by Brenda Huber
“Fair enough.” Smiling, not wanting to ruin his mood, she drained the last of her coffee and set the cup aside. “So, what do we do while we wait for the others to get back?”
He thought for a moment, and then asked, “Chess, anyone?”
She grinned. In short order, she snared the chess set she’d seen in Sebastian’s den and set the board up on the kitchen table. That was how Niklas found them two hours later when he returned from wherever it was that he’d shimmered to. They were laughing companionably as they battled head to head for the title of chess champion.
She turned in her seat to greet him, but the glower on his face threatened the good mood Gideon had worked so hard to cultivate. Dark shadows smudged Niklas’s eyes. His wounds had healed, and his face was no longer drawn with pain. He’d fed, she surmised; a chill swept over her, and her smile slowly died. This was something else she’d have to learn how to deal with, adjust her thinking to accept. Niklas needed to do this horrible, revolting thing to survive. Regardless of whether or not his victims were evil, regardless of whether or not they deserved to die this way—losing their very souls—they were still human.
Human…like her.
“Well, glad to see you two have gotten so cozy.” He tossed a black duffel bag to the floor. He scowled at Gideon. “Don’t you have something more important to do than sit here playing games?”
“If I might remind you, you were the one that demanded I stay here to watch over her while you were gone.”
“I said watch over her, not flirt with her and be her cheap entertainment.”
“And that’s my cue.” Gideon pushed to his feet and offered Carly a deep bow. “I concede the field, my dear.” He took one long look at Niklas, then shot a sympathetic grin her way. “I’d ask if your shots are up to date, but mankind hasn’t formulated a strain for demon rabies yet.”
“His bark is worse than his bite,” she assured Gideon with a negligent shrug. “Besides, I’ve been known to bite back.”
Gideon’s brows lifted at that and he chuckled. “Well, then, on that intriguing note, I’ll be off. Demons to slay and all that. I’ll be seein’ you later, darlin’.”
He shimmered from the room, leaving her to face Niklas’s disagreeable disposition alone.
Carly crossed her arms. “Can I make you something to eat?”
“If I want something, I’ll conjure it.” As if to prove his point, a can of soda appeared in his hand. “You can save playing house for Gideon.”
“We weren’t playing house. And you didn’t have to be so rude to him, you know,” she scolded.
He snarled, plunked down and shoved the chessboard roughly aside. Kings and queens rolled. Pawns and bishops clattered to the floor.
“What is your problem?” She squared off against him, gripping the back of the chair.
“My problem just left. Or at least half of it did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve barely been gone for two hours, and here you two sit, chumming it up like besties.”
“You’re jealous.” Baffled, she rocked back on her heels, frowning. “Don’t you know that there’s nothing for you to be—”
“I am not,” he scoffed, pushing to his feet. He strode from the room, leaving a full can of soda on the table and scattered chess pieces littering the floor.
“Don’t walk away from me,” she snapped, racing after him. “And you’re certainly acting jealous.” She glared at his back while he stomped through the living room, heading for the den. “Damn it, I’m talking to you.” Overcome with frustration, she snatched up a throw pillow from the couch, threw it at him with all her might and hit him square in the back of the head.
He whirled around, his mouth hanging open, incredulous.
Striding right up to him, utterly fearless, she smacked his chest and demanded, “Did I look like I was putting the moves on him? Do I look like I wanted him?”
“No, right now you just look pissed off.”
“I meant before, when you came back and Gideon was still here. Did I honestly look like I was flirting with him? Was I all”—she waved wildly—“all hot and bothered when he was here?” She smacked his chest again, snarling, “No! I was not.” But she wasn’t through. She didn’t want to have to repeat this scene every time he left her there with one of the others either. “Do I act all hot and bothered by Xander, or Sebastian? No and no. So don’t start accusing me of lusting after one of your buddies, you big, blind, hard-headed jackass. I don’t feel desire for any of them.”
