Rowan glared at her cousin, hating the way she clung to both Nico and Azaiel. Hating the way her perfect large breasts were pushed to the max in the damn pink bra she sported.
“I’m going to take her down this time,” Hannah whispered fiercely. “That woman has no class. Seriously? Who the hell would even want to play football with her girls nearly falling out?” Hannah shook her head. “I’m telling you, a good elbow in the right spot might make her think twice about it.”
Rowan snorted. “It’s no contact.”
Hannah glared. “Tough shit.”
“Okay, guys, we’re going deep. It’s our last chance to score and break the tie, all right?” Kellen grinned like a crazy fool, and Rowan’s heart lurched. It had been so long since they’d enjoyed any kind of lightness. It was wonderful to see.
Kellen turned to her. “Ro, I want you to go deep.”
“Me?” She glanced at Priest. “But he’s been doing the catching. I just like running down the side and maybe tripping Vicki if I get the chance.”
“No, I want you to go deep. They won’t expect it. They’ll watch Priest run to the left. I want you to run down to the right. I’ll fake throw to Priest, then launch it down to you. All right?”
“Got it, captain,” Hannah said with a grin, her eyes laughing. “Don’t worry, Ro. I’ll take Vicki out.”
Rowan got into formation and sought out Azaiel as he stood opposite her. His eyes remained dark, his expression intense. She licked her lips and hiked up her T-shirt, twisting it through the top of her bra to form a sort of bikini top. It was the last play of the day. Her last shot.
His eyes never left hers.
Kellen threw her a “what the hell are you doing?” look, but she ignored him and kept her eyes on the prize.
On Kellen’s cue, she lunged forward, arms pumping like mad pistons. She twisted and turned, avoiding everyone in front of her as she ran down the field. If she could just make this play, the game would be over, and she’d concentrate on what she really wanted. Azaiel.
She was nearly to the edge when Kellen yelled, and she turned, her eyes focused in the air, watching the football arc across the field like a rocket about to explode. She kept running and at the very last moment jumped for it—and though she would deny it to her grave—used a little bit of magickal mojo to bring the ball home to mama.
She had it, too, there within her grasp. Until a huge wall of muscle grabbed her from behind and took her down. Hard.
Arms made of steel crushed her to a chest that felt like heaven. Rowan went with him, and when they settled in the cool grass, Azaiel was on top of her, his voice harsh in her ear.
“What the fuck game are you playing, little girl?”
He was hard. She felt his erection against her belly, and gasped at the bleakness in his eyes, at the anger. At the hunger as his gaze settled onto her lips.
Her mouth was dry, and she had to take a moment before she could speak. Her heart was beating so heavily inside her chest that it roared in her ears, and she concentrated—a lot—and eventually it subsided.
The muscles in his shoulders strained as he held his upper body away from hers, yet his lower half was still pressed so tight to her that she felt him throb. Felt him burn against her.
“Let’s be clear about something, Azaiel.” She breathed the words like a harlot of old—Monroe would have been proud. “I’m not a little girl.”
He didn’t say a word, but something shifted in his eyes, and slivers of gold twisted in their black depths. His eyes were so beautiful, his mouth insanely hot. She wanted to feel the rough stubble on his chin against her bare skin. And all that thick, shaggy, dirty blond hair was begging for her fingers.
She felt reckless and didn’t care about consequences. She shifted her hips and was rewarded with a strangled hiss as she rubbed against his hardness. Once. And then again.
“I want you,” she whispered hoarsely, aware that the other players were on their way over. “Inside me.”
Her breasts were engorged, her nipples hard, and the ache between her legs was unbearable. She was wet, so wet and horny that if he put his hands on her—there where she throbbed—she’d come. Right here. In front of everyone.
She leaned up and felt him tense. Saw the veins bulge in the side of his neck as she whispered into his ear. “Right now.”
Rowan pushed him off and jumped to her feet. She grabbed the football from the ground and tossed it back to her brother, before turning away and wiping bits of grass and twigs from her clothes. Azaiel stood, his back to everyone—for obvious reasons. She was pretty sure he didn’t want the entire group knowing he had a raging hard-on.
