Masters of Seduction: Books 1-4: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by Lara Adrian

  He followed her, but when she started running into the moonlit desert, white silk and flaxen hair billowing out behind her, he cursed and took off after her. About twenty feet out, he caught up to her, took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

  “Let me go,” she demanded, struggling in his arms.

  Darkness spread out around them. The only illumination coming from the moon above, the torches around the pool and the muted light spilling out from the windows of the suite.

  “Why are you acting this way?” he asked, holding her still. “You are Nephilim.”

  “So the hell what?” she shot back.

  “We are meant to mate, to breed, Rosamund. It is how things are. How they have always been.”

  “As you said, Vipera, things are changing.” Breathing heavy, her eyes were fierce and glowing under the moonlight. “I’m meant for whoever I wish to be meant for.”

  “That’s a child’s fairy tale.”

  “No, that’s a woman’s choice.”

  “You are not a woman,” he growled, pulling her closer. “You are not human. And you should not being mating or setting up house with one.”

  Her face was inches from his. “He is good and kind and cares about me. He wants to make me happy.”

  “Good and kind,” Scarus uttered blackly as the desert wind picked up around them. “What would you do with such a male? Share your day’s events while braiding each other’s hair?”

  She looked like she wanted to hit him. “You can’t understand because you don’t have a kind or generous bone in your barbarian body!”

  Right now the bones in Scarus’s body were humming against the tense, ready muscles. “Tell me something, Rosamund. Does this male create a fire inside of you?”

  She fell silent, except for her ragged breath. Her eyes flickered to his mouth.

  “When he touches you, do you melt?” Scarus continued.

  She shook her head. “Stop that.”

  “When he kisses you, does your sex weep?”

  “It’s not like that,” she said on a whimper.

  “Cazzo, Rosamund,” Scarus cursed. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. “It should be like that,” he whispered. “Don’t you understand? When a male holds you, kisses you, touches you, every inch of your body should erupt. Like a volcano. Like this.” He captured her mouth on a growl. He kissed her so intensely, so fully, his tongue slipping past her lips to play, that when he pulled back an inch, she went with him.

  “Sì, bella Rosa,” he uttered on a growl, taking her face in his hands.

  This time, when he captured her lips again, she groaned and plunged her tongue into his mouth. Merda! She tasted of spiced honey. So sweet, so hungry. She matched him in her need. Pressing herself against him, moaning when he changed the angle of their kiss to go deeper. Heat infused him, wanted to overtake him. The demon magic hummed just below the surface of his skin, begging to be released. He’d wanted this from the moment Rosamund had come to his suite, in her padding and orange robes, her greasy hair and those shockingly beautiful eyes no amount of sallow makeup could hide.

  As she dragged her hands up between their bodies and grabbed onto the lapels of his suit, yanking him closer, Scarus’s body pulsed with the need to make her writhe and cry out and explode with pleasure. Not just because his existence relied upon it, but because he wanted her to feel that fire, that hunger that was inside of her too—in her nature. He was no sweet, kind, compassionate human. But he knew what Rosamund craved and he could give it to her—for as long as she wanted, as many times as she wanted it.

  That no human man could ever give to her.

  Cupping her face, his thumbs stroking the underside of her jaw, he feasted on her mouth. Every moan, every sigh she released belonged to him and he lapped them up with his tongue, then thrust himself back into her mouth. He was hard everywhere, his cock pressed between them. And she was soft and wet and fragrant. His nostrils filled with her scent and he ground his hips against her.

  On a whimper of anger and sexual frustration, she pushed at him. The sudden shift of feeling yanked Scarus from his sensual devotion, and he released her instantly.

  Remaining where she was, she stared up at him. Her breathing was ragged, her eyes heavy lidded, and her skin glowed with health and heat under the moonlight. Scarus had never seen anything so beautiful or so tantalizing in his life, and he wanted to consume every inch of her.

  “Please,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “Turn it off, Vipera.”

  “What?” he uttered, confused. His eyes were pinned to her mouth. He wanted those lips again. And the ones below her navel. He breathed in deeply, trying to keep her scent within him.

  “The power,” she said. “The thrall. Stop it now.”

  His eyes flipped up to meet hers. What was she saying? That their kiss was… He stared at her, nostrils flared, skin pulling tight around rock hard flesh. “I am doing nothing, Rosamund. I assure you.” One brow lifted sardonically. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not coming from me. Not in the way you think.”

  She shook her head, her arms wrapping her body. “Don’t do this to me again,” she begged. “Don’t make me come.”

  “I am not.”

  “Liar,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “No. You will do anything to create this frenzy inside of me.”

  His chin lowered and the viper inside of him struck. “The frenzy, mia bella, is your body wanting mine.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No.”

  “You want to feel what true thrall is once again? Just so you will know the difference, of course?” Ire and sexual hunger, and something he couldn’t name—something foreign he’d never felt before—rippled through him, and he flipped the switch.

  Rosamund had already been halfway to climax from their kiss. With the demon magic upon her, it only took seconds for her to convulse with shocking pleasure. Power surged into Scarus as she cried out, orgasm rippling through her. But he took no satisfaction in it. Only disappointment.

