“Do you trust me not to penetrate you?”
“I—maybe.” Silly girl. Shouldn’t trust him even a little.
An intense fire suddenly banked the contours of Lucien’s features. “Take off your clothes for me, Anya. I won’t penetrate you in any way, I swear it. But I do want to touch you. Everywhere. I have to touch you.”
He disappeared before she could reply. Losing her anchor, she crashed facefirst into the mattress with a yelp. She rolled to her back, scowling. That bas—
He reappeared on top of her. And he was naked.
She sucked in a breath, waiting for him to try to shove inside her as Aias had done. There was a storm of panic, but a moment passed and he did nothing. Gradually, the storm receded and she relaxed. As she did, she realized the feel of his weight was divine, the touch of his bare skin pure temptation.
“Let me,” he said.
“I—I—” Her mouth watered. To be pleasured and not fear the consequences…
“Let me have you in every way that I can without actually penetrating,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “Please. I want to taste you.”
Of all the men she shouldn’t trust, Lucien topped the list. But gods, she wanted his mouth on her. She wanted to at last experience a climax with a man. With this man. Only this man.
Decision made, she flashed to the side of the bed. She stripped as fast as she could, Lucien’s gaze burning her, then she flashed beside him. He was lying on his back now, giving her a full view of him. Scars stretched from his face all the way down to his right leg.
The overhead light shone brightly, caressing his entire length. And there was a lot to caress. Velvet skin poured over hard steel. He had no chest hair and only the slightest sprinkling on his legs. That black butterfly tattoo still mesmerized her and even seemed to pulse under her scrutiny, as if seeking her touch.
She reached out, grazing her fingertips over the edges as she’d longed to do since first seeing it. Heat seared her. Lucien must have felt it, too, because he arched into her stroke with a groan.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she admitted.
“And I’ve wanted you to do it.”
Tracing the jagged black lines, she asked, “How did you get the scars?”
“I carved myself with a poisoned blade,” he admitted with only the slightest hesitation, “and set myself on fire. When I healed, I did it again. And again.”
Gods. The pain he must have endured…“Determined to die?”
“At first, perhaps. The woman I loved had died, and I was the one to escort her soul to the heavens.”
He’d been in love? Anya hated the thought, but she liked the thought of his suffering even less. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “When I realized that I would live, I prayed for the scars to remain. Someone must have answered that prayer—who it could have been, I do not know—because they finally stopped healing.”
Sounded like the kind of prayer her mother might answer, since physical imperfection defied the natural order of immortality. “Why would you pray for such a thing? I’m not complaining, I’m just curious.”
“I wanted them to remain so that women would turn away from me and I would never again be in danger of falling in love. I wanted them so that I would always remember to do my job, never falter.”
“I didn’t turn away from you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You faltered.”
“Yes. I am glad.”
So was she. Anya returned to her studies. His erection was huge. Thick and perfectly tipped, just like before. Mine, she thought.
“Come here,” Lucien said, his voice heavy with arousal.
Last chance to resist.
Shaking, she crawled up his body, so hot, so needy. She was bare and wet and slid up his cock. Both of them sucked in a worshipful breath. Amazing! Oh, what other delicious things had she been missing?
“Closer,” he said.
She leaned down. When her breasts were smashed against his hard chest, he melded their lips together in a white-hot kiss. He even rolled her over. Again she experienced a moment’s panic that he meant to break his word, but he merely kissed a path to her pebbled nipples.
His hot tongue traced a circle around them, making her shiver. Then he blew a cool breath, hardening them further. Then he sucked them into his mouth, one at a time, lancing pleasure straight to her core. It was the most stimulation she’d experienced in…forever.
In minutes, she was writhing, tugging at his hair, arching her hips, needing more. “Lucien,” she panted.
“I haven’t pleasured a woman in a long, long time,” he said, his voice broken. “Tell me if I do something wrong. Something you do not like.”
“I like. I like, I swear!”
He trailed kisses down her stomach, getting closer and closer to the juncture between her thighs. “Lucien,” she said again. Stop him. No, don’t let him stop. More. More! No, no more. “Lucien.” She squeezed her knees together.
“No penetration, not even with my tongue. I’m just going to lick you.”
Oh, gods. Her legs fell open of their own accord, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. If she didn’t come soon, she would die. Erupt into flames. Something, anything to end the torment.
Maybe that was the point of this encounter. Kill her with pleasure. But she couldn’t make herself care.
He gripped her knees and spread them farther apart, pushing them up and making her as vulnerable as a woman could be. If he tries to sink a finger inside of you, just flash.
Leaving him might kill her, too, she decided.
Besides, she forgot her own advice the moment his tongue stroked her. The pleasure was so intense, she screamed. So startling, so real, so wondrous, she gripped his head and drew him back when he tried to pull away, most likely to ask if she enjoyed it. Nothing, in all the centuries of her existence, had ever felt so miraculous.
“More?” he asked.
“More. Please.”
“You taste so good. So damned good. Can’t get enough.” He licked and he sucked and he tormented and he teased, and she loved it all. She arched against his face, letting him tongue her until she was sobbing with need.
