by Michele Hauf
Verity closed her mouth over the head, and with her hand she jacked him off into a forceful climax that spilled down her throat. He cried out and straightened his arms, coming forward in a stretch. Bowing forward over her to glide his hands down through her hair, he pressed his forehead to the crown of her head. His body shuddered, hips jerking subtly as he rode the wave.
She clasped his cock, slick with his seed, and held it until he sank to his knees to collapse up against her, spent and well used.
“Mine,” Verity whispered as she cradled him into her arms and he settled against her chest, turning to stretch out his legs.
“Yes, yours, witch.”
She smiled at his growling agreement. Captured then, and perhaps surprised that he had been. But willing, most certainly.
“I love your cock,” she said. “That’s mine, too.”
“You can have all of me, Verity, if you want me.”
She buried her face in his soft, curly hair. “I do.”
* * *
Rook strode to the ottoman in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Clouds shadowed the room, and raindrops spattered the glass. He sat, back straight and palms up and open on his knees. She had mastered him with an ease that he would not argue with. And without removing a single piece of her clothing.
Verity tugged down her skirt, straightening it neatly, and flipped her hair over a shoulder as she licked his salty taste from her lips. Vixen. She wore a silky blouse and, he suspected, no bra beneath, because her dark areolas showed through the light violet fabric.
“Your tits are so hard,” he said in a throaty tone. “Take your shirt off and come over here and put one of those in my mouth.”
“You think so?”
“Don’t displease me, witch.”
Maintaining his command was difficult with the rich warmth from orgasm still flooding his system. Even as his cock grew soft, he felt the stirrings of desire in his root and knew he’d be hard again in minutes.
She unbuttoned the silk shirt with long, graceful fingers. Pale violet nail polish caught the sunlight in glints of mica. She liked violet and purple, and he wondered if she dressed to match her hair.
She dressed for herself, and for others to admire. And he liked that just fine.
“Slowly,” he added.
Prolonging the pleasure was his favorite kind of torture.
* * *
Fingers falling down the purple silk, Verity turned and strolled to the window, where she leaned forward, catching her hands on the sill and jutting out her hips to give them a sexy wiggle. Peering at Rook through a fall of her hair, she parted her lips and slowly undid another button.
The man’s cock was already hard again, and it jutted up proudly from his lap. His eyes narrowed on her, focused, content, pleased.
When all buttons were undone, she turned and put her hands against the rain-spattered window, thrusting up her breasts. The silk fabric draped them, and the sensual slide of it over her nipples sent delicious shivers across her skin. Standing upright, she posed there before the window, easily embracing her inner sex kitten. She drew a hand down the shirt and pulled it taut over her breasts. The nipples poked high and proud.
Stepping forward, she performed her sexiest sashay, heel before toe, hips shifting. The man’s eyes fell to her hips and down her legs to her patent-leather boots, then rushed back up to her breasts. The intensity of his regard made her even wetter than she already was. Her thighs were quivering. But more so, her breasts craved the heat of his tongue. He had commanded her to put them in his mouth. It was all she could do to walk slowly, pacing herself as she neared her hungry lover.
She understood the incredible control it took to be patient. She hadn’t mastered his control earlier; she’d only fortified it. Now she was the one in control—and she wanted to give it all up, to lie before him and let him do as he wished to her.
Soon enough.
Verity stopped three feet from the ottoman where he sat and planted her feet, her legs spread. Confidently, she splayed open her shirt to reveal her breasts. No bra today. She’d been in a rush when leaving the house earlier, and her head had been out of sorts, thinking about seeing him again. So easily did she fall into the crazy good muddle of All That Was Rook.
Cupping her breasts, she eased her palms along the heavy fullness of them, pursing her lips as the pleasurable sensation shimmered over her skin and drilled into her core. Dashing out her tongue, she wet her lips and cooed from the depths of her desire.
Rook shifted and leaned forward.
She bit her lower lip and held his stare as she pinched her nipples.
“In my mouth,” he repeated. And with a bow of his head and a dash of tongue over his teeth, his smoldering look invited her forward.
She took a step, bending at the waist. Her hair tumbled over her breasts and she purred at the sweet, silken glide of it over her skin. She pushed him backward. Rook caught his palms against the ottoman and she straddled his legs, heels tapping the floor. Click. Click.
Drawing a finger up his chest and neck and tracing the shadow of stubble under his lower lip, she teased his mouth open and lowered her mouth to it—but didn’t touch. His breath hushed over her lips. He didn’t move to touch her with his hands. Her breasts were so close to his chest, but she restrained herself from hugging against him.
Her nipples ached for touch, and she tilted her head to feel the skim of her hair over them. Delirious skitters raced through her body and congregated at her core. She needed his touch, wanted it desperately.
Grasping the hair at his crown, she jerked his head back and tapped his mouth with a finger. “You hungry?”
He bit down on her finger and sucked it in. She craved that feeling at her breast. The man teased his tongue along the inside of her finger, a place that was surprisingly erogenous and that stirred up a throaty moan from her.