“Only me,” he whispered, staring down at her with a strange, bemused light shining in his eyes.
“What?” That put her back on her heels. Frowning, she took an uneasy step back.
“I said ‘only me’.” He edged closer, following her, making her feel as if the tables had suddenly turned. Making her feel like prey in the sights of a dangerous predator. “Your body only goes haywire whenever I get close to you, when I touch you. And when I kiss you—” He broke off, sucking in a sharp breath of understanding. His whole demeanor changed. Before he seemed angry and jealous. Hurt. Now, he seemed, intrigued. Hopeful. “In fact, unless I’m mistaken, right now, you’re getting a bit, ah, ‘hot and bothered’, wasn’t it?”
“The only desire I have right now,” she fired back, eager to divert the focus, “is the desire to hit you over the head with a few of Sebastian’s books.” She turned on her heel and beat a hasty retreat toward the kitchen.
Niklas shimmered across the living room, directly in her path. Dodging him, she veered around the sofa and toward the stairs.
“Ah, ah,” he crooned, wagging a finger as he once again shimmered into her path, “not so fast.” Before she could evade, he caged her in his arms. “You want me to face facts. Fine, I’ll admit that you don’t want any of the others. I’ve been letting my jealousy get in the way of seeing the truth. A mistake I won’t be making again. And I’ll also admit, and you will too, here and now, that you want me.” His eyelids lowered until he gazed at her with sensual intent. “Only me.”
Her eyes flared wide. This was not what she’d intended when she’d chased him from the kitchen. Oh, she wanted him all right. Wanted the hell out of him, no pun intended. But one of them had to consider his salvation, his return to Heaven. And the loneliness she was sure to face once more in the very near future.
And it sure didn’t appear to be him, by the look in his eye.
Why did he have to give her that look again? She couldn’t resist that look. Oh, she was in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble, was her last coherent thought before he seized her lips.
He didn’t give her time to object. Didn’t give her time to call to mind the many reasons she shouldn’t be doing this. He simply moved in, staking his claim. His heat surrounded her, caged her, seduced her. His hands eased over her, rubbing, gripping, molding her against his body. His long, lean, hard body. The evidence of his arousal pressed to her stomach. He shifted his hips, rubbing the rock-hard bulge in his pants against her.
Moaning softly into his mouth, she twined her arms around his neck and laced her fingers in his hair, pressing closer still. He’d firmly assumed the role of aggressor, laying siege to her defenses, decimating any good intentions about forgiveness and salvation she might have clung to.
Without warning, he shimmered them to her bedroom. His bedroom. She’d lost her clothing somewhere along the way. One moment, she’d been wearing the cheerful sundress and sandals she’d found among her new wardrobe. The next moment, she wore nothing more than a scandalous, lacy bra and a scrap of lace that—only to an optimist—might pass for panties. In fact, all the bras and panties in her drawer had been nearly exact replicas of this set, just in different colors. Heat had filled her cheeks this morning as she’d dressed herself, thinking that he’d conjured them for her.
He pul
led back to look at her. His expression turned her knees to water. Heat filled her cheeks now as it was more than obvious he approved.
Slowly, he took her hand, lifted it and kissed each of her fingertips, then her palm. His shirt vanished, leaving her with a mouthwatering vista of deeply tanned skin and sculpted muscles. Niklas pressed her hand to his heart and held it there. His expression was so intense, she had trouble focusing on anything else. He drew a deep breath, his chest rising beneath her hand.
That momentary break was just long enough for sanity to return. Suddenly, doubt assailed her. How could she make love with him? How could she hold him back, how could she come between him and his chance at forgiveness? How could she—
As if sensing her doubts—fearing them—he dipped his head and captured her lips, ensnaring her once more, not giving her a moment longer to examine her thoughts too closely. His hands skated up the sides of her body, pulling her closer. Giving herself over to the overwhelming need, both his and hers, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back with wild abandon. She might end up all alone again after this was over. But she had right now, this moment, with this man. She’d be a fool not to give herself this moment to carry with her.