She would have given Lucien anything he asked just then, but he never asked for anything more than her enjoyment. He gave and gave and gave, his mouth working her with nips and licks, and it was heaven, pure and right and so wondrous she would never be the same.
And then her entire body simply exploded.
Pleasure shot through her with the force of a bullet, grazing parts of her she hadn’t known existed. Stars winked behind her eyes, and her spirit might even have left her body to soar through the heavens. How fitting that Death should be the one to spark such a sensation. She alternated between stiffening and relaxing in the most intense orgasm of her life, babbling incoherently, perhaps shouting Lucien’s name.
When she collapsed against the mattress, he said, “Not done. Not even close,” and then his tongue was expertly riding the waves of another orgasm, taking her over another incredible hurdle in a matter of seconds.
“Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.” A benediction. In that moment, he was her savior. She was free. Blessedly free.
When the last of the tremors left her, she was boneless. Sated and resplendent. He could have sunk his fingers inside her, and she couldn’t have stopped him. Wouldn’t have cared. But he climbed up her body and rolled them over, propping her on top of him, keeping his word.
“Still not done?” she said, panting and gazing down at his glowing eyes. She had to put a stop to this soon, had to figure out what to do with him, for she was softening toward him. Wanting what could never be. Wanting what he could not give her and she could not give him. Yet she couldn’t have moved upon threat of death.
“No,” he said. “We’re not done.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SO MANY THOUGHTS WERE POURING through Lucien’s mind. Anya wa
nted him. Truly wanted him. She’d sucked him, had drunk him dry. And had not seemed the least bit repulsed by his scars. No, she had seemed to glory in him.
He was still shocked. Death, too. The demon had yet to stop purring.
Lucien had not expected Anya to take him in her mouth. He had expected her to leave in a huff. He had expected her to be anything but a virgin. That this sexy, courageous, spirited woman had never been with a man…
He’d practically called her a whore, yet she was as pure as new-fallen snow. Guilt clawed at him. What a terrible curse to have hanging over one’s head, especially for an independent woman like Anya. A goddess, no less, whose torment would not end in seventy to eighty years but would continue for an eternity.
How well he knew about eternal damnation.
How could Cronus order the death of such a precious woman? How could Lucien possibly kill her, even with dire consequences hanging over his friends’ heads?
He couldn’t, he realized. He’d never wanted to fall for a woman again, one he would one day have to cart to the hereafter. Yet here he was. Could have been perfect, Anya being an immortal like him, but she would not give up her key, whatever it was, and Cronus would not remove the death-command without it. Perfect, no. A nightmare, yes. But Lucien had fallen for her.
She understood him, amused him, even liked him. Certainly seemed to lust after him. She was everything he was not, and he was the better for it.
Perhaps it did not have to be a nightmare. If he were to steal the key from her…She would be angry, but he did not care. Anger was better than death.
Where did she keep it? He doubted she would let it out of her sight, but he hadn’t seen anything resembling a key on her naked body. Could it be locked away in one of her many homes?
No telling when Cronus would next appear. Lucien would have to act quickly.
“Your turn again,” Anya whispered in his ear. She rose over him like a sea siren in the ocean blue, pale hair tumbling down her shoulders in sensual disarray. Her skin was flushed and rosy with satisfaction, her lips red and swollen from his kisses.
He had never seen a more breathtaking sight, and all thoughts of the key vanished.
“You do not have to,” he said, but he wanted her to do it. Desperately. He had neglected his body for so long, and the pleasure he found with her was so intense. “You took care of me earlier.”
“That was earlier, and you’re ready for round two. Besides, I like taking care of you.” Her lips curled in a slow, wicked smile. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
“I cannot get enough of you, either.” He caressed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Foolish me, for trying to push you away.”
“Yes. Foolish. But don’t worry. I’ll punish you for that. I’ll give you a tongue lashing you’ll never forget.” She rained little kisses down his cheek and neck, taking special care with his scars, licking and nibbling them.
What an amazing creature, he marveled. His cock was harder than ever before, pulsing with need. Rather than sate him, one taste had slain him. He was addicted to Anya. Her heat. Her softness. One taste made him want another and another and another.
He might never get enough of her.
In the past, it had been easier to go without sex than to risk any softer emotion, wondering if he would later have to watch his lover die. Right now, he couldn’t go without.
Anya fascinated him, as well as Death. Her wit and tenacity gave her the courage to face him when anyone else would have run screaming. Not just because of his appearance, not just because he was possessed by a demon, not even just because he’d intended to kill her, but because of the insults he’d hurled.
Insults she had not deserved.
“I am sorry,” he began, hands tangling in her hair. As he did so, he felt the first tug of Death. Heard a roar. Lucien blinked. The demon was being drawn to souls who needed him and was furious at the thought of leaving the bed. “I said it before, but I do not think I can say it enough.”
“Why are you sorry?” The hot tip of Anya’s tongue circled his navel.
