by Larissa Ione
“You know, I thought the s’genesis would loosen you up. It’s only wedged that stick farther up your ass.” Wraith elbowed Eidolon on the way to the door, and then halted with a knowing grin. “Or maybe not. E, man, you smell like a virgin male in a brothel who can’t decide which whore to hump.” He grimaced. “And eew. Dude, she’s a Buffy. I’d sooner shove my dick into a month-dead corpse.”
“You probably have.”
Wraith snorted. “Eliminates the obligatory cuddling afterward.” He reached for the door handle, but drew up short. “Oh, Gemella called. Wants you to get in touch. Lucky bastard.”
“It’s not like that.”
Gem, a demon masquerading as a human intern in a human hospital, regularly checked in with Eidolon, mainly to share intel on the types of demon activity that came through her hospital. He’d tried to talk her into working for him, but she felt her duty was to follow in her parents’ footsteps, using her skills to intercept human-demon issues that would create questions if discovered by human physicians.
“Whatever. You ought to make it like that. She’s hot.”
Wraith sauntered out of the room, and Eidolon turned back to the slayer. Wraith had gone, but Tayla still squirmed. Her sheet had fallen to the floor, and the hospital gown had ridden up to her waist, revealing her silky black panties. He didn’t need to touch to know they were soaked. Her scent, her sexual perfume, hung so thick and heavy in the air that it was only a matter of time before he became drunk with it.
“Damn you, Wraith,” he muttered, and moved to Tayla’s side.
Stay detached. Professional.
Yeah, because the erection popping a tent in the front of his scrubs was real fucking professional.
Willing his pulse to idle out, he lifted her gown and methodically checked her most serious injuries, which looked good, nearly healed. Only one of the wounds had required sutures, and her writhing hadn’t disturbed the stitches.
“Yes,” she whispered, and grasped his hand where it rested on her ribcage. Her needs came to him in a rush of visions, a riot of tangled limbs and sweaty skin, and gods help him, a surge of excitement rocked his entire reproductive system.
Tamp it down, E.
He tried to pry her fingers loose with his other hand, but her iron grip tugged him upward to her breast. Beneath his palm, her flesh felt tight, hot, fevered in a way no thermometer would register. Her areola puckered at his touch, and his own body hardened in response. If he were made of stone he couldn’t be any harder.
Eidolon exhaled slowly, reaching deep for control. He’d been born to the Judicia, demons known for cool, calm logic, something that didn’t come naturally to him, but that he’d honed to perfection over the years both while growing up and later, when he’d served as all Judicium did, as a Justice Dealer.
But all those years fell away as he looked at Tayla. Even half-asleep, seductive, deadly power bled from her pores. She could crush him between her thighs and he’d beg her to make it hurt. Idiot. His brothers might like to mix it up with females like her, but Eidolon’s tastes in bedmates ran more on the civilized side.
“Tayla.” He struggled with her strength and his own desire as he drew his hand back. She was a killer of his people. A butcher. “Slayer. Wake up.”
She shook her head and reached out blindly. He grasped her face between his palms and held her still. Using his thumbs, he lifted her eyelids. Pupils were equal and responsive when he turned her face toward the overhead light, though she didn’t seem to see him.
Damn, she had beautiful eyes. Green rimmed with gold, and so expressive that he doubted she could shield her thoughts from anyone. Pale freckles shimmered just beneath the surface of her creamy skin. High cheekbones added definition to her slightly rounded face, marred by the faintest tinge of a healing bruise. He let his gaze travel to her mouth, her pouty lips that parted slightly to let out the sounds of wanton desperation.
He wanted to take that mouth. Wanted to feel it take him.
Human medicine demanded ethics. Here, at Underworld General, if he, or any doctor, screwed every patient who came through the doors, few would care.
Eidolon happened to be one of the few.
Moral codes were not his concern; doctors didn’t screw patients in his hospital not because it was “wrong,” but because the hospital teetered in a precarious position. Demons weren’t a trusting sort. Most held a distrust, even contempt, for those with power. Doctors with scalpels could kill. If word got out that the doctors were raping their patients, even fewer demons would trust the hospital’s services.
