The darkest seduction - Showalter Gena - Страница 46
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“My pleasure.” A shiver rocked her as she meshed their lips without any hesitation, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and feeding him all that she was. Owning him, just as he’d wanted.
“Can’t hold back,” he said. All thoughts of savoring her, this moment, fled. They had here and now, and not much else. He had to know the rest of her, had to join them. “Must be in you. Need to be in you.”
“Yes. You’ll own me.”
He thrust deep and sure, filling her. They moaned in unison. Paris, Sienna, Sex. It was like coming home after a year in the desert, when you were so thirsty, so hungry, you felt as if you were drinking and eating for the first time. As if you were alive for the first time. His senses awoke, aware of her every need, attuned to her every nuance.
This was what he’d yearned for so desperately. Not just a communion with her body, but with her mind. Her soul, their every breath intertwined.
Yes. Yes, yes, yes.
She was tight, tighter than a fist, and he knew he stretched her. Knew he was too big for such a slender body, but that didn’t stop him from moving her up and down, up and down from the root of his shaft to the very tip. She was so wet, the glide was smooth. Her nipples rasped at his chest, creating the most delicious friction. Friction that lanced spears of pleasure throughout his entire body.
He was utterly consumed by her. She was in his mouth, pressed against him, her weight sliding her down on him…down…all the way…her legs squeezing at his, her hands on his back, her nails scraping and clawing at him. Even the ends of her hair acted as a stimulant, dancing over his skin, tickling.
Paris kneaded his hands up her spine and stopped between her wings. Occasionally over the years, he’d had to massage his friend Aeron to work out the stiffness from battle. So he knew just how sensitive the slits in these wings could be. Keeping in mind that she had to be sore, he kneaded gently, rolling the muscles and tendons under his fingers.
A hoarse cry left her. “Paris! Oh, Paris!”
His name on her lips did it for him, totally, completely. He rarely ever told his partners his name, not wanting to hear them say it and increase his shame. But now, with Sienna, he was once again undone.
He pounded into her, harder, so damn hard their teeth banged together when she dove in for another kiss. Their tongues sparred with the same strength, the same intensity. His testicles were drawing up, the skin around them tightening. White-hot waves of pleasure and strength swam at the base of his spine, ready to burst through him, to devour him and brand her.
So badly he wanted to come, but he wouldn’t, not until she’d exploded on him. Her pleasure came first, now and always.
He reached between their bodies and circled his thumb against her clitoris. And, oh, sweet heaven, that’s all she’d needed. Another scream that cracked her vocals echoed around him, her inner walls milking him. He jetted inside her, pouring all of his desire, all of his need and passion straight into her core. Roaring, roaring, so caught up in the incredible sensations, uncaring about anything else.
And when, an eternity later, she collapsed against his chest, her legs lax against his, he continued to hold her, unwilling to let go. Just then, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HE’D BEEN ABUSED, his skin like pretty pink ribbons curling from a Christmas box.
Violated in the worst ways.
But Kane never gave the female minions what they wanted.
He was ashamed that he couldn’t fight his way free, that his demon had somehow taken him over and held him down as surely as the chains shackling his wrists and ankles. He was a warrior, thousands of years old, with experience honed on the bloodiest of battlefields. This should be child’s play to him. He should have escaped long ago.
More than any of that, however, he was humiliated by all kinds of other things he wasn’t ready to acknowledge or face. The things they’d done to him…
Later. He would deal with it later. Maybe. Right now, all he could do was distance himself from what was happening to his body, as if it wasn’t actually his body enduring the abuse. As if someone else had teeth in his thigh, hands where no others had been.
Drip, dripwent his blood.
Kane had been tortured before. Many times, in fact. This was just more of the same, he told himself. Yeah. Right.
Disaster laughed, a cruel, happy sound echoing in his mind. If only that were the first time, but no. Disaster had laughed and laughed and laughed, a never-ending stream of amusement.
Hate utterly consumed Kane, kept him conscious. Every time he felt himself slipping into darkness, he thought about the demon High Lord inside him. Despite his instinct to remain distanced, he wanted to know every deed done to him. One day, he would return the favor in kind—a thousandfold. His demon would suffer this way. His demon would die this way.
Yes, one day.
His gaze pulled from the blood-spattered cavern wall above him and slipped down his body. He was a raw slab of scarlet. Dripping…dripping… Were those his ribs? Yes, he thought hazily. They were, one of them even pointing in the wrong direction.
One. Day.
Distantly he heard the pound of…horse hooves? Maybe. Whatever it was caused the minions on top of him, under him, even those around him who were awaiting their turn, to scatter in the winds, leaving him atop the boulder, naked, still bleeding…still dripping. Crimson, such a lovely yet horrifying color. Life and death, bound together.
He should be in tremendous pain, but there was nothing. Only a strange, welcome numbness.
A horse’s whinny. Booted footsteps. He should care. Someone was here, looking at him, seeing him at his worst. He did care, but there was nothing he could do about it. No way to cover himself or hide what had been done to him. He wanted to kill this newcomer the same way he wanted to kill the minions and Disaster. Anything to wipe away all knowledge of this day. Forever.
A shadow fell over him, then someone was leaning down and peering into his eyes. Dark hair, eyes of the cruelest blue. “I know you. You are Kane, keeper of Disaster. Had a bad day, have you?”
Kane gathered enough strength to turn his head away. The action, small as it’d been, zapped every bit of that strength, leaving him cold, hollow. He had nothing left. Of course, the guy reached out and turned his head for him, forcing his attention to return.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Silence.
The guy grinned, and it was not nice. “Once, I could not have paid a Lord of the Underworld to visit me here. Now you guys keep popping up for free. By the way, your friend Amun called me Red while he was down here. Well, he thought it. Boy doesn’t speak much, does he?” He gave a genuinely amused chuckle, and yet, there was bite to the sound. “Wish I’d picked up on that thought while he was in front of me, but then, I didn’t have these, a gift from Amun before he left.”
Red held up two hands—and they weren’t attached to his body or any other. They were dark-skinned and held together by a strap of leather. A strap of leather he had wrapped around his neck, as if he were carrying boxing gloves. The insides of the hands had been scraped out, the flesh leathered.
They weregloves now. Human gloves.
Acid bubbled in Kane’s stomach. Amun had come down here to rescue Legion and in the process had been infected by hundreds of demon minions, evil becoming a slick oil over his skin. The only solution had been to send him back down here to release them.
The gloves were the same mocha color as Amun’s skin, possessed the same lines.
“What do you mean…gift?” Kane managed to work past his shredded throat. A throat scraped raw when the minions had stuffed things into his mouth. They hadn’t cared that he’d tried to bite them, and hadn’t tried to prevent him from doing so. They’d actually liked that. They had just— You aren’t thinking about this yet. You’ll become as crazy as Amun was.
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