The Darkest Seduction lotu-10

by Gena Showalter

“You reading my mind?” The invasion would cost him.

  “No,” the angel replied, saving his life. “Your eyes. The darkness is there. Do you know what it is, warrior? Do you know what you play with? No? Well, allow me to explain. As a human body can grow a child, a demonic one can grow evil. That is what you have done. You have allowed your demon to birth another demon, for lack of a better word. This one is all yours, your baby, and like the other possessing you, he will never leave you.”

  Should have surprised him, didn’t. Shouldn’t have angered him further, did. Sienna had heard those damning words. “Unless you want a personal introduction, you better step away from my woman.”

  “Paris,” she said, sadness dripping from her tone.

  Sadness rather than anger, leaving him confused. Whatever. If she tried to tell him that she wasn’t his woman, that this second demon—or whatever it was—was a deal breaker, he’d lose it. When he had to let her go, fine, whatever, he’d reevaluate and dial back the possessiveness. But here? Now? There’d be no dialing back. He’d just pounded inside her, had just come inside her, branded her, and he still had her decadent taste in his mouth. She’d cried his name, had wanted more, and would have given him more.

  “I still have your present,” she reminded him. “Should I… Do you want me to…use it? I thought he was your friend, but…”

  He blinked. She would stab the angel? For him? The thought probably shouldn’t have cranked up his desire for her, but it did. And that she would do this after hearing Zacharel’s condemnation of him was heartwarming.

  “Not yet.” Behind him, he heard the punk lumber to his feet. His hand tightened on his weapon.

  “No,” Zacharel said, stopping him. At last he released Sienna. “The red is receding from your eyes. That is good. You will not hurt the girl now. Therefore I will take the fallen elsewhere and return later. As for you, you will head for the doorway leading out of this realm.” He vanished a moment later, the fallen going with him though Zacharel had never touched him.

  As if his presence had been the only thing keeping Paris upright, he collapsed, toppling to his knees. Sienna rushed to his side and eased him the rest of the way down. Thick black spiderwebs wove through his line of vision. Any moment, and he’d sink into unconsciousness.

  “I’ve got you,” she said. “I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  He didn’t want to say what he now needed to say, didn’t want to spoil what had happened before with what had to happen now. He’d been here, in this very situation, a thousand times before. Injured and fading—with only one way to heal.

  “I have to… You have to… Sex, I need sex.”

  His demon was all over that, torpedoing out of hiding to shoot blood into his cock. Happened so fast, Paris suspected the demon would battle whiplash for days. This was uncharted territory, though. Until Sienna, he’d never been with the same woman twice. Now that he had, he knew it would keep him level, strong, but would being with her more than once actually mend his body?

  “Sex? But you’re in no condition for that. You should rest.”

  “No resting. I hate that it has to be this way, but I can’t change it.” When he was injured like this, he needed full-on, hard-core sex with as many different partners as possible. But even if a hundred beauties had surrounded him, he’d still only have wanted the one looming over him, silent, her hands gentle as they explored his wounds. A woman he shouldn’t trust, especially while he was like this, but one he couldn’t, wouldn’t, turn away from.

  No matter what happened next.

  “Please, Sienna. Ride me.”

  Only the slightest pause. “You don’t have to beg me for anything, Paris,” she said, using his own words to comfort him. “I told you I’d take care of you, and I will.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  IF I EVER GET PARIS completely naked, Sienna thought wistfully as she unbuttoned and unzipped the black, flowing material of his pants, I’ll probably spontaneously combust.

  Not wanting to jar him, she stretched the fabric apart rather than tugging it down his legs, allowing the massive length of his shaft to spring free, just as he’d done earlier. No man should be so beautiful all over, a study of hard strength and dark sexuality no matter where you looked.

  He threw an arm over his face, hiding his features from view. “I hate this.”

  She’d been reaching for him, but now reared back. “I’m sorry. I can find you someone else if you’d rather—”

  “No,” he rushed out. He must have heard the horror and distress in her voice. “I don’t hate being with you, and I don’t want anyone else.”

