control her strange powers, if only she could have her daughter back forever, safe and sound as it should be. But she couldn’t. And the risk of hurting the only person in the world whom she cared about was far too great to chance.
“Let me up,” her voice trembled.
“Be calm.”
Strangely she was, almost immediately, going still again beneath him.
“I’ll get you some clothes. You can wear some of mine, though they’ll be absurdly roomy. It will have to do until I can talk to one of our seamstresses.”
“I have clothes at home,” she frowned. Home seemed so far away now.
“Then we’ll have those brought for you, but not just yet. There is much to be done.” He sighed, rising from her as if with some regret. “Come. We’ll return to this later.”
Her insides clenched and, god help her, she felt the wet pool of arousal between her legs surge once again.
His eyes met hers for one last, lingering gaze and she knew—damn him—that he was fully aware of her response. He smiled knowingly, arrogantly, and moved to get her clothes from his wardrobe.
She cursed and rose to join him.
Chapter Eight
“If you send me back to school, I’m going to tell everyone about this place,” Jada snapped.
Tryton was taken aback. “What do you mean by ‘this place’? This is my house,” he lied.
The girl was too smart to fall for that, and that as much as anything else about her—she was incredible for a human child—shocked the hell out of him.
“Bullshit—”
“Jada,” Niki reprimanded sharply.
Jada rolled her eyes. “Sorry,” she huffed out, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. “But I know you’re lying, Mr. Elder. This isn’t just a house, this is some kind of underground cult or something. I know it.”
He nearly laughed. “No, it isn’t like that at all.”
“What is it like then?” she pressed.
Jada was so much like her mother; if he’d had a heart he would have already lost it to her. He shrugged, searching for the right words. “This is more like a sanctuary. It is my home, you know.”
“It’s not a house,” she persisted.
“Not a conventional one, no.” Really it was the size of a large human city, all of it, but he wouldn’t tell her that either. “But I live here.”
“How did I get here?” Jada pressed on. “Emily wouldn’t tell me anything except to ask you.”
“Grimm brought you.”
“No shit, Sherlock—”
“Jada,” Niki barked.
“I know he brought me here, but how did he bring me here? Is it magic?”
“Do you believe in magic?” Tryton asked her, curious to know her answer.
Jada shrugged, her shining brown hair—unlike her mother’s more textured curls—shimmered with her every movement. “Maybe.” She looked at Niki pointedly, and Tryton knew the girl was fully aware—despite all of Niki’s caution—of her parent’s secret.
“I think you do,” he offered.
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