As a result, most of the staff had agreed to keep their paws, claws, and teeth off the patients. Naturally, there had been exceptions and indiscretions.
Hell, he’d be willing to make an exception with the right woman, but an Aegi killer wasn’t the right woman, no matter how much his throbbing cock argued that she was.
“Doc.”
Tayla was looking at him, her eyes glittering with a combination of determination and lust so potent that he drew a startled breath. Her hand came up, grasped a handful of his hair near the nape, and pulled his head down with such force that he barely had time to brace his hands on either side of her head before his mouth came down hard on hers.
Her tongue pushed past his lips to tangle with his, and he growled at the taste of her. Her flavor was bold and wicked, like the scent of her lust, but beneath it all lurked a faint sweetness, as though innocence had been buried.
Buried under the corpses of his brethren she’d killed, most likely.
An icy blast speared his chest and he reared back, his control balancing on a scalpel’s edge. This was his greatest fear, the loss of restraint as The Change took him—the s’genesis had to be the reason he was on the verge of mounting the enemy like a beast in rut.
But when her hand brushed his shaft, the beast suddenly didn’t care who she was or what she’d done. He was a Seminus demon, after all, a breed of incubi that lived for sex, existed to deceive and cause misery through intimate means once the s’genesis was complete. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to fight his nature. Perhaps his nature was his weapon against an age-old enemy.
Her fingers closed around his sex through his scrub pants, and fuck, he was tired of analyzing his body, his emotions, and his instincts. It was time to just feel.
He rocked his hips into her touch as desire rocked the rest of his body.
“Please,” she begged against his lips, “please. Touch me.”
Groaning, he dropped a hand down to one hip and lifted her so that his erection nudged her other hip.
So much for remaining professional.
Never had Tayla dreamed anything like this. It had to be a dream, because she’d never been this turned on in real life. And she’d certainly never hoped to get it on with a doctor. Especially not a doctor as totally mouthwatering as the one who was kissing her blind and stroking her hip so masterfully that some women would already have come a dozen times from that alone.
She lifted her knees, hooked one leg around his waist. The move knocked him off-balance, and he grunted as he brought a leg up on the bed to brace himself.
“Shit.” Doc Hottie dragged his mouth away from hers. “Tayla, are you awake?”
“Shut up and let me have this,” she muttered, and tugged on the waistband of his scrubs.
He hissed when she grasped his erection. Oh, my. She measured his length and thickness with her fingers, and for a moment she wondered if there would be any pain when he entered her, but then she remembered that this was a dream, and nothing hurt in a dream.
“Tayla,” he whispered against her neck, “you’re injured. We have to be caref—”
She squeezed his shaft, and his words cut off with a strangled moan. Slowly, she stroked, rubbed her palm over the velvety head and then took him in her fist again. His ragged, sharp breaths feathered over her skin as she worked him, and when she trailed a fingertip through the drop of moisture that welled at the tip of his cock, somet
hing seemed to break inside him. The wall that had restrained him crumbled, and suddenly his hands were everywhere at once, his mouth devouring her cheekbone, her jaw, her throat.
Intense hunger, as though she’d suffered years of famine, rushed through her veins at the way his hand caressed her flesh. He skimmed over places she thought might hurt, but the memories danced at the edge of her mind, shimmering away altogether when the doctor’s tongue traced a wet circle on her neck.
His decadent touch strayed lower, over her thigh and between her legs, where he languidly, maddeningly, stroked the crease of her leg and her sex. She arched against his hand, needing his touch in the right place, but he didn’t comply, his torture deliberate. Devious. Delicious.
She wanted to see his eyes, but he’d buried his face in her throat as he nuzzled her skin, worked lower to her collarbone, nipped lightly there. Threading her fingers through his dark hair, she held him against her, reveling in his touch, in the feel of a man worshipping her flesh, if only in a dream.