  Good, because she wasn’t sure she could have followed through. Becoming his pimp would be a special kind of hell.

  “What I hate is that we’re chasing something meaningful and organic with something clinical and mechanical. Something forced.”

  Her first thought: he’d enjoyed the sex, too, and considered it meaningful. Joy careened through her, bright starbursts that warmed each of her cells. Her second thought: he was ashamed right now. The joy withered, cooled. They had so much working against them already, she couldn’t allow him to add such an awful emotion to the mix.

  “You’re not forcing me to do this, Paris. Before we were interrupted, I was wet. I’m still wet.” And she didn’t mean from the water. “Why does this time have to be any less meaningful than the other when we were headed in this direction, anyway?”

  He’d groaned at wet. Now his arm fell away, and he peered up at her with those amazing eyes of searing azure. “You’re so lovely.”

  When he looked at her like that, all heavy-lidded and dreamy, she felt lovely. “Let me show you the rest of me.” She pushed to her feet and disrobed, his gaze tracking her every movement.

  Throughout the centuries, he had seen countless others naked. She knew that; she had seen them. He had been with tall women, short women, skinny, heavy, black, white and everything in between.

  Sienna was nothing special, and yet, when he said, “Beyond gorgeous,” with a fine sheen of sweat dotting his brow, she believed him this time. He was right. Her demon would sense a lie. The joy returned.

  “I think the same about you,” she admitted. Naked, emboldened by his praise, she straddled his hips and eased down. But she didn’t impale herself on his thick length. Not yet. He needed the sex, and time was imperative, but he needed stroking more. Needed assurance that she was here, in this moment with him, all the way.

  His arousal jutted out between her legs, her warmth all over it. She traced her fingers over the tip, and he sucked in a breath.

  “Climb up here and straddle my face,” he croaked. His palms found her breasts and kneaded, rolling her beaded nipples through his fingers. “I want to taste you again.”

  The desire to do just that nearly slayed her. Blood rushed through her veins at an alarming rate and heated dangerously, chasing away any lingering chill. “I’ll hurt you. My weight… Your chest is injured.”

  “How about this? I need to taste you again, and I don’t care if my chest hurts.”

  She licked her lips. “How about this? I’ll taste you.”

  He stilled, even seemed to stop breathing.

  “Unless you don’t want me to,” she hurried to assure him.

  “It’s not that.” The words sawed from him, hoarse and throaty, more grit than substance. “I haven’t let anyone do that to me in more than a thousand years.” He sucked in a breath. “No, that’s not actually true. I let a slave perform the act on me on the journey here, and I hated every moment of it.”

  “Oh.” Bafflement widened her eyes. All men loved receiving oral sex. Right? So why had he stopped the women from sucking on him? And he’d stopped them, she knew that he had. Every woman he’d welcomed to his bed had probably wanted to fit her lips over that cock and drink him down.

  “But you,” he went on, still on edge. “I will let you. If you want to.”

  She flattened her hands
on his stomach, felt the cords of the muscles clench. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or do something you don’t like—”

  “No. You misunderstand.” His shook his head, all that astounding hair performing a ballet around his temples. Strands of black and brown and gold she longed to fist. “I didn’t let the others do it because I was already using them and didn’t want them doing me any more favors. And the only reason I let the slave was because I needed answers, and that was the fastest way to get them.”

  Answers about me.

  “And Sienna? The slave was…he was a male.”

  And that was not his preference. Sympathy washed through her. To have no control over your body and its reactions, to be forced to submit to a desire you yourself did not feel, had to be torture. “Just so you know, there’s nothing wrong with that. And I won’t be doing you a favor, Paris. You are a beautiful, charming, intelligent, sexy as hell man, and I’m dying to have you. Just as you are. With all the others you were simply practicing for this moment,” she said, hoping to tease him into seeing the truth of her claim. “In doing this, I’ll be pleasuring us both. I hope. I mean, I have about as much experience with blow jobs as I do with sex.”