Lucien tried to resist, tried to tune the demon out. “I was rude to you when you deserved only kindness.” His testicles drew up and his cock twitched, seeking her. He bent his knees and planted his heels in the mattress. Her fingers curled around the base of his shaft, and he moaned. Sweet fire. He—
Felt another tug from Death, this one stronger, more intense. He nearly roared, and the sound would have blended with the demon’s frenzied snarls. We’ll move quickly. It was the first time he’d ever had to prompt the demon into action.
Stay.
She will be here when we return.
Hurry!
“I must go. Do not leave.” He sat up and pressed a quick kiss to Anya’s lips. “Please do not leave.”
With that, he allowed his body to become mist and sink into the spirit world. Death seemed to be pacing the corridors of his mind, but flashed him to a small room. Blood coated the walls. Blood and other things he did not want to contemplate.
Two bodies lay on the floor, a man and a woman. The man, Lucien instantly knew thanks to his demon, had wrongly suspected the woman of cheating on him, had shot her and then turned the gun on himself.
Bastard, he thought, then stilled. Hadn’t he basically accused Anya of the same? Scowling, Lucien pounded a ghostly hand into the man’s body first and jerked the spirit out, not even trying to be gentle.
The spirit struggled against Lucien’s hold. Screamed when he saw Lucien’s eyes. Faster than he had ever moved before, Lucien flashed to hell and practically threw the spirit inside. He went back to the room and gathered the woman more gently.
She saw him and gasped. “Naked,” she said, staring at him. “Am I in…heaven?”
Should have dressed first. “Not yet.” Spirits often tried to talk to him, and he rarely replied. This time, his response was automatic. “Soon. The angels are much prettier than I.” He escorted her skyward just as quickly, ready to return to his own piece of heaven.
He wasn’t sure how long he had taken, but he flashed back to the home in Greece and materialized. Finally, Death quieted. Anya was on her back, one hand massaging her breasts, one hand between her legs, two fingers pumping in and out.
She was moaning, pink and dewy.
Once again, Lucien was on fire, burning, burning, as he crawled on top of her, jealous that he was not the one inside her. At the first touch, he and the demon sighed in unison. This was where they belonged.
Anya’s eyes popped open. She grinned sensuously. “I couldn’t wait.”
Lucien rolled them over, pinning himself underneath her. “I am glad. I liked the sight of you.”
“Mmm, you’re so strong,” she praised. “So determined. Why can’t I get enough of you?”
Her eyes met his for a split second, and he felt like the most beautiful man ever to walk the earth. There was so much passion and admiration in that crystalline gaze of hers.
“You amaze me,” he told her, caressing her cheek. Tenderness flooded him. He’d eschewed gentler emotions for so long he didn’t yet know how to handle them. But he was willing to try. For Anya.
“Just wait…” Sensuously she moved down his body. Her head bent and her lush lips opened over the rounded head of his shaft one more time. Down she pumped, again taking him all the way to the back of her throat.
This time, there was no guilt to cloud his passion. He hadn’t shamed her into this; she truly desired him. And the knowledge made him dizzy, made him sizzle. He was scorched and blistered to his soul as he arched his back, seeking more of that moist heat.
“So hot,” she praised. Her teeth scraped the head gently, heating him even more.
“Anya.” He clawed at the covers.
One of her hands dabbled at his testicles, and the other stretched up his chest to pluck at his nipple. All the while she continued to drive her mouth up and down. Soon he was writhing, mindless of anything but the pleasure.
It wa
s nearly more than he could bear.
Surely he, Death, would die when he came this time. Surely he—
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the slam of a door, the low baritone of a voice exclaiming at the destruction found in the living room.
Anya’s heavenly mouth stopped moving. He nearly roared, nearly cursed, nearly hacked the entire bed to pieces. Where is your calm? He was panting, sweating. Aching. The demon was snapping ferociously again.
“Lucien,” Anya said. She was breathless.
He struggled to control his body, his mind, drawing in shallow rasps of air as best he could. Blood screamed in his ears. Desire continued to beat hard fists through him. He needed to come. He needed to make Anya his woman, over and over again.
“Lucien,” she repeated as the voice became louder.
“What the hell happened?” he heard Strider growl. Footsteps pounded.
“Defeat,” he snarled. “Do not enter my bedroom. I need a moment.”
“We need a moment,” Anya called.
The footsteps ceased. “One minute, and I’m coming in.”
Lucien tried to sit up just as cold steel clamped around his wrist. Brow puckered, he looked to the side. Frowned. Anya had locked him to the bed.
“Anya,” he said. “A game?”
“No.”
A pause. A muscle ticked below his eye. “Chains cannot hold me.”
“These can.” She hopped off the bed and rushed to the closet, jerking a shirt and pair of pants from the hangers. “Sorry, sugar, but we aren’t done talking and I can’t let you leave until we are.”
He tugged at the chain. It rattled, but didn’t break. Dread coursed through him. He tried to flash, but failed. The reason she’d gone to his room in Buda became clear. She’d gathered the chains. “Let me go. Now.”
She looked at him, a flitter of sadness in her eyes. “I don’t have the key.”
“It is in my pants. Those,” he said, motioning to the closet floor with his free hand. In his preoccupation with Anya, he’d forgotten to leave the key in Buda with the chains, so had been carrying it around.
She picked them up. “These?”
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