by Larissa Ione
“You can, and you will.” He peeled off his jeans, leaving his lean, toned body completely naked, his silver eyes glittering in the moonlight streaming through the windows, his fangs glinting wetly. Deep-cut muscles flexed from his neck, to his arms, to his abs, where a thin line of blond hair beckoned her gaze lower. His cock was so rigid that it curved into his stomach, the veins throbbing with the intensity of his arousal. He looked like a god, a devil, a wild animal intent on taking what it wanted.
And yet, there was an underlying tenderness in his expression and in his touch as he prowled up the length of her body. Something lurched in her chest. Her heart, something she’d believed to be completely insulated, was reacting to this man in a way it never had before.
Panic wrapped around her, and with a cry, she shoved him away and scrambled to her hands and knees. Terror made her awkward, and she slipped while trying to get to her feet. A low, dangerous growl sounded behind her, and she screamed just before Con’s heavy body covered her so she was belly down on the floor. One hand yanked her arms above her head, pinning her, while the other delved between her legs.
“Please, Con,” she begged, but she wasn’t sure what she was pleading for. She tried to break his grip on her wrists, but her hips rose to meet his fingers as they penetrated her core.
His breath was hot and desperate against her ear, and she realized he’d bitten her lobe, was using his mouth as yet another way to hold her. She made a sound of equal desperation, a high-pitched plea for more. For less. She didn’t know which.
The fact that she’d made that much noise at all was a sign that she was in trouble.
She’d always been silent in her passions, but Con had a way of coaxing things out of her, whether she liked it or not… and oh, yes, she liked that…
He controlled her with the weight of his body, his strong legs that caged hers together, and those fingers that began an erotic glide in and out of her sex. She wouldn’t come from what he was doing, but he could get her so close that she could explode the moment he entered her if even a drop of pre-cum eased from the tip of his cock.
Moaning, she shifted her butt toward his shaft, which lay heavily in the crease of her thighs.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “Almost.” His tongue made a slow, wet stroke around the rim of her ear. “Do you promise to be good?” He squeezed his hand around her wrists as emphasis.
“Yes,” she groaned. “Just fuck me.”
His deep laughter vibrated her organs deliciously. “There will be none of that.”
“I so want to kill you right now.”
This time, his laughter was silent, but she felt it in the rise and fall of his shoulders on her back. Carefully, he released her and slid down her body. His lips kissed her spine, his tongue licked her skin, and his fangs scraped her hip. What the—She tried to push up, but he palmed the small of her back and pressed her down while slipping his other hand beneath her belly to lift just her hips.
When he nibbled her butt cheek, she yelped. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing your beautiful ass.” And then his tongue was between her legs and she cried out at the wonderful sensation. The tip flicked over her clit, and then slid back to delve in her slick heat.
“Oh, God.” She shuddered at the lash of his tongue as he repeated the sequence. Each flick, each stroke, each penetrating thrust wrung a different sound from her, and holy hell, why had she ever thought that foreplay was a ridiculous waste of time?
“Do you like this?” he said against her intimate flesh, the vibration roaring through her and bringing her as close to orgasm as she could get without semen filling her.
Frustration put an edge on her reply, which was more of a shout. “Yes!”
Suddenly, he flipped her so she was on her back, her legs flung wide, and his mouth was between them. An animal purr rose up from him as he licked and sucked, and she screamed when he pushed two fingers inside her.
“Con, I need… need… you.”
He lifted his head, the silver in his eyes swirling with molten heat. “Foreplay first.”
“But I can’t come that way.”
His smile was pure evil. “Yes,” he insisted, “you can.” He rose up between her legs, blocking the white moonlight streaming in through the front window blinds. His cock was a thick, dusky column against his bronzed skin, and her throat tightened and her mouth went dry as he fisted it and began to pump.
Holding her gaze with his, he took her hand and replaced his with hers. “Stroke.”
