Wicked Abyss
Page 67
Helpless against pleasure—against her—his knees fell wide in surrender.
Sian wanted this never to end, but couldn’t withstand her kiss any longer. “About to come!”
She suckled him with greedy pulls, her lids fluttering. Her tongue lapped hungrily, her moans getting louder. Her arm twitched as she fingered herself.
“I-I’ll try to keep still, beauty.” As he fought not to buck his hips for more of the wet heat of her mouth, the stone in his grip started to crumble.
She took him deeper, drawing on his shaft till her cheeks hollowed.
Fuck, gods, FUCK! Each suck racked his body, a fresh torment.
She began to orgasm—and his shaft muffled her cries.
Done. “Defeated me, Lila. Coming. Coming. Coming! COMING!” He yelled so loud, the walls cracked. In his palms, the armrests disintegrated to sand.
Pulsations seized his cock over and over and over.
Pleasure rocked him. Ripped through him. Robbed him of all tension and concerns.
He floated while his mate still languidly kissed him. . . .
In time, he pulled her away, dragging her into his lap. With his legs sprawled and his body limp, he pressed kisses to her hair.
His culmination of the godsdamned ages had just shattered everything he thought he knew about sex.
She sighed. “I take it I did okay on my first attempt. Wait till I practice.”
“Little wife,” he groaned, “if you get any better at that, I’m a dead demon.”
FORTY-FOUR
Later that night, Lila and Abyssian lazed in bed. She lay within his wings, facing him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his expression relaxed. The sea breezes had picked up until she could hear the surf crashing. . . .
After their dining room encounter, Abyssian had traced her to the shower to rinse off wine. As he’d rubbed his callused palms over her, he’d said, “You can’t be done after coming two times. A third will make you sleep better, and you’ll be less likely to use me as your body pillow.” One thing had led to another. And another.
The promise of a life with him was seductive. Life in the fey court had once been seductive as well. She’d been protected from the Møriør, yet vulnerable to infighting royals. Now she was protected from other fey, yet vulnerable to the Møriør.
She’d learned never to lower her guard in the Sylvan castle. Could she with this demon?
How exactly would she tell him her secret?
You remember Magh, the evil bitch with the tainted line? Surprise! Your fated female is one of those disgusting descendants of hers that you think should die. On top of that, I was Saetth’s fiancée. S’posed to be his queen. I vowed to him that I’d deal you a blow, then I lied to you from our first moments on. See, I was a spy, just like Kari. Now I know history repeats itself, but I’m totally different from her—aside from being the same person engaged in the same type of scheming. . . .
What if he locked her in the tower again?
“Tell me what thoughts are hidden behind those spellbinding eyes.” Gods, the way he was looking at her . . .
With his millennia of yearning, the demon tugged at her heart.
She didn’t want to ruin this. She’d never been in a real relationship, just wanted to explore it a little more. She drummed up a question: “Why did you move the trophy? It must have hung on that wall since the first days of this castle.”
“The Lôtn served his watch commendably, but my wife is not a fan. So off he goes.” The demon pinned her gaze. “Just because I don’t adapt well doesn’t mean I’m incapable of it. I will adjust to sharing my life. As you’re adjusting to sharing yours.”
The great king of hell was trying. That sense of hope hit her with all the finesse of a charging hellhound.
“There’s your soft look, the one that twists my horns into knots. I’m defenseless against it.”
Was a soft look all it took to manage him? Maybe this big dominant beast could be tempted by sweet things.
“But, Calliope, I too ask for patience. It will take me time to get this right. I want you to give me some leeway.”
“Like a get-out-of-jail-free card?”
A lock of hair tumbled over one of his eyes. “I suppose you could say that.”
“I’ll give you a card if you give me one too.” Or an entire deck.
“Agreed,” he said. “On that note, I have a wedding gift for you.”
She popped upright. “Ooh, what is it, what is it?” A rock? Emeralds?
He sat up and conjured a weird-looking . . . wand thingy? “Here.” He handed it to her.
She accepted the strange piece. It looked kind of fey in origin. “I . . . thank you.” She was grateful for his thoughtfulness, but she did wonder what message he wanted to convey with such an unromantic present.
“I was guided to give you that. Graven kept putting it in my path.”
“What do you mean?”
“With jewels in mind for my new bride, I traced to one of the castle’s rooms, a chamber I remembered for its copious riches. The area was empty except for this: a scepter wrought of gold and Titanian steel.”
Titanian? The Ancestors’ Sword had been forged of that metal.
Abyssian continued, “Not exactly what I’d had in mind. So I went to a second room. Again, I found it empty except for the scepter. The third room was the same. Graven wanted you to have it.” He curled his finger under her chin. “Calliope, never refuse the castle more than three times.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “My father told my brother and me this rule. Even he didn’t understand Graven. Which meant even he feared what it is capable of.”
She glanced around, wondering what her new home had in mind for her. “How would a fey scepter end up in a demon castle?”
“With Graven, who knows?”
“Thank you for the gift, demon.” She leaned forward to press her lips against his cheek. “Will you put this on the mantel?” She handed him the scepter.
With a nod, he rose, unfolding the long length of his body. She’d seen his ass in the shower, but she hadn’t gotten a view like this.
My, my, my. Sculpted rock-hard muscles flexed with each of his steps. In the shower, when she’d been on her knees giving him another blowjob, she’d dug her nails into those muscles; he’d cradled her face with shaking hands and stared down into her eyes, rasping in Demonish, “How I’ve yearned for you . . .”
