Kiss of a Demon King iad-7

by Kresley Cole

  She cursed her body for responding once more. But she was unfulfilled from their earlier encounter, and from nights of yearning for him even before her abduc-tion. Her lids grew heavy, her earlier alarm and rancor

  ebbing.

  He ran his lips over her ear, nuzzling it as he said, "I've waited a long time for my female. Fifteen centu-ries, I've gone without her." He gently ran his horns against her neck. "Without you. No longer."

  He clasped her shoulders and turned her so he could drag his lips down her damp back. When she shivered,

  he rasped, "You still like my touch." He drew the backs of his dark claws across her sensitive ass. "You always will."

  By the time he'd turned her to face him once more, his kneading and kissing had put her in a daze of lethar­gic arousal. When he eased his hand between her legs, cupping her, she rested on him, pressing herself into his palm, leaning her forehead on his shoulder.

  A daze . . . do what you will. . . She didn't care. Until he raised his other hand to her face.

  She stiffened and scrambled back. In a deadly tone, she said, "Don't ever touch my face, Rydstrom."

  Nine times out of ten, when a man had his hand raised in the vicinity of her face, it was either to cow her or kill her. In her five hundred years of life, this had proven true.

  "I do as I please with you." When he grasped her chin, she flinched, and damn him, he noticed the weakness.

  "You don't have any right-"

  "You gave me that right with your treatment of me."

  He ran his other palm lightly over the front of her neck. When he frowned as if he'd perceived the raised scar that was still invisible, she fought to get free, but he held her tightly. She had only so long before her illusions faded. Soon he'd see the white streak in her hair, the scar at her neck. She'd never imagined she'd be powerless near him.

  "Are you going to want sex with me now?" she hast­ily asked to distract him. "Because I already gave at the office-"

  : '"No."

  "-and it was a debacle . . . what did you say?"

  "I'll make the same deal that you offered me. You'll concede something to me before I'll take you. Some­thing you'll never want to say."

  Parity for the wedding vow she'd forced him to give her.

  "You'll say: 'I beg you to claim me. I need you as my master and surrender my will to yours.' And when you do, I will reward you."

  "So, then . .. never."

  "I vow to you I won't take you until you say these words to me. And I won't let you come until you either beg me for it or until your three nights have passed."

  "If you're not going to demand sex from me, then you're keeping me only because of your revenge?"

  He stared down at her with eyes dark like night. "And because I keep what's mine." With his hands clasped behind her head, he rubbed his thumbs over her cheekbones, then leaned in to kiss her.

  Their last real kiss had been frantic, maddening. Like a drug to her. Now he licked her bottom lip before tug­ging it between his teeth.

  When he finally took her mouth, he slipped his tongue in, tempting her to meet him.

  She soon did, lapping at him, making him groan. His shaft prodded against her belly, and her hips began rocking toward it. Her back arched to get her nipples against his warm body.

  But he broke away, leaving her breathless. She was still blinking for focus, dizzy from his kiss, when he swept her up in his arms, lifting her from the water.

  "What are you doing now?"

  Without a word, he carried her to the pallet beneath the tree, then laid her on it, still wet, with water drops trickling down her sides.

  He untied the rope between her wrists-but only to lead it toward the mink. "Wait. . . No, demon!" But he forced her arms over her head, binding her to the tree.

  Then he knelt before her. "Spread your legs."

  "Go to hell."

  With his big palms covering her inner thighs, he forced her legs open, then gazed at her for long moments.

  She wanted to look away, but she couldn't draw her eyes from his compelling face, his scar lit by the fire.

  "Do you know how bad I've wanted to taste you?" When he licked his lips, she almost whimpered. "Mouthwatering," he rasped. "So beautiful." Again, his voice sounded unfamiliar.

  He bent down and nuzzled her curls, making her cry out. Then he brushed his mouth against her sensitive lips, his breath hot on her.

  She drew her knees up around him. "Rydstrom! Ah, gods ... do it!"