Here, in a sleeping world of fantasy, perhaps she’d find the pleasure that had always eluded her in real-life sexual encounters. Here, her past didn’t matter. Her fears held no sway.
The deft touch of the man on top of her was her whole world in her dream, and when his fingers moved to trace the hills and valleys of her swollen sex through her panties, she welcomed the hot tingle of excitement that buzzed through her.
“Yes, oh, yes.”
She threw her head back and spread her legs wider. His fingers tunneled beneath the cotton, and she trembled as he circled her entrance, once, twice, her slippery juices enhancing the erotic massage. It was good, so good that she nearly came off the bed when he plunged a finger inside her. He drove it deep, slid it slowly out, and then thrust again, pleasuring her with his finger in a way no man had ever done even with his dick.
“You’re so wet.” His gravelly voice shot through her like an electric current. “You smell raw, ready.”
Oh, God, she was ready. “Now.” She angled her hips upward, unashamedly inviting him inside. “Please.”
The sound of fabric tearing made her heart pound in anticipation. He shifted above her, guiding his erection between her legs. The bed wobbled and her senses did the same as he rocked against her, sliding his shaft between her labia. Each stroke rubbed her aching nub with a perfect amount of pressure and slick, molten friction.
She whimpered, but he smothered the sound with his lips and surged inside her. Her eager walls clasped his cock as it stretched her, filled her until she thought she’d unravel into a quivering ball of lust. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful.
Desperate to reach the ultimate peak, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and dug into the backs of his thighs with her heels. He growled in response, braced his elbow at her head, and moved faster against her. Slipping her hands beneath his scrub top, she caressed the hard ridges of his spine, the flexing muscles of his back, the taut buttocks that tightened further beneath her fingers.
“Harder. More.”
He tore his mouth away from hers. “More?” With one powerful, dominating thrust, the bed scooted forward. “Tell me how much more.”
Speaking seemed like an impossibility when he lifted her hips against him and rode her harder and deeper, fueling the fire in her blood. “Like that,” she said between panting breaths. “Do it like that.”
He lifted his head, and though his eyes were closed, he’d bared his teeth, his expression a savage mask of ecstasy. So absorbed in the beauty of his pleasure, she barely noticed when something bounced against her throat. A pendant. A necklace had come free of his shirt’s neckline, and the silver dagger encircled by snakes dangled against her skin, a cool, sharp caress.
Then suddenly, he was on his feet, still sheathed inside her, and she was wrapped around him as he carried her across the room. Her back slammed up against a wall. Medical equipment rattled with the force of his enthusiasm.
The doctor had one hell of a bedside manner.
He rocked against her, sometimes fully withdrawing before plunging inside her again, sometimes going deep and driving short, hard strokes all the way to her womb. Pleasure ripped through her, almost shocking her with its severity. His fingers dug into her butt where he held her to him, and his teeth sank into her shoulder, holding her upper body immobile.
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.
Heat spread through her pelvis as his cock stroked and rubbed and if this weren’t a dream, she’d not believe how his shaft pulsed inside her.
Pressure built, squeezed her organs, and knotted her muscles. No man could feel this good.
She seized his hair and dragged his head up, made him look at her. Her breath caught. Passion and raw hunger and something even darker lurked in his eyes, but what stole the air from her lungs was the color. They’d been brown before, a bold, rich coffee.
Now, they were gold. Hypnotic, decadent. Twenty-four karat sex.
Oh, she loved this dream. This dream where her lover was walking sex, from his magic penis and hypnotic eyes to his skilled lips, fingers, and even his scent, which was something like dark chocolate, as though it had been designed to attract women.
“Come, slayer,” he growled. “Ride me. Drench me.”
He twisted his hips, drove deep, and she cried out, so close to the summit that her entire body shook. There, there . . . yes! Oh, yes, she was almost there.
He jerked, his roar of release ringing in her ears and rocketing her need even higher. Hot, shivery spurts of semen jolted her sensitive internal tissues until it seemed as though millions of tiny fingers were stroking her with so much pleasure she could only tremble and pant.