Bracketing his face with both hands, she lowered her breast to his mouth and pressed it to his lips. First contact of hot, wet tongue to her hard nipple bubbled up a cry of joy from Verity. “Yes!”
He suckled roughly and drew her in deep, teasing all sensation to her breast. Then it dashed out through her system and scurried into every inch of her being. She crushed him closer, guiding his rough attentions.
He did not disappoint, laving her nipple and then drawing his tongue around her breast, high upon its mound where she was so sensitive and in between them and beneath where he sucked hard at the skin and she suspected he’d brought the blood to the surface in a hickey.
“The other,” she gasped, head back and breasts thrust out. “Now.”
He bit, lips over his teeth, at her other breast while his fingers squeezed and massaged the wet nipple.
Breathing rapidly, Verity grasped at the air, landing her fingers in his hair and curling them behind his ears, where she followed the tickle of curls down to his neck.
Suddenly he grasped her and turned her to lie on her back across the ottoman. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled him onto her. His cock, hard and hungry, pressed against her while his mouth paid her breasts due worship.
He kissed down the side of her breast, and there she caught her breath because the pressure of his lips, punctuated with an insistent sucking at her skin, drove her mad with desire.
So wet now, she rocked her hips, seeking to position his cock between her folds and rub against her clit. He sensed her endeavor, and—damn him—he tilted his hips away from hers.
Rook smirked against her breast and chuckled softly. “What happened to being patient?”
“Fuck that. I need you here.” She tugged his hand down to her crotch, and his finger slipped inside her. “Oh yes, and higher. Deeper.”
His mouth at her nipple, he grabbed his cock and rubbed it against her clit slowly, harder, then softer and fa
ster. Perfect. He felt like iron hot from the forge, and Verity greedily pulled him down with her legs.
“Inside me,” she demanded. “All of you.”
He pushed up onto his hands above her and studied her face.
“What are you waiting for?” she pouted. “Now.”
“Please?”
“No, never please. Immediately. Roughly. Without permission, without asking, just—” She chuckled because she realized she was begging. “Fuck me.”
“Just wanted to hear you beg for it, sweetie.”
“I’m not your sweetie.”
“You sure as hell are not. You’re my wicked witch.”
And he plunged his staff inside her, filling her with his thickness and length and slamming his hips in rapid thrusts that fed them both hungry sexneedlove.
Verity dug her fingers into the tufted velvet beneath her. She was right there, close to oblivion, and Rook’s body shuddered above her, cluing her in that he was just as close to surrender.
He lunged and bit her breast softly, then sucked in the nipple, hard and deep, so wanting, as if to take all she had. And that pushed her to the peak.
Verity shouted a throaty cry of joy as Rook’s thrusts slammed hard and forcefully against her. His shudders increased. He met the orgasm seconds after she had touched it. He let out an abbreviated growl. His arms that supported him above her shook, and the veins were thick and tight. Their bellies hugged, slick with sweat, and his cock pulsed inside her as she squeezed and worked him as the orgasm tightened then released their muscles in exquisite harmony.
“Thatwassofuckinggood,” he muttered and collapsed beside her.
Their separation tugged up one last twinge of orgasm as Verity’s breasts and mons were exposed to the whispers of cool air. She reached down beside her and grasped his penis, gliding her palm over it, not wanting to completely lose the connection.
Rolling up against her and onto his side, Rook nuzzled into her neck and kissed her throat. “Love you, witch.”
Chapter 11
“I know I asked once before, but this still is kind of weird for me. Oz knows about and/or is aware during sex?”
“He knows all,” Rook answered. Verity didn’t want to hear that, but he was unwilling to lie about it. “He’s present and not. It’s hard to explain.”
“I didn’t just engage in a ménage a trois, did I?”
“No.” He winced. “Kind of.”
I will refrain from comment.
Rook smirked. Oz always commented on the woman’s sexual prowess after a session of lovemaking. Some were too loud, others too weepy. And the demon hated the screamers.
You usually always have something to say, Oz, he thought.
This time I got nothing. I…like her.
So did Rook.
So it was best to let her think it had been only the two of them. “He’s oblivious right now,” Rook offered.
“Great.” No belief in that statement.
Hell, a man who harbored a demon within him gave new meaning to the term voyeur. Even he tried to zone out when Oz was with his wife, Winter.
Verity asked, “What time is it?”
“Nearing five. You have a show tonight?”
“Yes, I have to get to rehearsal. I should have left an hour ago.” She retrieved her clothing, spilled about the ottoman, and put it back on. “Can I return when I’m done performing?”
“I’ll be out on the hunt.”
“Right. Then tomorrow?”
“I’d love to make breakfast for you.”
“You could spoil me, and I would let you. I do have to rush off. You see what you do to me? One look at you, and I fall to my knees.”
“I like you on your knees.”
“Anytime, lover.”
She hopped on one foot as she slid on a boot and then the other. She wobbled, and he caught her in his arms.