But she knew.
She walked toward him and paused an inch or so away. “That ache isn’t going to go away, Azaiel.” Her fingers traced the wings across his shoulders—a brief, gentle sweep. “The only thing that will ease your pain is sex. We’d be fools to not at least try it once . . . or twice.”
Rowan walked past him and headed into the forest that surrounded The Black Cauldron. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought—except Vicki. She hoped her cousin was shooting daggers at her back.
The cool shadows from the trees did nothing to douse the fire inside, and she didn’t know she was holding her breath until she heard a twig snap behind her. For the first time a tingle of apprehension shot down her spine.
And yet, as she weaved her way through the tall trees, she let it go. There was nothing wrong with what she wanted. She’d lived her entire life for everyone else. Even fleeing to California hadn’t cut the ties to her family. To her legacy. With Samhain coming at her fast and hard there was nothing left to lose.
Except maybe her heart.
Chapter 29
Azaiel lost sight of Rowan amongst the oaks and maples, but her scent lingered in the air. A tantalizing smell that fed the fire in his belly with a savagery that should have surprised him but didn’t.
He’d been raging inside for days, and though he’d avoided her as much as he could—even patrolling with Nico and Hannah the last few nights—he knew all along they’d end up here. At this moment. He had to be strong enough to fight the need . . . the hunger he felt for her.
His abdomen clenched as a fresh wave of desire rolled through him, and his hands fisted as he thought of the football game. Of how she’d bent over, purposely turning her ass in his direction so that her soft curves were on display for everyone to see. Then she’d caress the damn ball with those long, delicate fingers. And stretch, just so, her breasts molded to her T-shirt in a wanton display.
Priest had grinned like a son of a bitch for most of the game, and Azaiel decided then and there that the Knight Templar needed an attitude adjustment as well.
“Jezebel,” he whispered hoarsely. He’d teach her a lesson. There was no way he would make love to her. No way in hell. He knew it would be exquisite. Earth-shattering. Mind-bending.
So why would he open himself up to that? Tomorrow night he would either have to kill her or let her go. He had no future with a woman as powerful as Rowan. It would never be allowed. Not for the Fallen.
With renewed focus Azaiel crashed through the bush, his anger growing with each step he took. Where the hell was she going?
The late-afternoon sun barely penetrated the thick trees, even with their leaf loss. Through the silent underbrush there seemed to be some sort of path she was following. He upped his pace, almost to a near run, and came to a rather painful jarring halt when he burst into a small clearing.
Azaiel ran his hands through the tangled mess of hair atop his head as everything inside him liquefied into red-hot need. Rowan stood, not more than ten feet from him, naked as the day she was born. Her clothes were thrown about as if she’d tugged them off in a frenzy. He saw one running shoe, but as for the other, who knew.
Green grass, well fed by the patch of sunlight allowed into the treeless space, worshipped at her feet, and all around the vibrant colors of fall drifted in the air, cl
ung to the trees, and blew by in the wind.
He caught her scent once more, that heady mix of lemongrass . . . as well as the musky odor of passion. Her skin was creamy, perfect, and stretched taut over young, lithe limbs. And her ass, that rounded, perfect, delectable mound of flesh teased him as she stood with her back to Azaiel, her long crimson hair billowing softly around her shoulders.
He didn’t know he moved, yet seconds later found himself behind her. So close that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her. And Lord knew he wanted to. He wanted to touch all of her.
Rowan turned her head to the side, lashes downcast, mouth parted. She shuddered, and his gaze settled upon her slender hands. They were at her sides, and she slowly opened and closed them as the silence between them grew.
Goose bumps rushed across her flesh, and though he tried to be strong, he couldn’t help himself. His gaze raked over every inch of her, and his hands rose of their own volition, wanting to touch, to caress, and to knead.
“You must be cold.” His voice was hoarse, and he barely got the words out.
