The Darkest Passion

Page 50

Mine.
Actually, mine. He bunched the material around her waist, holding it prisoner against the dresser and leaving her lower body bare. He cupped her, spreading his fingers over those delectable cheeks. Again she gasped. Between each of his fingers, he placed a kiss.
“More?” he asked.
“Yes,” she and Wrath breathed in unison.
He kissed the underside and encountered the softest skin her Deity—his Deity now, too, for he realized he would always worship the one responsible for creating her—had probably ever created.
“Aeron,” she said on another of those wispy catches.
“Spread your legs for me.” He clutched her thighs and prodded her into action, even nudging her feet apart with his knees. His blood was like fire, his need sharpening to a razor point. “Now bend over. As far as you can.”
There was only a slight pause before she complied. For a moment, only a moment, all he could do was stare. So pretty. So sweet. So pink. So wet. For him and him alone. Even the thought of sharing with his (once again purring) demon was abhorrent. But he would. He would take this woman any way he could get her.
“Going to taste you now.” He dipped his head and sampled her fully, distantly hearing a slap of flesh upon wood.
“Aeron!”
His gaze flicked up. She’d settled her hands on the mirror in front of her and flattened her temple against the dresser. Her eyelids were squeezed shut and her breaths shallow, her teeth chewing at her lips.
“Don’t…stop,” she begged him.
He didn’t. He ran his tongue over her femininity again, lingering against her clitoris, flicking it, sucking on it. This was ambrosia. Her. Soft and pouty…his. Accepting what he did, liking it.
Though he wanted to consume her, he didn’t allow himself to rush. He’d gone that route with her before. This time, he would savor. This time, he would learn everything about this beautiful body.
“I’m going to… Aeron…”
“Good girl.” He moved his tongue faster, harder against her. Her hips arched forward and back and when he found her opening, he thrust deep inside. She screamed, shuddering with her release.
He didn’t know how much time—minutes, hours, days—passed before she calmed enough that he was able to bend down and kiss—and lick—the calves he’d so admired before rising and paying proper homage to her lower back. There were two indentations, and as he swirled his tongue around them, his hands slid up…up…and cupped her breasts the way he knew she liked. Both of her nipples were still gloriously hard, like little pearls, and he rolled them between his fingers.
More.
“I’m ready,” Olivia said between pants. “Come inside me.”
“Not yet.” She was wet, yes, but he wanted her dripping. He wanted her beyond ready. She was virgin, and he would make this as easy as possible for her.
His first time had been with a minor Greek goddess. One of the three Furies. Megaera, the “jealous one,” as she’d often been called. Her brand of loving had been violent and painful, and yet another reason he’d always avoided females who preferred a strong hand from their lovers. With Olivia, though, it wasn’t that he preferred gentle women over wild women, or wild women over gentle women. It was that he preferred Olivia.
As he stood, he traced his tongue up the ridges of her spine—there were scars where her wings should have been, and he kissed them, too, laving them with his attentions—all while yanking her robe up and over her head. Silky hair cascaded down her shoulders and back, even obscuring her breasts from the mirror’s view. He had to see those breasts, he thought, brushing that hair aside.
Through the glass, those frosted nipples came into view. He tweaked them, and she dropped her head upon his shoulder, eyes closing to half-mast. The thick length of his erection pressed between her bottom, desperate for contact, and he hissed between his teeth.
There would be no more savoring if he kept this up.
Down, down his hand went, until it reached the apex of her thighs. His fingers tunneled through the fine tuft of dark curls and into that hot, wet mound. One, two, he pushed them inside her.
They both groaned. Aeron placed a kiss at the curve of her neck, watching himself all the while. What a sight they were. His dark tattooed body behind her. Her softer, cloud-tinted one writhing in front of him. By far the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld.
No. Wait. Her arms reached back, one hand gripping his head to angle him down for a kiss, the other clasping his ass. This was the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld.
“I’m ready, I swear.”
Almost…almost… He worked a third finger inside her, stretching her, spreading that glistening moisture. And when he encountered the proof of her virginity, he paused, reveled in the sense of possessiveness flooding him—mine, all mine—and then gently broke through.
Mine. A cry from Wrath.
Mine. An insistence.
She tensed, even stilled against his mouth. “Aeron.”