She didn’t even consider disobeying his guttural command. She squeezed his hard flesh from base to tip as he thrust into her fist. His breaths became ragged, his surging motion less coordinated, and he threw back his head and let loose a roar that shook the house. His come spurted onto her belly, a hot, pumping cream that tingled. He shuddered, jerked, until finally he gripped her wrist and made her stop.
He was still hard, his shaft bucking in her grip. “I can control how much semen I release,” he breathed. “A benefit of being a dhampire.”
One of many bennies, she was discovering. “That is so cool.” She arched her hips and wrapped her legs around his thighs. “You can still come inside me, right?”
“I will come inside you,” he said. “But not yet.”
“Damn you!” She swiped at him, only a little playfully, but he caught her hand, kissed her knuckles, and dove back between her legs. His tongue was a merciless whip on her tender, swollen flesh, and just as she was about to start sobbing with frustration, he smoothed his hand up her belly and swiped his finger in the warm pool of wetness he’d left there.
His lips latched onto her clit, and he sucked hard, his tongue circling and flicking… and then he inserted his finger deep into her core. It was as if lightning had struck her. Every cell in her body exploded with ecstasy, her blood boiled, and pleasure shot up her spine and came out her mouth as a scream. His finger swirled inside her as his mouth continued to work on her flesh, and she came again, over and over, her body bucking uncontrollably, until finally, mercifully, he stopped, and she lay limp on the floor.
He crawled up her body, his muscles tense, bunching as he moved. “I’m not done with you, sweetheart,” he growled. “Not. Even. Close.”
A tremor shook her body at the undercurrent of possession in his voice. He wasn’t done because he hadn’t gotten what he wanted out of her yet. And as she looked into his heated gaze, she knew what he wanted.
Her soul.
Thirteen
Sin’s broken, whispered words, “I can’t,” when he’d said they were going to make love instead of get down and dirty and violent had sucker punched Con. He’d known at that moment that no one had ever taken time with her, had ever shown her any kind of compassion or attention during sex, and she didn’t know how to handle it, accept it, or feel deserving of it. For the longest time, he’d assumed her tough exterior was a defense against the things she did and saw on the job, but now he’d glimpsed something inside her—an extremely low measure of self-worth.
And Con was at least partly to blame.
His own words, spoken just before they’d first had sex, came back in a sickening rush. She’d asked him about his motives, and he’d been crystal clear. I don’t want to get to know you. I want to fuck you.
How many times had she heard that in her life? How many times had a male dismissed her as a person and valued her only as an object to rut on? The answer, he knew, was too many, and while he couldn’t erase all of them, he could make up for his own shameful callousness.
“I see you, Sin,” he whispered. “I see you.”
He didn’t know if she heard, but before she could recover from the half-dozen climaxes he’d given her, Con stood, scooped her into his arms, and sank his fangs into her throat. She gasped, a sweet feminine sound that nearly took him to his knees again. He mounted the stairs two at a time, stalked to the bedroom, and eased them both onto the bed. At some point, she’d grabbed one of her daggers, and he wonder
ed if she thought she needed protection from him… or if being armed was a habit that had risen out of living a dangerous life.
Gently, he extracted the blade from her hand, which still left her with her primary weapon—her gift. She didn’t protest, though she did note exactly where he had set the dagger on the nightstand.
Using his thigh to separate her legs, he sank between them. His shaft slipped between her swollen folds, and instantly, she locked her legs around his waist, urging him, tempting him. He didn’t tease. Her spicy blood mingled with the taste of her orgasms, feeding his desire.
His stomach and buttocks tightened as he concentrated on maintaining control, on sliding into her slowly instead of slamming home and fucking her into the mattress like instinct demanded of him. He’d taken things slow to this point, and he wasn’t going to stop now.
Not yet.