The way he kissed her, the way he held her.
This time, there would be no stopping. No pulling back, no pulling away.
She slid her hands down his chest and a shiver of need swept through her at the warmth of his bare skin. She grasped the waistband of his jeans.
“Please,” she panted against his lips, before he could deny her the pleasure. “Let me.”
He cupped her cheeks, angled his head and kissed her with renewed urgency. But he didn’t vanish his jeans, bowing to her wishes. Her fingers skimmed the velvety skin of his abdomen. His muscles contracted. Ticklish, a tiny corner of her mind registered, even as she tugged at the button, manipulated the zipper. Her hands slipped into the sagging waistband, and then beneath his boxers, sinking to cup his taut buttocks.
Groaning, he vanished his clothing. His mouth, hot and greedy, branded the side of her neck. His movements lost their smooth grace. He was rough now, driven by primal urges.
“You were supposed to let me do that,” she protested, breathless as his lips left a hot trail from the corner of her mouth to suckle at her earlobe.
“Next time,” he growled. His hands gripped her hips as he thrust his scalding, engorged, naked erection against her lace-covered womanhood. “I’ve already waited an eternity for you,” he rasped between stinging nips and lavish suckling. “I can’t wait any longer.”
He lifted her in his strong arms, settled her on the bed, then crawled over her, covering her with his body. The look in his eyes seared her. Her nipples puckered in response. Her body ached. His erection pulsed between them, thick and demanding, begging for her attention. Unable to resist, she slid her hand down his ribs, over his hip, down and then back up the length of his thigh, marveling at the texture of his hot skin.
As she neared his erection, his breath arrested and the muscles in his abdomen flexed. Carly looked at his face, please with his stunned expression. An amazing sense of power enveloped her. She sifted her fingers lightly through the dark, wiry hair surrounding his manhood, and she studied his expression closely.
He held completely still. And he watched her. Oh, how he watched her.
He liked how she touched him. The sense of anticipation, the torment. She saw that easily enough.
She caught the edge of her lower lip between her teeth and, with just the tips of her fingers, she traced his erection from base to tip. His skin was soft as silk. And, beneath the silk, rock solid. Throbbing. Thick. So very, very hot. Her fingers traced him, skimming the head of his arousal. Palming it, she slowly closed her fingers around him and stroked him tip to base.
His eyes all but rolled back in his head. Smiling, she pushed farther up on the bed, licking her lips. Her mouth watered. How would he taste?
Carly pushed at his chest, forcing him onto his back, and then leaned over him, her intent more than obvious. His chest expanded on a sharp breath. And then he froze in anticipation. Her lips grazed the very tip of him. A raw oath exploded from his lips. Before she could taste him fully, before she could draw him into her mouth, he let out a harsh growl and twisted, shoving her back on the bed. He towered over her, his expression fierce. His lips found hers. His tongue plunged. Ravenous. His body pinned hers. His hands were no longer gentle. Her bra was gone. And her panties. She couldn’t remember the exact moment they disappeared. Then again, maybe he’d simply shredded them in his haste to touch her bare flesh. What she did remember was the exact moment his mouth sealed over her nipple and he drew it deeply into his mouth. His fingertips feathered over her stomach, dipped lower, seeking.
Finding.
Oh!
His fingers slicked, smoothed, played, setting fire to her blood.
Gasping, she writhed beneath him. Mindless. She pulled at him, gripped him, scored his shoulders with her nails. Labored breathing became ragged pants as her hips mindlessly followed his fingers.
“Please, Niklas—”
His fingers slid through her curls, circled, slow, languid, so at odds with the frantic pull of his mouth at her breast. She’d thought she’d been on fire before. She’d had no idea what it meant to burn.
Now she did.
His lips left her breast, sought the other, and still he continued to circle her, deliberate, unhurried. He trailed nibbling kisses over her stomach, across her hip. He devoured her with his mouth, greedy and hungry, and yet continued to torment her with the slow pace of his hand. His finger would slip closer, so close to sinking into her, only to draw back.