  "Do what?" He spread her flesh with his thumbs.

  "Taste me ... kiss me," she breathed.

  When his tongue first dipped to her, he groaned against her so hard, she felt it. She moaned with abandon.

  Pressing his mouth to her core, he delved his tongue, licking her deeply, thoroughly. He was making her melt for him . . . exploring her with his lips, his fingers- nothing was sacred.

  Never had she been kissed like this.

  "Your taste . . . drives me mad," he snarled with a firm lick over her throbbing clitoris. His tongue snaked over it again and again, without mercy, until she was helplessly undulating to his mouth. Getting close . . . so close.

  She could see he'd begun pumping his fist over his shaft, the gold band on his bulging bicep glimmering with his movements. The rhythm grew more furious with each flick of his clever tongue.

  The demon was wild with her. The corded muscles of his body visibly tensed for his orgasm. He growled against her just before his semen began lashing over her hip.

  "Hot. It's so hot," she gasped, on the brink of release herself.

  But once he'd finally finished spending, he drew his head up from her. She gazed at him, realizing he was pleased that she'd watched him come, excited by that.

  With a satisfied groan, he collapsed onto his back. As she watched his penis still pulsing over his rigid stomach, she hungered for it, shamelessly rolling her hips for it.

  Had she actually wanted to forego sex? Now she was desperate for another try.

  As soon as he'd caught his breath, he said, "Back to the business at hand," repeating her words from the first night she'd captured him. He leaned down to her once more. "I could do this all night. Think I will..."

  "Yes!" He began devouring her again. "More," she moaned, going out of her head. Just when she was about to come, he pulled back.

  "No, no, no." She stamped her feet. In a gasping voice, she said, "You are seriously . . . making me . . . want to kill you!"

  "Uh-huh." He leisurely grazed the backs of his fingers all along her body, making her shiver. Just when her breaths had calmed somewhat, and she'd closed her legs, he said, "Wider."

  Gritting her teeth, staring at the branches above, she let her knees fall open.

  For hour after hour, Rydstrom kept her on the brink. He'd come twice more, but then he'd begun to pace himself, determined to outlast her.

  He'd never seen a woman in this kind of frenzy. Her head thrashed, her mane of red hair drying and spread­ing out over the blanket. Her nipples strained up to the sky as her back arched.

  Illusions of flames burned all around them.

  Withholding her pleasure was punishing for him as well-it took all his will to disobey the driving instinct to sate his female. But her reaction also excited the hell out of him.

  Yet she wouldn't break. Though he ached to mount her pale body, to ride her relentlessly, this was a battle of wills, and he simply didn't lose them....

  By the time the moon had begun to set, she was panting, her body sheening with sweat. Her nipples were puckered and swollen.

  As he lay beside her, she earnestly gazed into his eyes, whispering, "J-Just hold me, demon. I can move against you."

  The image her words conjured made him want to groan. Him clasping her little body tight, with her rubbing her sex against his shaft-until she quivered in his arms....

  He bent down and swirled his tongue around one of her nipples, murmuring against it, "Beg for me, sweet. And I'll make you come till your
eyes roll back in your head."

  "Never!" She thrashed her head, crying, "You don't understand-"

  "Don't I?" he grated, sitting up.

  Arms still tied above her, she collapsed over on her side, her small body trembling, her knees drawn to her chest. While he watched, her eyelids fluttered closed as she finally passed out in exhaustion.

  It was still dark when she woke. She was alone on the pallet, with no idea how long she'd been out. She frowned down at her body. He'd released her from the tree and cleaned her?

  When she glanced up, she found him naked, lean­ing back against a boulder, his arm on his raised knee. He was watching her with an inscrutable expression. Though he was still demonic, it was fading, his obsidian eyes not so frenzied.

  She'd never forget the possessiveness in his gaze tonight. Shivers coursed over her skin when she recalled the pure masculine pride on his face when he'd realized she'd watched him spending.