Her hot core clamped around him, sucking him deep and shredding his control. His body hummed with lust and new energy as her blood filled him. Deep inside, the connection with her intensified. He felt drugged, wanting… needing… more. It was as if every swallow made him hungrier instead of sated. Oh, this was bad, very bad…
Sin’s dermoire lit up, and her warmth joined the hum in his veins. “Almost, Con,” she breathed. “It’s almost gone.”
He had to stop. He was about two swallows from no return. She must have sensed his reluctance, because she fisted his hair and held him.
“This time, we finish it.”
Last time, he’d had the willpower to pull away, but then, he hadn’t been buried deep inside her. Now, he was helpless, a slave to the pull of her blood. He swallowed, again and again, knowing he’d crossed a line.
“It’s done,” she gasped. “The virus… it’s… gone.”
He barely heard her. Ecstasy had taken over, had engulfed him in a vortex he couldn’t escape. More… he needed more.
Sin cried out as pleasure swamped her. That was the danger of this addiction… The victim would feel nothing but euphoria and orgasms as they were drained to death.
Gods, no!
Con roared as he ripped his fangs from her throat. His entire body convulsed, and instant craving began again. He swiped his tongue over the punctures, savoring the last taste he could ever have of Sin.
Anger, frustration, and lust combined into a massively caustic mood, but somehow he managed to take it easy instead of pumping into her with punishing thrusts. But maybe in a way the gentle rhythm was the punishment. Forcing her to accept kindness might actually be cruel. It definitely wasn’t what she wanted.
“Harder,” she moaned, and he intentionally pulled back, holding her on the very edge.
“Am I your first?” he whispered, some deep, selfish part of him wanting to know for sure, wanted to hear her say that he was the only male who had ever made the act about more than tab A into slot B.
She threw her head back, exposing her long, graceful neck and making her hair spill like black silk across the red satin duvet. “Con—”
“Tell me.” He ground against her, took her breast into his mouth, and suckled until she whimpered. “Am. I. Your. First?”
“Yes.” That one barely audible word was loaded with a lifetime of emotion: regret, anger, sorrow. For a moment, he thought she was going to break down, but then her fingers raked down his back and ass, and he shuddered at the pleasure. “Now, please…”
He should have felt victorious, but instead, he felt like a bastard. Furious at himself, at her, at the entire world, he broke loose, hammered into her, and the result was electric. A shout tore from his throat, and he blew apart into a million pieces. Sin joined him, the effect of his seed splashing inside her instantaneous and magnificent. She shattered, her body clenching, her core milking him so hard he came again.
When it was over, when his senses came back online, he realized that beneath him, she’d stiffened. He inhaled, needing to know where her emotions were, and yeah, mingled with the heady scent of sex was an acrid note of anger.
Well, you wanted her to feel. Said you’d make it happen. Promised it would happen.
For the first time in his life, he wished he’d broken a promise.
* * *
“You son of a bitch,” Sin rasped.
“Yes, I’m a son of a bitch for making you come.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.” She felt naked—well, more than physically, anyway. He’d somehow stripped away some of her emotional shielding, leaving an exposed gash.
Con lifted his head, and she saw something sad in his gaze before he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “Tell me.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. She knew what he wanted. She trembled, and he simply held her, breaking her down with the force of his will and the strength of his embrace. “They… leave me.”
His eyes popped open. “Who leaves you?”
“Everyone,” she whispered. “If I care about them, or if I want them to care about me, they can’t. They leave me.” God, she couldn’t believe she was spilling her guts like that. The emotional laceration he’d made was bleeding out, a steady trickle of words she couldn’t stop.
Smoothly, he rolled them to their sides and his hand stroked her back, coaxing more out of her. “You have Lore.”
“He left me, too.”
“Lore? What happened?” He tucked her face into his chest, the best thing he could have done, because she couldn’t talk while looking at him. When she said nothing, because she couldn’t find the words, he prompted her with a light caress over the base of her throat. “Start with something easy. Like when you were a child.”
