by Grey, T. A.
This time he pulled her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. Willow flushed with excitement, her blood pumping with arousal at the sight of the bed. He laid her on it and slowly pulled off one heel then the other.
“I love the way they look on you,” he commented as they hit the floor.
“I love the way that suit looks on you.” She mentally highfived herself for speaking an intelligent sentence. The first one all night.
He reached for the bottom of her dress and slowly pulled it up her body, baring inches of naked skin shadowed in the night. The dress came over her head then he laid it on the dresser by the door. His eyes swept over her, taking in the white lace panties she’d worn and the matching white bra. It wasn’t something she usually wore but tonight she didn’t feel her Curious George boy shorts went well with the dress.
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth then strode towards her. Willow held her breath as he leaned down. Tonight she’d do anything for him, with him. Parts of her body he’d promised to touch and learn tightened instinctually.
But he didn’t touch. Instead he pulled down the bedspread and tucked her under it. Willow stared at the comforter in confusion as he began taking off his suit.
“I’m not cold.”
He chuckled hoarsely. “I didn’t think you were.”
“But then why...?” He took everything off until he was left in a snug black pair of boxer shorts that hugged the muscles of his thighs and hips like a second skin. Willow’s mouth pooled with saliva, and her sex grew wet.
“You’ve been drinking. We’ll wait until morning when you’ve sobered up a bit.”
Willow frowned with disappointed. “What? No way. I need you now.” Understatement of the year. She’d been aroused since they left for the evening, and through the night as he held her close, their bodies brushing together, she’d grown more and more excited. She wanted this now more than ever.
He pulled down his boxer shorts and Willow groaned. His cock was at half-mass as if deciding whether to go fully erect or not. The thatch of hair at the base of him was slightly darker than the locks on his head. It framed him in a teasing way like a ribbon or bow around a present. He walked through moonlit room to the other side of bed and got in. She got a flash of bare, tight butt and moaned again.
He turned to her with a tight look around his eyes. “Stop that. Do you know how hard it is to resist you?” He sighed heavily and slammed his head back against the pillow.
Willow’s brow cocked as a naughty smile crept over her. He watched her with growing worry as she scooted closer until she touched his side.
“What are you doing?” He looked at her as if she carried some contagious disease that spread via touch. Willow wasn’t insulted, in fact quite the opposite. She tossed her leg over his, an arm across his broad chest and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Just getting ready for bed.”
“Uh huh,” he said doubtful.
Willow waited a few minutes but when he never relaxed she decided, what the hell. She reached behind her and took off her bra, then pressed herself against his side. Her breasts kissed his side, nipples turning to hard points at the scalding heat of his skin.
Her lips found the smooth skin of his neck and pressed soft teasing kisses there. She felt his pulse leap then race under her lips and she smiled. When she still received no reprimand, no orders, she sensuously rubbed her leg up and down his. She loved the feel of the hard muscle, the light dusting of hair that teased her smooth skin. She lifted her leg until she bumped his groin. His cock was a hard pole standing and straining.
Willow brought her hand into the mix. She rubbed the muscle at his arm, the round curve his shoulder, and down to the flat peak of his nipple. He stiffened beneath her, growing still as a statue. Though this statue was breathing heavily, his pulse erratic under her lips.
She flicked out her tongue and tasted his skin, licked his rapid pulse. Slid her hand down his chest. He sucked in a deep breath and caught her wrist.
“Go to sleep, Willow.” His voice was a hoarse whisper in the soft night.
Willow shook her head. “I already told you I need you, Lyonis.” She ended her sweet call by sinking her teeth into his throat just like he’d done so many times to her. The bite wasn’t hard, but gentle and unrelenting as she bit down. He let out a brief cry that melted her inside and out.
Then suddenly she was flipped onto her back. He leaned over her, gave her a hard frustrated look that made her grin, then he slammed his mouth down to hers and kissed her.
He kissed her hard, lips meshing and angling as his tongue fought its way inside her mouth and thrust again and again. Willow was caught up in the storm, soft moans leaving her throat. She thrust her fingers into his hair and held on to him as he swept her up, fogged her mind with passion.
The first touch startled her, branded. He didn’t build up to it, simply palmed her breast with his big hand. Her breasts weren’t the biggest but the way he shaped and squeezed her made her feel luscious and sexy. He tugged on her nipple, sending warmth and arousal through her body like a drug.
Only after she was moaning and arching into his hand did he give her one last pinch before sending his hand down her stomach. He passed her belly button then slid over her panties to boldly cup her. She was wet and knew he felt it. He rocked his hand against her, his big palm cupping her, possessing her like a master to his slave.
He pulled back from her mouth. His eyes were heavy with arousal, lips wet, cheeks flushed. Willow wanted to paint this memory of him into her mind forever. So that on days when she was sad or unhappy she could remember him like this, dazed with passion because of her, and feel whole and good again.
“Your pussy’s wet for me.”
His language was crude but it fueled the fire inside her. She nodded at him. He continued to rub his hand over her, never breaching the surface of her panties where she so desperately wanted him.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, ear, neck. In a guttural voice he said, “How bad do you want my cock inside you right now, Willow?” Willow moaned, her hips rocking against his hand. He sent a mental picture straight into her mind making her core clench as she remembered the way his cock felt inside her. Full and deep, filling.