“I’m hot.” She shook her head and licked her lips. “So incredibly hot.” She lifted the heavy fall of hair from her neck and exhaled. Azaiel saw the mark on her flesh—the mark put there by Mallick, and everything inside him stilled.
He traced the simple lines first with his eyes—then with his fingers. Such need rose in him that he was glad she couldn’t see that his fingers trembled. It was a need to protect, a need to touch and to make her forget.
“I won’t let him win, Rowan,” he said hoarsely.
She let the curtain of hair fall back until it covered his hand and the mark. She turned then, her mouth parted, her eyes misty with desire. She grabbed his hand, and he swallowed thickly as she rested his large palm against the swell of her breast.
He was helpless to look away. Helpless to do anything but stay with her and drink in her beauty—her essence and spirit.
“I don’t want to talk about Mallick.” She held his hand against her breast, shuddered, and moved his palm over her hard, turgid nipple. “I want to feel you, Azaiel.” She glanced up at him, and the world narrowed into one hot-as-hell, sexy redhead. “All of you.”
Her other hand sought out his cock, and he gritted his teeth, sweat beading along his forehead as she slowly rubbed the long, hard length of him. Even through his jeans the sensation was erotic, and he strained beneath her touch.
“I want to feel you inside me.” She paused, breathing heavy as a slow, seductive smile claimed lips meant for kissing, for licking and sliding. “Hard, and full and passionate. Do you understand?”
He nodded, mesmerized by the candy red mouth. By the tongue that slid over it and by the hand that gripped him between his legs. She rose on tiptoes, her arousal in his nostrils, her soft flesh in his hands. “I don’t want to make love. We can do that later. What I want is for you to fuck me, Azaiel.” She slid her mouth across his neck, licked her way up to his mouth, and paused, her breath a whisper of need. “Right now.”
His hand shot up and buried itself in the thick ropes of hair at her neck. Azaiel leaned down, no longer in control. He was on fire and for a second thought he saw a hint of wariness in her eyes.
“I’m on the cusp of no return, little witch. If you want this to go no further, then I suggest you gather your things and leave now while you still can.” His eyebrows furled, and he bared his teeth like an animal. “You have no idea what you’ve awakened. Of the passions that run beneath my skin.” He traced her lips with his forefinger, sinking deep into her wet warmth. “It’s been so long,” he whispered.
She licked his fingers, then yanked her head back so she could speak. “If that’s your idea of dissuading me from what we both want”—she smiled as she rubbed her breasts against him—“you’re doing a shitty job.”
So many emotions warred inside him. So many voices yelling retreat, yet as he gazed down into her face he knew he’d lost. Hell, he’d given in the moment he’d followed her into the forest.
He bent low and claimed her mouth, his tongue going deep in an aggressive move. He tasted every inch of her and went back for more. Rowan swayed, and his hand slipped behind her, traveled down her back until it rested against the round, feminine swell that was there just for him. He splayed his fingers across her ass and pulled her in tight so that his erection was flush against her soft belly.
Shit, but she felt good in his hands.
She broke the kiss, and he stared down at her swollen lips and the pink tongue that peeked from between them. She wriggled slightly and stepped back, legs spread so that his eyes nearly popped when he took a second to take all of her in.
Rowan’s breasts were perfect. Not overly large, but soft, and round, and meant for his hands. Her dusky rose nipples were hard and stood at attention. His attention. He decided he would suck and lick them until she came.
His mouth watered at the thought.
Her hands lingered near her waist, and his eyes touched every inch of her, caressing gently rounded hips and long, sexy legs that were spread. When he settled upon the narrow thatch of crimson hair between them, his cock tightened even more, and he exhaled a shot of heated air.
She was wet, glistening in the waning sunlight. So ready for him.
“You are magnificent,” he managed to say, as his gaze traveled back up, and they locked eyes.
“I meant what I said, Azaiel.” Her tone had changed, to an almost painful whisper. “I need you naked and inside me.”