He’d rather hurt her with his fingers than his cock. “Sorry. Pain. Feel good. Swear.” He sounded like a Neanderthal, but he just couldn’t form proper sentences. Olivia was his. Utterly his. His mind was stuck on that fact, and that alone.
When she relaxed, he reclaimed her mouth, playing with her tongue, feeding her kiss after needed kiss, and soon she began writhing against him again, lost to the pleasure. Soon she was dripping, as he’d craved.
Now she was ready.
Though he hated to release her, even for a moment, he did so to grip his cock. The throbbing length practically leapt into his touch, hungry for more, so much more, yet he feared spilling at first contact. Diversion. He bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood, and the boiling need was tempered. Achieved. Tenderly, he pushed Olivia back on the dresser with his free hand, chest to wood, then poised the tip of his erection at her opening.
“Still ready?”
“Now, Aeron. Do it now!”
Inch by inch, he drove it inside her, allowing her to grow accustomed to his size before giving her more. All the while she gasped and moaned and beseeched him. Wrath, too. Finally, he was in to the hilt, his eyes fogging over with the force of his need to pound and pound and never stop.
“Aeron,” she groaned, and he knew it was another plea.
He pulled out, almost all the way, before sinking back in. A curse rushed from him—she had arched her hips to meet him, and rational thought fled, something inside him breaking. A tether of some sort. A tether on his restraint.
Just like that, he lost himself. Lost control, lost who he was, lost everything but the need to fill this woman with all that he was. In and out he pounded inside her, just as he’d wanted. Determined, driven, possessed by far more than a demon.
He was gripping her hips, probably bruising her, surely crushing her bones, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was wild, feral, existing for only this moment. This woman. Just then, she was his everything. She was as much a part of him as Wrath. He couldn’t live without her. Wouldn’t live without her.
“Aeron.” She was no longer panting; she was shouting. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop. More. More!”
In his mind, only one word echoed. Mine. Mine, mine, mine. He’d heard it a thousand times before, but then he was shouting, “Mine, mine, mine,” and the sound was filling his ears, sweeping through him, heating him another degree, branding him, destroying who he’d been, what he’d been, then building him back up, into something new and fine and right, into the man he’d always been meant to be. Her man. And that’s when mine faded and another word took its place, stronger, far more necessary. Yours. He wanted to belong to her, to be hers. To be everything she’d ever dreamed, to fulfill every wish she’d ever made.
“Aeron,” she gasped.
Yours.
He should have seen this coming, should have known what she was beginning to mean to him, but his resistance had blinded him. Now, reduced to his basest self, he was raw, vulnerable, operating on a visceral level.
She was his, and he was hers.
He kicked her legs farther apart, and she fell down a little, deeper into his thrusts. The gap from the dresser allowed him to reach around and stroke her where she needed. With a scream, she erupted, and as those lush inner walls gripped him, Aeron hurtled over the edge himself, hot seed jetting inside her.
“Aeron,” she cried.
Yours.
He collapsed on her, panting, and realized there was a flaw to his “only once” plan. Once would never be enough. Not for him, and not for his demon.
They needed more; they couldn’t possibly be satisfied until they’d taken her in every way imaginable. And they could. He could. Without fear. He’d lost control, but Wrath hadn’t attacked her. He’d lost control, but he hadn’t hurt her.
She’d been irresistible before, but now… He needed to be with her or his life would not be complete. He needed to make love to her every night and wake up to her every morning—to make love to her again. He needed to pamper her and give her the things she craved. Like fun. Like joy. Like passion.
Like him.
“Olivia,” he said, the syllables broken but still a promise from him, a promise for all the “more” she desired. Forever?
What are you doing? What are you thinking? You can’t do this. His sweat-slicked chest pressed into her back, and he forced himself to rise.
Wrath whimpered.
“Aeron,” she said. Then, “Aeron!”
No, that last shout hadn’t belonged to Olivia. He twisted, as did his angel, and they stiffened at the same time. William and a pretty blonde—Legion, he reminded himself, surprised all over again by the change in her—stood in the open doorway.
Aeron forced his wings out of hiding and wrapped them around Olivia, shielding her from view. Meanwhile, William held the humanoid demon back, but strong as he was, she was dragging him forward, her murderous gaze locked on the angel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
OLIVIA COULDN’T BELIEVE what had just happened with Aeron—and what was happening now with Legion. Naked. Sex. Pleasure. Happiness. Hope.