  “If that’s the case, I’m about to come my brains out. You’ll be perfect.”

  “Quiet. Sienna’s not done putting you in your place.”

  A smile bloomed. “Yes, ma’am. But, uh, what’s my place?”

  “The pedestal for the most admirable man I know. I don’t care what you’ve done, or who you’ve done it with. You could have rampaged the entire world, could have raped viciously, constantly, but you don’t. As for the sex of the slave, well, I hope you respect me in the morning, because I think you’re even sexier now and I’m going to be very upset if I don’t get my turn.”

  He licked his lips. “You want a turn?”

  “More than anything.”

  Already his hips were writhing underneath her, as if he were imagining her mouth on him, working him over. “Please, Sienna. Please, do it.”

  “Yes. But only if you’ll like it.” She shimmied down until her lips were poised over that beautiful erection. This is mine, she thought, dazed.

  “I’ll like it. I swear I’ll like it.”

  “Let’s find out for sure.” Her tongue emerged, licking up and down his shaft, treating his length like a lollipop. Groan after groan left him, and she took that for approval. On her third upward glide, she fit her fingers around his base and her lips around the head. As she gloried in his flavor, her hand continued the erotic journey on his shaft.

  Her wings arced down and around, the tips stroking his sides. For the first time, she understood the joy of having them. Surrounding him like this, she forgot about the rest of the world. Only they existed. Only the pleasure.

  A curse roared from him as his hips jerked, thrusting him deeper. Immediately he apologized and backed off. “More. Please, more.” He pounded his fists against the floor. “I have to have more.”

  She sucked harder, tasting him deeper, savoring, then swallowed him down as far as she could go. He was too big and stretched her jaw, but she didn’t care. His entire body shook with the force of his enjoyment. She never stopped working him with her hands, either, one doing the stroking, the other tugging at his testicles.

  But then she started wondering what those tasted like and released his cock with a pop to run her tongue over the tightness of his sac. He enjoyed that, too, especially when she drew one, and then the other, into her mouth.

  Would she ever get enough of this man?

  When he was shouting her name, she returned to the main event, taking him in, taking him down, his wild reaction spurring her on and on and on, her body lighting up, desperate for him, for all of him.

  “I’m close, baby, I’m so close. If you don’t want to taste me, you need to—”

  In answer, she sucked him so hard her cheeks hollowed.

  “Oh, yeah!” His hips jerked up, his muscles knotting on his bones, and a roar far louder than any that had come before ripped out of him. He jetted down her throat and she swallowed every drop, holding on until the very end, when he sank onto the ground, his panting breaths filling the entire enclosure.

  “Ride me,” he commanded in that voice full of gravel. “I need to be in you. Now.”

  “Yes. Now.” She knew she had just repeated what he’d said, again, but that rich scent was seeping from him, surrounding her, blinding her to everything but him. And this. Oh, sweet heaven, this.

  She lifted, surprised to find that she was shaking. A quick glance, and she saw that his wounds were no longer bleeding, and the skin had even sewed itself back together. And despite his recent climax, he was still rock-hard and ready for her.

  Once again she straddled him, and this time she took him in, all the way, until she was sitting on him, her ass resting on the backs of his thighs. Now she was the one to cry out. Like before, he stretched her, but it was such a good, burning stretch and she was so damn wet, so damn eager.

  He clamped his fingers on the rise of her hips and moved her, up and down, his strength a shock. Because when he moved her down, he slammed her, forcing himself as deep as he could go, lifting himself up to meet her halfway.

  “Kiss me,” he growled. “Lean down and kiss me.”

  Even as she rocked on him, she obeyed, her chest smashing into his as she slanted her head and meshed their lips together. His tongue immediately shot inside her mouth, claiming her as his, owning her. His hands went to her back, sliding under those slits that housed her wings. It was as though he’d put his fingers and his mouth on her clitoris at the same time, using his nose and his chin and his beard stubble, anything and everything to stimulate her to the fullest.