If there was a line to cross, Azaiel had left it behind in the dust. His hands dropped to the belt that held his jeans in place and seconds later it was undone and his jeans along with his boots tossed aside.
“Last chance,” he managed to say though he winced as her gaze settled hotly on his straining cock.
She licked her lips and strode toward him, breasts swaying gently, mouth open and inviting. With a flick of her wrist he found himself on his back, and she was there above him, her wet, moist center open to his eyes.
Long, delicate fingers played with her outer lips, and she spread them just enough for him to know how aroused she was. Her clitoris was engorged, her skin slick with moisture. An image of his mouth there, eating, licking, and sucking nearly sent him over the edge, and he tried to move, but her magick held him in place.
She bent forward, placed her hands on his shoulders, and without pause impaled herself upon him, sliding her wetness down his length in a sheath of wet heat. She was so damn tight, and moist and hot. A heavy sigh fell from her lips, and she threw her head back and moaned.
“I knew you’d feel like this, Azaiel.” Immediately, she began to move. “Like you were meant for me.”
“Dammit, Rowan, slow down.” He gritted his teeth and grabbed her hips, holding her in place when she would have ridden hard. He stared up at her and thrust upward, slowly letting her rise and fall with the rhythm he commanded. It took every inch of control he had—to keep things moving at this pace—when all he wanted to do was slam her to the ground and fuck her as hard and fast as she wanted.
But then it would be over, and Azaiel wanted this to last. He needed it to last. He nearly pulled out—let the tip of his cock rub against her clit—and held her there, watched the fire burn in her eyes. When she moaned, a deep throaty protest, he let her rock back onto him and repeated the motion, over and over. And over.
Fuck, but he needed this to last.
Her breasts swayed slowly, like a tantalizing gift, and he grabbed a turgid nipple, suckling it hard, his teeth grazing and rough. She angled her back, just so, and her fingers gripped his shoulders, the nails going deep and cutting skin. He was sure it hurt like hell, but at the moment it only added to his pleasure.
His fingers found her clitoris and toyed with her there as she rose and fell, and every time a groan slipped from her lips, his cock swelled even more. His balls ached, and he wanted to bury himself inside her forever.
She kissed him once more, her hi
ps urging him on, and when he would have slowed her down she bit him. Azaiel tasted blood in his mouth and swore, staring up into eyes that were stormy. Fevered.
“I can’t . . .” A sob escaped. “I want . . .”
He knew then what she wanted. What she needed. To douse the fire. To quiet the hunger. To rush toward the cliff and jump off. He growled like an animal and lifted her off him, turning her in midair and pushing her to the ground on all fours.
He was behind her immediately and sank his cock into her slick, pink flesh as he bent forward, his hand rough in her hair, his words hoarse against her ear. “Is this what you want?” He thrust hard and held himself still inside her though when her muscles clenched around him he nearly lost it.
He pumped once and withdrew before plunging inside her again. And again. And again.
“Yes. Please, Azaiel.”
He increased his rhythm, his flesh slapping against hers, and held her in place with one hand while the other ran down her spine and kneaded the ass that had been teasing him for days. There were no more words—this was no tender joining.
She fit him perfectly, and as his cock rode her, sliding in and out, his fingers continued to caress and explore. He paused near her other opening, breath ragged as he stared down and smiled wickedly, sinking his long forefinger deep within the tight pucker.
“Oh my God, Azaiel,” she croaked, startled for a second, and then she started to mew as he slowly rotated his finger in tandem with his hard, deep, thrusts. He felt himself bunch, his balls tight and full as her juices ran and her muscles tightened around him even more.
“Are you coming for me, Rowan?”
“Oh God, yes,” she whimpered hoarsely, as he thrust harder, and faster, and when she came, he felt her release. Felt her absolute surrender.
Only then did he allow himself to give in to his own needs. As his orgasm crashed through him, one thought rolled around his mind. After living for millennium, Azaiel had finally found that elusive slip of heaven he hadn’t even known he’d been searching for.
King of the Damned: A League of Guardians Novel Page 29