  He stood then, a magnificent male in the flesh-with a body made for sex. The demon belonged out here in the harsh wilderness, a being from myth, a male from legend.

  And he was her husband.

  When he joined her on the pallet, her body was still aching, but she was too exhausted even to contemplate

  release. He drew her to his chest, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him.

  She stiffened at the unfamiliar embrace, realizing he meant for them to sleep together. Like this.

  But when he rubbed his face against hers, her eyelids grew heavy. He was shockingly warm against her as he kissed her neck, her ear. His touches were tender again. It was as if he regretted that she hurt, even as he was the one punishing her. Gods, the demon confused her!

  Though he hadn't released her hands, she could still cast scenes from her dreams. Right now, she would give her finest headdress for a stay-awake potion from the Hag. The idea of Rydstrom knowing her private thoughts, her memories....

  Sabine worried what this demon would think about her past if it were laid bare for him to see. She didn't want him judging her, or worse pitying her. Her mother used to say, "Gods give me anything but a good man's pity."

  Yes, Sabine was anxious, but her muscles were sore, and his body felt so incredibly good against hers. Warm, hard ... safe.

  Don't dream . . . don't dream. . . .

  Sabine drifted off once more, and then she slept like the dead.

  25

  Heat it, stroke it, beat and grow it. Rub it, twist it, love and kiss it. . ." Rydstrom shot upright, woken by a woman's eerie

  chanting.

  He gazed over at Sabine, but she slept still, her eyes darting behind her lids. He was forced to leave her as he sprinted toward the sound.

  "Gold is life . . . it is perfection," said the woman. Her laughter followed.

  When he seemed to reach the source, he swung his head around.

  No one is here. A decoy? Had he been tricked into leaving his female? He charged back to Sabine-

  She was sleeping just as he'd left her, with her long lashes against her cheeks. Exhaling a relieved breath, he lowered himself beside her. As he gazed down at her stunning face, he realized that his rage and lust had faded enough so that he could reason once more. But he

  could come to no conclusions when it came to Sabine and his confusing emotions.

  Last night, his demon nature had demanded revenge, a reprisal to placate his wrath. Yet at the end of the night, the demon in him had ached to see his mate in pain.

  He didn't know what to think about her, or about himself. Because he was actually considering breaking his vow for revenge. The one that had sustained him in that dungeon, had kept him from fully succumbing to rage.

  He was in an impossible situation. If he gave her another two nights of torment, then he was no better than she'd been to him. But if he didn't, he would break his vow-and again, he'd be no better than she was.

  Maybe he should accept her rationale that she'd only denied him for two nights total. . . yes, then he'd only have one remaining.

  His gaze narrowed on her long mane of glossy hair. Among her red curls was a strand of shining white that he'd never seen before. He grasped the lock, brushing it between his thumb and forefinger. She'd hidden this- why?

  The lock fell, forgotten when his eyes settled on her neck, on the scar that collared her. His lips parted as comprehension came. He clutched her shoulders, yank­ing her upright to inspect her skin.

  "What?" She blinked against the rising sun. "What's wrong now?"

  "What is this scar? Some kind of operation?" he asked, graying that it was. "Answer me!"

  Her eyes briefly slid closed as if she were embarrassed. "Yes, Rydstrom, an operation."

  "You're lying again!"

  "No, I'm not," she said, her tone deadened. "It was an involuntary one, intended to amputate my head."

  His mouth went dry. "You were young. How old?"

  "What does it-"

  "How old?" he bellowed, the sound echoing through the nearby canyons.

  "Twelve, demon." She met his gaze. "I was twelve years old the day a soldier from the army of good slit my throat from ear to ear."

  "Tell me what happened."

  "A clan of the Vreken killed my parents. When I fought back, they tried for me. And before you say any­thing-yes, I did have to fight. You have no idea what they do to children like us."

  He shook his head. "The Vrekeners adopt you, take you into their families."