Carly squirmed on the bed. Thrashing. Moaning. His mouth slid up her thigh, meandering, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Closer. Closer.
She gasped aloud, nearly came off the bed altogether, when his mouth finally found her core. Oh dear Lord, burning never felt so good.
He played his lips, his tongue, his teeth over her. And—God, yes—he finally eased his finger inside, circling, plunging. Dragging her closer to the edge. The pressure increased as he slid a second finger inside her, sinking deeper still. And then a third, stretching her, preparing her.
She was frantic now, sobbing his name.
He twisted his wrist, changing the angle of his strokes, deepened the intimate kiss, finding just the right spot, applying just the right amount of pressure, sending her screaming into a spiral of sheer ecstasy.
Niklas didn’t stop there. He continued to lavish kiss after kiss on her, savoring the flavor of her nectar on his tongue. Never had he been so in tune with a woman’s body. Never had a woman’s pleasure mattered so much, or affected him so strongly. This was his tá’hiri. His Carly. His female.
His mate.
Her release had been so powerful, it had taken every ounce of his control not to spend himself against her calf. But he wouldn’t. He’d waited too long. When he finally found his release, it would be inside her body. He would give her every last ounce of his seed.
He allowed her less than a moment of respite—time he desperately needed himself—before stroking passion into her body again with his fingers, with his mouth.
When she was writhing once more, clutching at him and tugging at his hair—once he realized that if she found orgasm again he likely would as well, whether he was ready or not, whether he was inside her or not—Niklas slowly slid his fingers from her hot, drenched flesh. Her disappointed groan, the way she arched toward him, brought a feral smile to his lips.
Crawling up her body, he sampled her skin, savoring the light, musky sheen of sweat he’d wrung from her. Her lips clung to his, her tongue thrust against his, tangled, suckled his as he settled his large frame over her. Even lost in passion as he was—nearly wild with it—he braced most of his weight on his elbows, ever cognizant of the difference in thei
r size, aware of how easily he might injure her.
He slipped between her legs, used his knees to widen the cradle of her thighs, struggling to hold himself back, determined to take it slowly. Now that he had her naked and writhing beneath him, part of him was eager to draw the moment out. He suddenly didn’t want to rush, not this first time with his Carly. But she was so impatient, had been so tight on his fingers, urging him on, begging for his touch, straining his control. And he’d gone without release for so long. His body and his mind had never been so at odds. Make the moment last, just a little longer? Or plunge and ravish?
“Slow down,” he ground out between clenched teeth, the admonishment as much for himself as for her.
“Faster,” she argued, wrapping her legs around his waist, squeezing him, lifting herself like an offering. “Please, Niklas, I need you now. I can’t wait.”
The head of his shaft skated across her core. She was ready for him. Oh, so wet. And so unbelievably hot. He shuddered, then every muscle in his body went rigid. The darker side of his nature took over completely, snapping his restraint like a single strand of thread.
Take. Claim. Now!
He grabbed hold of her knees, shoved them up and plunged inside her, all the way to the hilt in one fast, delirious stroke. She screamed in his ear, raked her nails across his shoulders. He gasped, staring down into her eyes, frozen, stunned by the brutality of that first thrust. Every one of his senses overloaded. Carly thrashed her head, arched her back, and clenched him tight, all the while crying out for more. His lack of control had somehow heightened her arousal.
Her eyes had glazed over. Her chest rose and fell in quick little pants. She whimpered, pleading for more. He’d never witnessed anything so sensual, so utterly erotic in his long, long life.
Her muscles contracted around him, once, twice—God help him, she was doing it on purpose—and stars exploded before his eyes. Throwing his head back, he lost control of his body. He began pumping, his back arching. He slammed himself inside her, each thrust a precious ecstasy—a divine agony. Over and over. Deeper. Harder.