“More than anything!” She pushed against his hand but he let up on the pressure, pushing her into a rhythm of his choosing. His light but aggressive palming.
“How bad do you want my mouth on you? Licking your pussy and sliding my fingers inside your pussy?”
Willow’s moan bubbled out of her as her body shivered hard with a small orgasm. She released a soft cry as the pulses swept through her.
Breathing hard, her throat hoarse she said, “Please do it, please.”
Lyonis gave a rough curse then gripped her thong and tore it from her body. Willow never heard the cloth rip, only heard the choir of hallelujah’s singing in her head.
He cupped her sex again, skin to skin. She wet his hand in an instant. Willow couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore as his fingers slipped over her wet sex, petting.
“More.”
He laughed, but the sound was choked. He listened though because he slipped his fingers around her wet clit and rubbed her in soft circles. Willow moans couldn’t be stopped. He robbed her of breath with his touch, brought forth such pleasure that her hips raised off the bed and strained towards him.
Shivers wracked through her as her core clenched with a rising explosion. But just as she was about to fly apart he removed his hand slipped two fingers inside her. Willow panted, shook her head side to side as he thrust lazily inside her.
“Please,” she begged.
He didn’t answer her, but used his free hand to shape a breast, and pinch her hard nipple. It felt amazing, made her shiver and her skin tighten like a bowstring, but it didn’t bring any release. Willow groaned with frustration and reached up to yank on his hair.
With a growl, he slapped her hand away and slid between her
legs. Oh, yes! Willow panted and thrust her hips at his face. Lyonis didn’t linger, he closed his lips around hers and sucked her into his mouth. The slippery sensation of wet tongue on wet sex drove her wild. She made sound she never made before as he licked through her folds and found her clit.
The fingers inside her pumped faster as his tongue worked magic flicks over her. Willow didn’t last; didn’t have a chance to. Her skin burned hot until she exploded into a million little pieces. Blind, crying, her body seized tight around his fingers, jerked against his mouth as her orgasm tore from her body.
He petted her back down to earth. His tongue licking up her cream and tasting her with languid strokes. His fingers plunged in once more than retreated to pet her thigh.
“Lyonis.” Her voice was a mere croak over the scratchiness in her throat. She felt lighter than air as if she were floating above the bed instead of laying on it. Thoughts refused to form; words failed her as she laid there. Finally he pulled back, kissed her breast once then laid beside her.
It was minutes before she could open her eyes. The lines around his eyes were even more pronounced, his erection straining and dark with color from his unspent passion.
She reached for him. “Let me.” But again he slapped her hands away, and gave her a hard kiss.
“Go to sleep, Willow. We’ll finish this later.”
Willow wanted to protest, the sight of his swollen cock teased her senses, but then a yawn left her and she gave into his wishes.
Curling up beside him, she wrapped herself around him. Sleep enveloped her with happy, warm arms and before it consumed her, she whispered something that would change everything.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’ll be your mate.”
And then she fell into the deepest sleep of her life.
Chapter 22
Draven climbed out of the shower and pulled on his clothes. It had only been a few days since he’d had sex with Lucinda, but it felt like months. What was worse he didn’t know if it was because he missed being with her so much or because he was afraid of what would happen next.
He tried telling himself that it wasn’t uncommon for frimars to sleep with their host. What they did wasn’t unusual, but for him it was. She wasn’t just anyone to him. She wasn’t some woman he could use and set away until he was ready again. Was he happy about that? Not in the least. But he wasn’t going to lie to himself. He wanted her still. If anything, being with her made her consume his thoughts more.
He wanted to take her in every position possible, taste her between her legs until she screamed his name, and feel her wet mouth sink down his cock. God he was a mess.
He wiped away the fog on the mirror to see his blurry reflection. Half-demon, his mind whispered. But she didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about where he came from. She said she wasn’t like Charlotte, maybe she wasn’t. What if she wasn’t?
Draven looked away from his shadowed reflection and scrubbed a hand down his face. He’d known Lucinda since she was taken in as Tyrian’s frimar hundreds of years ago. For the longest time, as in four hundred years, she never said much to him. Or anyone else for that matter. She mostly kept to her room, but every now and then she’d come out and wander the hallways. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t watch her sometimes. It was the way she moved. She seemed to float gracefully wherever she went. It had to be those damn gowns she wore, no one could move like that.
Draven tied his wet hair back from his face. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to prepare himself. She was waiting out there for him and he still didn’t know what to say or what to do.
He took her twice that night, right there against that door he had to leave through every day. If that wasn’t a hell of a reminder then he didn’t know what was.
He opened the door and went into the bedroom. The sight of her took his breath away. She sat in an ugly plaid chair in the corner of the room. A single lamp lit the room in a soft, hazy glow. Her feet were pulled up under her nightgown which covered her from head to foot. The gown was a white flimsy thing with wide straps over her shoulders. He knew if she stood the gown would cover her feet and was probably too wide for her; it’d billow around her and yet he’d never seen anything sexier. There must surely be something wrong with him, because the sight of her in that gown had his cock swelling.