  Release slammed through her with the same force Paris used. Wild exhilaration pumped through her, the pleasure so intense her nerve endings were electrified. Pinpricks of white behind her lids, fire in her veins. A storm of satisfaction through every inch of her.

  She didn’t mean to, but she bit his lip until she tasted blood, and even that was a stimulant. Her nails dug into his scalp, holding him still for her abuse as she rode out the thunder and the lightning. But he didn’t seem to mind, seemed to like it. One of his hands fell to her ass and pressed her down as he rose up, and then he was roaring, spurting inside her, sending her over the edge a second time.

  When at last they calmed, they collapsed on the ground in a tangled heap of arms and legs, shaking together, gasping, desperate for air but not caring that they couldn’t find it.

  “Thank you,” he panted.

  “You liked?” she replied when she found her voice.

  “Woman, you nearly killed me. I should be manning back up, putting us back on track, but I’m completely blissed out.”

  So was she. Each time together was better than the last. “I hope we do that a thousand times today.”

  “I hope that’s an accurate guesstimate and not hyperbole.”

  “If anything, I underestimated. You’re very good with my wings.”

  She felt the warm stroke of a chuckle against her skin. “I’m not too rough?”

  “You’re perfect.” A kiss at the cord that bound his shoulder to his neck, a scrape of her teeth. “Ever been with a winged woman before?”

  “Uh…I…” He hesitated, even as his skin prickled with heat beneath her mouth.

  His shame had returned, and once again she experienced sympathy for all he’d endured. “I’ll take that as a yes. Was she an angel, like your friend?” He needed to purge the memories and the feelings that accompanied them.

  “Uh…”

  “Another yes. A demon, too?”

  Only the slightest pause. “Yeah.” He ducked his head in the opposite direction, as bashful as a schoolboy.

  Adorable. Just adorable. As strong as he was, as fierce as he was, he cared about her opinion. “Paris, it’s okay. I know you have a past, and I wasn’t pressing for details to embarrass you or to make you unco
mfortable. I just wanted you to know there’s nothing you could have done to disgust me.”

  Slowly he relaxed and turned toward her. Those dark shadows swirled in his irises, but as she watched, they thinned and misted away. Zacharel had said those shadows were another demon, an evil inside of Paris that he could never get rid of. She wasn’t sure why he’d welcomed that evil, or “birthed” it, and she didn’t care. To her, he was Paris, only Paris, and she would never again make the mistake of hating someone for a perceived malevolence.

  “Thank you,” he said again, tightening his hold on her.

  “Listen, you. If I can’t put myself down, you can’t thank me for my stunning common sense.”

  One of his hands slid to her face, cupped her jaw. She’d meant to make him smile, but his expression had never been fiercer. “It’s a deal.”

  Emotion clogged her throat, and she forced a cough. “How about I tell you something embarrassing about me, so that we’re even?”

  A rough, ragged, “Please.”

  “When I was little, I played beauty shop with my younger sister. I was the stylist and put her gorgeous honey-blond hair in a ponytail—then I hacked off the entire thing. She was the makeup artist, and painted my face with permanent markers. Our parents were horrified.” A bombardment of nostalgia had her choking back a sudden sob.

  Enna, Tommy from class says I have too many freckles, and that they make me ugly. Tears rolled down cheeks still baby-round.

  Well, Tommy from class is stupid. You don’t have half as many as me, and I’m the prettiest girl in the world. You said so.

  A girlish giggle. And I never lie!

  I miss you so much, Skye, she thought now. I’ll find you. I’ll save you.

  Paris’s thumb caressed the rise of her cheek. “I lost you there for a moment.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I was just saying your story isn’t embarrassing. It’s cute. By the way, I think your wings are hot, and I’m curious to know why I never wanted to lick them when Aeron had them.”

  She placed her hand over his and forced herself to smile. Soon she would lose him, so she had to enjoy him while she had the chance. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you get stabbed again. Like, real soon. I loved kissing you all better.”