Sian wanted this never to end, but couldn’t withstand her kiss any longer. “About to come!”
She suckled him with greedy pulls, her lids fluttering. Her tongue lapped hungrily, her moans getting louder. Her arm twitched as she fingered herself.
“I-I’ll try to keep still, beauty.” As he fought not to buck his hips for more of the wet heat of her mouth, the stone in his grip started to crumble.
She took him deeper, drawing on his shaft till her cheeks hollowed.
Fuck, gods, FUCK! Each suck racked his body, a fresh torment.
She began to orgasm—and his shaft muffled her cries.
Done. “Defeated me, Lila. Coming. Coming. Coming! COMING!” He yelled so loud, the walls cracked. In his palms, the armrests disintegrated to sand.
Pulsations seized his cock over and over and over.
Pleasure rocked him. Ripped through him. Robbed him of all tension and concerns.
He floated while his mate still languidly kissed him. . . .
In time, he pulled her away, dragging her into his lap. With his legs sprawled and his body limp, he pressed kisses to her hair.
His culmination of the godsdamned ages had just shattered everything he thought he knew about sex.
She sighed. “I take it I did okay on my first attempt. Wait till I practice.”
“Little wife,” he groaned, “if you get any better at that, I’m a dead demon.”
FORTY-FOUR
Later that night, Lila and Abyssian lazed in bed. She lay within his wings, facing him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his expression relaxed. The sea breezes had picked up until she could hear the surf crashing. . . .
After their dining room encounter, Abyssian had traced her to the shower to rinse off wine. As he’d rubbed his callused palms over her, he’d said, “You can’t be done after coming two times. A third will make you sleep better, and you’ll be less likely to use me as your body pillow.” One thing had led to another. And another.
The promise of a life with him was seductive. Life in the fey court had once been seductive as well. She’d been protected from the Møriør, yet vulnerable to infighting royals. Now she was protected from other fey, yet vulnerable to the Møriør.
She’d learned never to lower her guard in the Sylvan castle. Could she with this demon?
How exactly would she tell him her secret?
You remember Magh, the evil bitch with the tainted line? Surprise! Your fated female is one of those disgusting descendants of hers that you think should die. On top of that, I was Saetth’s fiancée. S’posed to be his queen. I vowed to him that I’d deal you a blow, then I lied to you from our first moments on. See, I was a spy, just like Kari. Now I know history repeats itself, but I’m totally different from her—aside from being the same person engaged in the same type of scheming. . . .
What if he locked her in the tower again?
“Tell me what thoughts are hidden behind those spellbinding eyes.” Gods, the way he was looking at her . . .
With his millennia of yearning, the demon tugged at her heart.
She didn’t want to ruin this. She’d never been in a real relationship, just wanted to explore it a little more. She drummed up a question: “Why did you move the trophy? It must have hung on that wall since the first days of this castle.”
“The Lôtn served his watch commendably, but my wife is not a fan. So off he goes.” The demon pinned her gaze. “Just because I don’t adapt well doesn’t mean I’m incapable of it. I will adjust to sharing my life. As you’re adjusting to sharing yours.”
The great king of hell was trying. That sense of hope hit her with all the finesse of a charging hellhound.
“There’s your soft look, the one that twists my horns into knots. I’m defenseless against it.”
Was a soft look all it took to manage him? Maybe this big dominant beast could be tempted by sweet things.
“But, Calliope, I too ask for patience. It will take me time to get this right. I want you to give me some leeway.”
“Like a get-out-of-jail-free card?”
A lock of hair tumbled over one of his eyes. “I suppose you could say that.”
“I’ll give you a card if you give me one too.” Or an entire deck.
“Agreed,” he said. “On that note, I have a wedding gift for you.”
She popped upright. “Ooh, what is it, what is it?” A rock? Emeralds?
He sat up and conjured a weird-looking . . . wand thingy? “Here.” He handed it to her.
She accepted the strange piece. It looked kind of fey in origin. “I . . . thank you.” She was grateful for his thoughtfulness, but she did wonder what message he wanted to convey with such an unromantic present.
“I was guided to give you that. Graven kept putting it in my path.”
“What do you mean?”
“With jewels in mind for my new bride, I traced to one of the castle’s rooms, a chamber I remembered for its copious riches. The area was empty except for this: a scepter wrought of gold and Titanian steel.”
Titanian? The Ancestors’ Sword had been forged of that metal.
Abyssian continued, “Not exactly what I’d had in mind. So I went to a second room. Again, I found it empty except for the scepter. The third room was the same. Graven wanted you to have it.” He curled his finger under her chin. “Calliope, never refuse the castle more than three times.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “My father told my brother and me this rule. Even he didn’t understand Graven. Which meant even he feared what it is capable of.”
She glanced around, wondering what her new home had in mind for her. “How would a fey scepter end up in a demon castle?”
“With Graven, who knows?”
“Thank you for the gift, demon.” She leaned forward to press her lips against his cheek. “Will you put this on the mantel?” She handed him the scepter.
With a nod, he rose, unfolding the long length of his body. She’d seen his ass in the shower, but she hadn’t gotten a view like this.
My, my, my. Sculpted rock-hard muscles flexed with each of his steps. In the shower, when she’d been on her knees giving him another blowjob, she’d dug her nails into those muscles; he’d cradled her face with shaking hands and stared down into her eyes, rasping in Demonish, “How I’ve yearned for you . . .”