  “Do you see the difference now, Rosamund?” he asked bitterly.

  She looked up at him. “You are shameless,” she uttered through gritted teeth.

  Yes. “I am Incubi.”

  And with that, he used the power she’d just granted him to teleport back to the suite.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rosamund was wrecked.

  Emotionally, physically, mentally wrecked.

  And yet, she wanted more.

  Of him. Of what he’d made her feel when his lips had taken hers. It wasn’t his thrall that had done it. She knew that, and hated herself for it. If it had been his demon power, she could’ve blamed the entire wanton mistake on him. On his barbarian nature. But when his mouth had captured hers, when his hands had gripped her face, she’d melted. No. She’d erupted. Never in her life had she felt such desire. Not the false desire of an Incubus’s demon magic, but real hunger and uncontrolled need.

  She stepped up onto the terrace stones. She’d been outside for more than an hour. Sitting on the sand, staring at the moon, wishing she could turn back time. Wishing she’d gone to the end of the line of Nephilim in the Garden Room. Wishing she hadn’t leaned into Scarus Vipera after he’d kissed her that first time.

  Wishing he hadn’t stopped when she’d pushed him away.

  Her hands shook at her sides as she passed by the pool and headed for the French doors. She was a fool, a hedonist. A breaker of promises. Once she returned to Roger she would tell him everything and hope that he forgave her.

  If, in fact, she was able to return at all.

  But first she had to get through the night with Master Vipera. Goddess only knew what was waiting for her inside the suite. More thrall? More tantalizing looks? More arguments? More claims of possession? But what she found when she entered the massive and beautifully designed room was a very casual and non-threatening Scarus Vipera on the bed. Not at all like
the dangerous, erotic viper she knew him to be. He was propped up on several thick pillows, reading a book. His long, large body clad in only a pair of black drawstring pants.

  Like the fool she was slowly but surely showing herself to be, her gaze moved over him. He had very wide, very tan, very muscular shoulders and arms that she remembered feeling almost desperate to run her hands over when he was kissing her earlier. His chest was a solid wall of muscle except for the two dusky nipples and waves of abdominals. But it was the way those black pants hung low on his lean hips, giving her a clear view of his navel and the masculine trail of hair that disappeared into the black waistband, that made her mouth start to water.

  Made her entire being flush with unresolved heat and tension.

  She swallowed tightly and forced her gaze to lift. It was in that moment that he glanced up from his book and found her standing there, near the edge of the bed.

  Gold eyes pinned her. “Can I get you something, Rosamund?”

  Your pants. Off. “Your approval of my release would be good,” she said through tightly clenched teeth.

  His mouth curved up into a smile. “I meant wine, fruit…” His eyes flashed with heat. “Dessert, perhaps.”

  “I don’t need to be taken care of, Master Vipera.” I only need to get out of here before I make an even bigger mistake. One I can’t come back from. One that won’t be forgiven.

  One I want so badly I ache with it.

  “That’s not what you professed earlier,” he said, placing his book on the side table. “When you spoke of what you wanted, what you didn’t have growing up.”

  “I was talking about Roger.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. He seemed to be mulling something over in his mind. Then, he asked, “You think Dr. Young is going to take care of you?”

  Roger’s name on this man’s lips made her gut ache. “It’s the kind of man he is,” she returned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Why? Because I am a barbarian who only wishes to fuck you.” He said the words without malice.

  “Fuck me, fuck any female,” she answered. “You know nothing about care or kindness or sacrifice or civility.”

  “That is quite a judgment.”

  “As you said, you’re an Incubus. I can’t blame you for that. How you were brought up. What you were in essence trained to be. I’m willing to bet you’ve never loved a thing in your life.”

  His eyes suddenly flashed with heat and ferocity. “Don’t speak of love, Rosamund. That emotion colors our vision, makes us see things and believe things that aren’t true. Makes us vulnerable to debilitating pain.”

  “That isn’t the love I know, Scarus.”

  “Oh?”

  “No. Love is gentleness and kindness. Love is hope and seeing beyond the physical.”

  “And your Roger is all of these things, is he?”

  “Of course.”

  “The veterinarian was married six weeks ago, Rosamund,” he said evenly, unsympathetically. Without any kind of emotion at all.

  Rosamund froze. She stared at him, unblinking. “What did you just say?”

  His dark blond brows arched severely. “It took my Watchman five minutes to find him, and another five to see the happy announcement.”

  Her breath was caught in her lungs. She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.” Roger wouldn’t have done that. Maybe they weren’t promised to each other with rings, but there had been words.

  Scarus reached for his Blackberry, which was also on the side table, and held it out to her. Rosamund practically dove at it like a hawk hungry for prey. She had to see. The viper had to be lying. He wanted to hurt her because she’d rejected him—because she’d pushed him away…

  Tears tightened her throat. There he was, sweet and sensitive Roger, on the screen. She didn’t recognize the woman he held in his arms, but she was pretty and smiling. She bit her lip. They were both smiling.

  Dr. and Mrs. Roger Young.