His cock was hard and ready to go, but much as he wanted to make love to her all evening, they both had work to do. And, to be honest, he needed some distance from the witch. He couldn’t forget what he’d said as he’d fallen into the bliss of orgasm. Love you, witch.
Had she heard him say that? She hadn’t brought it up. Most women would latch on to those words and never let them go.
Had he meant what he’d said? How could he? It had been uttered in a mindless moment.
“This guy is always willing and able,” she said, turning and grinding her derriere against his penis. “You may have some talent that the Demon Arts Troupe could utilize.”
“What, an endlessly hard cock?”
“We feature erotic acts on Sundays.”
“I don’t think so.” He hugged her from behind, pressing his erection against the soft sweater skirt until he fit between her buttocks. “Mmm…” He kissed her below the earlobe. “I’ll miss you tonight.”
“I suppose you’ll be working all night?”
“I have to. I won’t return home until I have a solid lead on Slater.”
“I wish I could help you with that. That vampire moves often. I don’t have a clue where he could be hiding out.”
“I don’t want you to get more involved than you already are. Besides, I’ve found a hideout for Zmaj. I’m staking it out tonight.”
He’d considered the bait notion King had mentioned. Then he’d dismissed it because he hadn’t thought she’d agree. He didn’t want to unnecessarily endanger Verity. But…
“If I could find the vampire who bit you, then he could lead me to Slater.”
“How to do that?”
“He would recognize you from the bite. Vamps can usually sense when one they’ve bitten is near. The bite bonds the victim to the vamp, in a way.”
“Yes, I know that. But the spell has removed the taint, so there is that.”
He kissed her again, unwilling to mention the idea of her as bait. If it occurred to her and she approved, she would have caught his little lure.
“You should get going,” he said. “Talk to you sooner rather than later.”
* * *
The lair harbored vampires, yet he saw no sign of the bald one. But as soon as Rook landed in the dark cave beneath the club, the vampires lunged for him—all at once.
He took out one immediately. Stake swinging, he slashed the air and on the return stroke took out another longtooth. Two grabbed him from behind, pinning his shoulders to the limestone walls. Another went for his neck—yet pulled back, his mouth bleeding from the blades.
Rook kicked him off and struggled with the others. He took a steel toe to his thigh. Bones shifted beneath his skin, but he didn’t suspect a break. Still, the sudden pain brought him to his knees.
Time to fight or die.
* * *
After the show, Verity walked home as usual. The Metro was far enough away to make the walk about the same distance as catching a train. And although she should have at least taken a cab after her harrowing night being attacked by vampires, she hated sitting in the back of those smelly vehicles.
She was a big girl. She would not be forced to cower and shudder each time she went out into the world.
Unfortunately, now she felt as if she were being followed. It was a weird prickling heat that curled down the back of her neck and at her wrists—something she’d neglected to notice the night she’d been attacked. Because then she’d stupidly walked right into a pack of vamps, not even thinking as she turned the corner, “Hey, I should avoid that group of nasty-looking sneering men.”
Now she wasn’t going to think twice and vacillate on whether or not she was making things up. Her home was still a long walk away, so she dashed inside a late-night bistro and took a chair by the window. Scanning the streets, she didn’t see anyone who looked like a vampire or who
may have been following her, but then again, it could be anyone.
Or she could be imagining things.
Tugging out her cell phone, she started to dial Rook’s number, then paused. “Shoot. I need to get his number.”
Number or not, she didn’t need to bother him every time the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He was busy, hopefully stalking the vampires who could be following her. And a ringing phone could give him away to the enemy.
Her mother’s voice rattled in her brain.
Don’t trust any man. You can get yourself out of this bind.
Right. Bind getter-outer? Not so much lately. And she was beginning to trust Rook. Maybe a little?
It was time to take the next step. To move toward a future without fear. She wanted that. She just wasn’t sure how to let go and simply allow it to come to her.
At the table next to her, the waitress delivered a steak and a bottle of wine to a rotund man. He cut into the bloody slab of meat and nodded his approval.
Verity usually gagged at the sight of such red meat oozing out pink juices, but now she sniffed the air. The scent was savory and strangely appealing, and as it grew stronger, it also grew less offensive. It smelled dark and—not horrible.
Clutching the fork from the place setting in front of her, she turned toward the man, and just as she almost brazenly stabbed at his plate, the waitress blocked her.
“Uh, bonsoir,” Verity said, trying to act nonchalant. She would order tea so they wouldn’t rush her out. “Thé noir, s’il vous plait.”
The waitress nodded and strolled away. Unaware she’d almost tried to snag his meal, the man consuming the meat actually grunted with pleasure.
Now disgusted by the gourmand’s gustatory habits, Verity turned toward the window and swallowed. Clasping a hand over her throat, she closed her eyes. Had she been thinking the bloody meat appealing? Still the smell reached her table, and it was so…appetizing.
The horror of it made her clutch her gut. This was insane. Finding appeal in something so horrible could only mean one thing. The spell hadn’t worked. If it had, she certainly wouldn’t find bloody meat appetizing.