  "And separate siblings so their minds are more easily turned. They brainwash the females of our kind to be like theirs-biddable and grave, the exact opposite of our true nature. They brainwash us to think like you!"

  "How could you have survived this wound?"

  "It doesn't matter. Just that I did."

  "You'll tell me!"

  She thrashed, but he held her firm. "My sister, Lanthe used to be able to give mystickal commands. I was dead- my heart was still, and there was no blood left in it. But she somehow commanded me to live and to heal."

  "Is that why your hair turned white?"

  She gazed away. "I won't talk about this any longer." She struggled to get free again. "I don't understand what the big deal is." When he gaped at her, she gave him a look of disgust. "Demon, do you think that was the only time I was murdered?"

  No amount of railing would get her to tell him the story of her deaths. The demon didn't deserve to know. He wouldn't understand it, not as he should, because he'd been conditioned to think differently than she'd been.

  She glared up at him, and whatever he saw in her expression made him release her.

  He ran a hand over his mouth. His appearance was almost back to normal, but he seemed a hair-trigger from turning. "We need to get going," he muttered.

  Get going . . . Farther away from Tornin, from her morsus, from her sister. Starting on another intermi-nable day.

  Her arms were asleep, pinpricks dancing from her shoulders to her wrists as she clenched and released her fists. Her breasts were aching, her unfulfilled desire from the night before hitting her body as hard and as alien as an illness.

  And she'd slept for at least five hours. That hadn't happened since she was a girl! Which meant for all those hours, she'd been vulnerable, her safety com­pletely in Rydstrom's hands.

  She resented that.

  "I heard something this morning-a woman chant­ing," he-said as he doused the remains of the fire. "But when I went to investigate, no one was there."

  "I didn't hear anything." Evidently, she'd been dreaming, but she couldn't remember of what. At least he hadn't seen her dream.

  "We have to make good time today." As she watched in horror, he took his sword and lopped off the heels of her boots.

  "Don't you think it's time you filled me in on the details of our situation?"

  "I'm taking you with me to my home in Louisiana." He pulled her up to her feet. When she stood naked to his avid gaze, his jaw clenched, but he didn't touch her.

  His man
ner brisk, he tugged her skirt up her legs. "We have to meet up with refugees who are going off-plane."

  "Omort can tell who comes and goes."J

  "Not this time."

  "You're taking me to one of those illegal portals, aren't you? How long will we be walking?"

  "A few more days."

  "He'll find us before you can reach it," she said, mak­ing a muscle tic in his scarred cheek.

  Once he'd redressed her in her metal bustier and | altered boots, she said, "What about my hose and j panties?"

  "You won't wear them when you're with me."

  She bit her tongue. "If you won't free me, then I need you to go fetch my collar and headdress for me."

  "Go fetch?"

  "I didn't mean it like that."

  "Not a chance, princess."

  "But you have to!"

  He stormed over to both, swooping them up. "What is so bloody important about them? They almost made you drown!" He twisted around to lob them into the water.

  She shrieked, "No!" But it was too late. They were gone.

  Her breath left her, and she rocked on her feet. Gold is life . . . The smooth water surface had erased them from the earth, like they'd never existed. Her bottom lip trembled, but she could do nothing to hide it, not emotionally, not mystickally.

  "Come, then," he said, his voice gruff.

  As he took her arm, she gazed over her shoulder. "I can't believe you did that." Losing gold to another was one thing, but to throw it away . . . ? Incomprehensible. "There's no excuse. None."

  "It's worthless out here."

  "Not worthless, you oaf! Those pieces protected my Head and neck!"

  "Then you'll have to depend on me to do their job!" When he drew her along, she trudged forward in stony silence....

  After that, hours passed without event. She found his green eyes constantly on her. He was becoming more attentive, helping her over rough patches in the ter­rain, holding her arm to steady her. But he still wouldn't release her bindings.

  And any time she tried to convince him to let her go, he threatened the gag. She wondered how real that threat was, because he clearly wanted to talk to her