And yet, she didn’t peak.
She should have. Dream or no, this man had done something to her no woman should be able to resist.
He kept thrusting, even though his muscles quivered and his bronzed skin glistened with sweat. The tattoo that covered his right hand and arm, all the way to his throat, rippled like a living thing, angry at not getting what it craved.
“You can stop now.” She wanted to scream with frustration. She should have known better, and now her body felt bruised, alien, and so tightly coiled she needed to strike out at something to achieve some sort of release.
“You didn’t come,” he said, and plunged into her again. Ruthlessly.
“I never do.”
“It’s impossible to not orgasm for me.” He doubled his efforts. “Must be your injuries . . .”
“So I didn’t get off. Tuck your ego back in your pants and deal with it.”
Criminy. Even in dreams men were crybabies when it came to their sexual prowess. In dreams . . . her thought trailed off as her mind finally registered what he’d said.
Injuries? She reached between them and winced when she touched a sensitive spot over her ribs. What had happened?
“Doc?” He didn’t respond, was too deep inside her, stroking, threatening to bring her back to the place that walked the terrible line between orgasm and frustration. “Stop. Please. What happened to me?”
He looked down at her with dark eyes. What had happened to the gold? Where had the dream gone?
“Cruentus demon.”
The answer slammed her back to reality, and this time, when the breath caught in her lungs, it hurt like hell. Images flashed through her brain. The sewer. Blood. Pain. Janet.
No. Oh, no. This was real.
Her heart kicked against sore ribs as she took in the shadowy room and medical equipment. The strange designs on the walls. No, not designs. Writing. Not a language she recognized. Odd, ancient-looking objects adorned shelves inside locked glass cabinets. Was that one thing mounted on the wall a . . . skull?
Where was she?
Her sex contracted around the still-engorged penis inside her. And who was this man who had so thoroughly screwed her?
Narrow whips of air seared her throat as she tried to take in enough oxygen to remain clear-headed. H
e must have realized how close she was to panic, because he withdrew and set her down gently. Her bare feet hit the cold stone floor—what kind of hospital had stone floors?—and her hospital gown dropped down to cover her.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
“You’re in a hospital.” The dream doctor who’d just given her the most pleasant injection of her life guided her toward the bed with a firm grasp on her elbow. As she walked, the indisputable proof of their union dripped down her thighs, and why did it tingle, sensitizing her skin so that she wanted to rub it all over? “You were injured during a fight with a Cruentus demon.”
She jerked out of his grip. “How do you know about demons? What kind of hospital is this? Who are you?”
“Have a seat. I’ll explain everything.”
“Oh, no. Don’t give me that soothing bullshit tone.” She backed away as he moved toward her, trying to herd her toward the bed. He towered over her, eclipsing the crimson-tinted overhead lights. “Stay away from me.”
“Tayla, you need to listen to me.” His voice morphed into something deep and ominous, rattling what was left of her nerves.
The door opened, and someone, no, something dressed in scrubs, stepped inside. “Doctor,” it said through a mouthful of tusks, “you’re needed in the ER.”
Demon. Cold sweat broke out on her skin. “What in God’s name is this place?”
She whirled back to Eidolon and saw his eyes as they had been in her dream. Only it hadn’t been a dream. The room spun as realization bitch-slapped her. “You,” she rasped. “You’re a demon, too.”
He moved in a blur, and the prick of a needle stung her arm. Suddenly, she couldn’t move, couldn’t so much as scream as monsters surrounded her, strapped her to her bed.
Inside her head, though, the screams wouldn’t stop.
Three
Darkness fell like a guillotine blade, severing Tayla and her partner from the daylight. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, and gunfire erupted, probably another gang drive-by, but Tay and Janet weren’t cops, and they didn’t care. Hell, even the cops wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. This part of New York City was a third-world country at war, and the cops had long ago gone U.N. and withdrawn from the battle.