She nearly laughed, because that hadn’t been easy at all.
“Come on.” His voice was gruff, commanding, but somehow encouraging. “Tell me about your parents.”
“Oh, that’s a good one.” Sin focused on his sharply defined pecs as she spoke. “My mom was human. And batshit crazy. She fucked a demon she thought she’d summoned, and when she learned she was pregnant, she tried to abort. She couldn’t, and she ended up giving birth to me and Lore.”
“She knew you were demons?”
“Yeah. She seriously believed she’d screwed Satan. Everyone thought she was insane. So after she tried to kill us by abandoning us in the snow as newborns, my grandparents adopted us, named us Sinead and Loren, and locked her up in an asylum.”
“Did you grow up thinking you were human?”
“Yeah.” Sometimes, when the doctors thought her mother’s treatments were working and she was getting better, they’d let Lore and Sin visit. But the visits always turned ugly. “The only time we questioned ourselves was when we got to see our mother, and when no one was around, she’d tell us she wished we were dead. That we were the spawn of the devil.”
Con’s hand froze on her back, and he swore. “That must have hurt.”
She shrugged, but yeah, it had hurt. Lore had handled it pretty well, but Sin would cry for days after the visits. “My grandparents helped us through it.”
“Your grandparents sound like they were good people.”
“They were.” When she tried hard enough, Sin could still smell her grandma’s homemade cookies. Could remember the hugs, the bedtime stories. The secret laughs her grandparents would sometimes share. They’d loved each other so much. They’d never had a lot of money, but the hard times only brought them closer.
“And then my mom escaped from the hospital. Lore and I were eighteen, two days from our nineteenth birthdays and still living with our grandparents when she broke in and killed them. The only reason she didn’t kill us, too, was that I rolled over just as she was trying to stab me in the heart. The knife went into my shoulder. I screamed, and Lore came from his bedroom to tackle her.”
Con pressed a kiss into her hair, and it was so tender, so intimate, that she sucked in a harsh breath. Con seemed to realize what he’d done, his big body going taut, as if he couldn’t believe his own action. “I’m sorry,” he said
roughly, but whether he was sorry about kissing her like that or about her past, she didn’t know.
Either way, it made her uncomfortable. And maybe a little… warm.
“’S’okay. No big.” But her bravado was false, and she wondered if he knew that. The truth was that, at the time, she’d been devastated beyond consolation. She’d gone into some sort of shock that lasted for weeks. If not for Lore forcing her to eat, to live, she might have died. “Lore took care of me. We stayed in the house for a little over a year, and then we found out that everything our mom had said about us was true.”
She’d never forget that night. It was a full moon. Foggy. Creepy. Her right arm had started to burn, and she’d watched in horror as red welts boiled up in her skin. Lore had come home from his job at a factory, and he’d stumbled into the house, his face wrenched in pain, his arm burning like hers.
“Some of the memories are fuzzy.” She traced Con’s ribs with her fingers, needing to put her hands to work because she couldn’t reach her dagger, which she liked to flip out of nervous habit. “But some are crystal clear. We developed our dermoires, and a desperate… need. Lore had it the worst. He fought what was happening to him, and he went into this wild rage.” She shuddered, remembering how his skin had turned red, shot through with black, bulging veins. His eyes, glowing crimson fire, had targeted her for death. “I guess purebred Sems go kind of crazy during their first maturation cycle, and they need lots of sex to get through it. Lore… it was different for him.” At least, it was different while he was inside the house. After he left, she could only guess at what he’d done. “He tore the house apart. I think I only survived because I played dead. I left the house after he did, but I got home before him. It was a couple of days, I think. When he came back…” She took a deep, ragged breath.
“Where have you been?”
“I don’t know. Everywhere. Nowhere.” He looked around the kitchen. “I did this?”
She nodded.
“Sinead, I’m sorry.” He put his face in his hands. “I… killed and… I did terrible things.”