She looked up at him with a smile on her face. “I hope you had a nice shower.” He nodded once then went to sit at a chair by the fireplace, anything so he wouldn’t have to look at her. No sooner than he sat did he hear soft footsteps trailing after him.
He stiffened as she took a seat at his feet. She entranced him; did she know that? The fire glowed around her, showing the bare skin under that gown. She wore nothing underneath. The outline of her breasts, her nipples, the smooth glide of her hip to thigh were as clear as if she was naked before him. Draven took a deep breath and made his eyes meet hers.
Shit, that wasn’t any better. Her eyes were excited, lips pulled into a sweet smile. Even her hair looked nice. It rested in an intricate braid over one shoulder, nearly falling to her curvy waist. He had yet to touch that thick hair, to feel it in his hands, or feel it draped over his thighs. Draven’s balls pulled tight and he wished she’d look away so he could adjust himself.
“What?” he said gruffly. Her smile changed into one that said she knew what he was thinking. He scowled down at her. If that little wench knew what he was thinking then she shouldn’t have worn that damn gown that he could shred with his pinky.
“Tell me about your past, before the rift closed.”
Draven’s heart skipped a panicked beat. He kept himself perfectly still so she wouldn’t know how shocked he was.
“I’d rather not,” he finally said. She lost her smile but hope was still in her eyes.
“Oh, please. I only know so much. I would offer to share mine as well but it’s more boring than watching a snail walk.”
Draven laughed, the action surprising him just as much as it did for Lucinda judging from her expression.
“I’m sure there isn’t anything interesting to tell.” Pain, humiliation, a world filled with so much prejudice and discrimination that he’d chosen to forego his family for a life in the Atal Warriors, fighting against those just like him, and others much worse.
“Well you’re only half-vampire. You can start with that.” The refusal was already on his tongue, but then he looked into her soft, beseeching eyes and was helpless.
Draven’s mind struggled to think where to start. How it all began, how to describe what she wanted in a way that wouldn’t send her running out of the room, or worse, crying. But then she scooted across the floor until she was in front of him. He tensed, unsure where this was going. Her look was sly, and so Goddamn sexy his cock throbbed as she put a hand on each of his knees and pushed them open.
He could have fought it easily; she was no match for his strength. But he was a glutton for punishment and let her spread his thighs wide open. Images that would make her blush rushed through his mind. If only she knew what she did to him, what she’d always done to him, since the first moment she entered Tyrian’s castle. That’s why he’d always kept away, she belonged to someone else. Now she was all his. Then why couldn’t he jump at her like he wanted? Why was he being such a damned coward?
His chest tightened as if a heavy weight sat upon it. His mind flashed with options. Would she peel down the shoulders of that dress and bare her full breasts to him? Or maybe she’d reach and pull out his cock. She kissed so innocently, though her skill had grown quickly the other night. He knew her mouth was untrained too. God, how painful that would be. She’d torture his cock with little soft kisses and licks, never swallowing him whole like he wanted. It would still be good, hell, maybe even better, but it’d kill him nonetheless.
She had his knees open, her hands gently pressing against his knees. “Well are you going to tell me?”
He cocked a brow at her as he looked from h
er hands to her face. Just what was she up to?
“I was born before the rift was ever closed. When those like me crossed into this realm freely.” She nodded, her head cocked to the side as she listened. The muscles in his thighs bunched hard as her thumbs started to slowly rub back and forth. It took some concentration but he slowly relaxed his muscles. She wasn’t doing anything.
“The idummi and jaheera demons like the one after Chloe and Willow were a different thing entirely. There are layers in the rift that can only be passed in specific ways. We never crossed into theirs and for the most part they never bothered us.”
“What do you mean for the most part?” Draven closed his eyes; his head felt heavy like it wanted to fall back and simply enjoy her soft touch.
“Sometimes the idummi would come through our layer, kill people, stuff like that. Sometimes it would cause wars, other times we’d bury the dead and deal with it.”
“And what sort of demon are you?”
Draven shook his head to clear it. It had to be his imagination that made her sound husky when she asked that.
“We call ourselves shahoulin. It means justice bringers. It couldn’t be more of a lie.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but her eyes widened in question.
“Oh?” Her thumbs continued their soft, lazy torture on his legs. She had no idea how much of a tease it was.
“The shahoulin are mostly bigots. Divided into two castes, the royalty and the non-royalty.” He stopped himself from saying more, unsure how much to tell her.
“Which are you?” Her hands moved up his legs, barely a few inches but he tensed anyways.
“Non.” He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.
“Oh?” she said sweetly. “So how did you turn out half-vampire in a world of shahoulin demons?” Her thumbs started moving again, this time dipping deeper between his inner thighs.
“Before the rift,” he stopped and cleared the hoarseness from his voice, “my mother was living on the earthen-realm in Italy. She was in love with a human male. I think she might have married him even, I don’t remember. Her family scorned her for it. Marrying a human to them was worse than if she’d chosen a disgusting idummi.