  It was all she chose to read before tossing it back on the bed. Without another word, she grabbed a blanket from the end of the four poster and headed over to the rug on the floor. In her beautiful white dress, she lay down and covered herself. Tears leaked from her eyes. Not because she had loved Roger. She cared for him. He was a good man. But because he had represented the life she’d wanted so dearly. The family she’d never had. Would probably never have now.

  She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep. But just as she was about to drift off, she felt hands beneath her, lifting her.

  “Wait—” she cried out. “Please don’t.”

  “You will not sleep on the floor like a dog, Rosamund.” Scarus carried her to the bed and placed her down on top of the coverlet. “I won’t touch you again. Nor will I make you cream or cry out.”

  She didn’t look at him when he covered her with the blanket. But she listened as he walked around to his side of the bed and lay back down. The click of the lamp brought on darkness, save the moon. And Rosamund waited to hear his breathing slow and grow even before she allowed herself to sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Scarus awoke to the dull, gray light of dawn, and the anxious moans of a dreaming female. It took him only seconds to recall where he was and who slept beside him. He had never shared a bed with a female for anything other than sex, as he believed such an intimate act was reserved for mated couples. Something he was completely uninterested in. Or had been, before last night.

  Another pained groan cut through the silence. Rosamund must be having a nightmare, he thought with a pang of what he believed might be guilt. He wasn’t familiar with the emotion. But after his callous treatment of her last evening, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was the cause of her fretfulness.

  In an attempt to comfort her, he turned over onto his side. But what greeted him when he did was anything but a nightmare. Rosamund’s moans didn’t stem from pain or fear or anxiety. She was dreaming of pleasure. Blood pooled low in his belly as he wondered who her mind was conjuring as she touched herself. His gaze raked over her hungrily. The bodice of her dress was pulled down, exposing one pale breast. A breast she was massaging, squeezing, pulling until the ripe nipple extended fully. Her skirt was up around her waist and she wore no panties beneath it. Her long, smooth legs were clamped tightly together, thigh kissing thigh, and her feet were crossed at the ankles. As she plucked and pinched her nipple, her other hand was busy inside her shaved sex, two fingers working her clit as she pumped her hips furiously.

  Scarus felt his cock fill with blood and rise to his navel. He should leave the bed. Before the demon inside of him awoke too. Before it pushed him into taking what it felt it deserved.

  The scent of her sweet pussy rose to meet his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. He wanted it. Her sticchio. His tongue inside, tasting, making her wake, making her wetter.

  Without thought, he leaned down and kissed her breast, the one still covered. Rosamund responded instantly, her back arching, her lips parting in another sensual moan.

  “Yes,” she cooed. “Kiss me.”

  Jaw tight, Scarus closed his eyes and fought for control. The demon inside of him was scratching to get out. It needed to be fed, and Rosamund’s tight, hot and very wet sex was exactly where it wanted to be.

  Just inches away from her skin, he whispered, “Rosamund, you must wake.”

  Her hand abandoned her breast then and reached for him. “Lick me,” she whimpered in an almost desperate tone as her fingers wrapped around his neck. “I have to know. I have to know.”

  Merda. She wasn’t awake. True, he was a barbarian, but he didn’t take without consent.

  “Please,” she urged, guiding his face to her breast. “Suckle me. Hard. I have to know what you feel like.”

  The perfect, pale globe with its tight pink bud was an inch away. It cried out to him. Fuck. He dropped his head and lapped at it with his tongue. Instantly, Rosamund groaned and arched her back further. Scarus lapped at it again, then ran his nose over it,
flicking it back and forth gently. Then, when he could no longer stand it, he took the full mound in his hand, squeezed and latched on.

  Pure, almost shocking pleasure rippled through his body as he suckled her deep into his mouth.

  “Oh Goddess, yes!” she cried, her fingers digging into the skin of his neck.

  Feeding his hunger and her need, he alternated between sucking, flicking and biting. It was the biting she seemed to like best. It made her writhe, made the scent of her arousal intensify.

  Made her nearly come.

  A growl vibrated through Scarus. No matter how desperately his demon desired the power of her climax, Scarus wasn’t going to allow it. Not yet. Not until he claimed her with his tongue. Not until he knew her taste.

  With one last rake of his teeth to her nipple, he moved down her body, not stopping until he reached the skin of her exposed belly. Slowly, languidly, he kissed her, lapping at her navel. Her hips were lifting and lowering, begging and pleading, and he wanted to accommodate her. Give her what she was aching for. But there was something inside of him that feared it. Not accepting her power. No, that wasn’t it. Confusion swam in his overheated blood as he stared at her shaved sex, glistening with the moisture of her arousal. He dipped his head and ran his tongue over the top of her sex. He groaned at the sweet, addictive taste.

  “Please,” she begged again. “Look at me.”

  Scarus glanced up, his gut tight, his cock straining to be released. Waves of blond hair bracketed a beautiful, sleep-weary face with parted pink lips and eyes that were very much open and aware. He waited, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the scent he craved.

  “Open for me, Rosamund,” he uttered fiercely.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she brought her knees up, then let them fall to the side. It was all the consent Scarus needed. His gaze dropped and he took in the most entrancing sight in the world.