King of the Damned (League of Guardians 2)

His tongue sought the refuge of her mouth, and he ate the words unspoken. We shouldn’t have come here.

He slid inside her warmth, his mouth plundering, stroking, and he found that he couldn’t get enough. She tasted like honey and cinnamon, and when she groaned into his mouth, he gripped her tighter and picked her up so that she clung to him, her feet several inches off the ground.

The feel of her thrilled and excited him, as did the smell of sex and lust and danger. The song in his head magnified, and as his mouth trailed kisses down her neck, he found himself reaching for her jacket. The need to both touch and see her skin clawed at him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, very much like the couple who fucked beside them.

Each movement of the man’s hips plunged his body deeper into that of his partner, and their groans of pleasure rang in Azaiel’s head.

“I knew you would feel like this,” Rowan whispered, her hands inside his jacket, her palms beneath his T-shirt. “So hard.” She bent and kissed his collarbone. “And perfect.”

“I’m far from perfect,” he answered harshly as he gazed up at her. Long tendrils of hair clung to her moist skin, and he angled his head, smiled wickedly, and claimed a nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt.

Her hands crept into his hair, and she held him there, her hips gyrating against him as the music continued to swirl. The moans and cries of pleasure from everyone around him swam in his head. It intensified the need to bury himself inside Rowan, and the sensation was near painful.

He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Rowan James at that moment. Not even Toniella, the woman responsible for his stay in Hell—for his fall from grace—had made him feel like this. She’d been an obsession. Rowan was something else entirely.

The band sped up, the guitars, the bass, and keyboards, all blending into a mad, chaotic melody of sex and lust. Alexis moved through the crowd—even though she never left the stage—her voice touched them all, her sexual appetites filled everyone with the need to mate. To have sex and conquer their most base desires.

Azaiel watched the vampire feed openly from the human female upon his lap as he settled her against him. Her skirt was tangled around her waist, and the tantalizing view of her nakedness held Azaiel’s gaze. The vampire glanced up and smiled at him, his hands cupping the woman’s ass as he thrust into her. They rocked together in an erotic dance, and Azaiel looked away.

Highly aroused. Highly disturbed.

He gripped Rowan tightly, trying like hell to gather his thoughts. To find himself amongst the chaotic music.

This was hedonism at its finest, and it called to him with an urgency he was helpless to fight.

He set her on a table in the corner, but she squirmed away from him and knelt between his legs—her hands at his jeans, her fingers tugging at the zipper.

“I need you now,” she said hoarsely, and he did nothing to stop her as she freed him from his pants. As she slid her fingers over the thick, straining length of him. As her lips, her wet, soft lips licked their way along his cock. As she took him into her mouth.

“This is wrong,” he whispered, closing his eyes as she suckled and massaged him. His own words from before—his warning to her—echoed in his mind, but he paid no heed.

Wrong always feels right. It’s why hell is full of lost souls who aren’t strong enough.

He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the pleasure of her mouth. There was nothing but Rowan and Azaiel, there beneath the shadows and music. He thrust his hips at her. He let her take all of him into her mouth and knew he was lost. He’d never be able to stop.

An

d he was right.

There amongst the dark, seductive notes that fell from the succubus witch, amongst the straining crowd of human and otherworld, amongst the shadows shared by so many weak souls . . .

Azaiel lost his mind.

Chapter 20

He tasted like heaven, and the feel of him in her hands—in her mouth—filled her with such power that for a second Rowan was overwhelmed. The music filled her head, and each sultry note liquefied, melted her defenses.

Her only thought was to give Azaiel as much pleasure as she could.

She wanted to take him to the brink and fall over the edge with him. He strained against her, large, muscular, and so very, very male. He was beauty and strength. Lust and passion.

Words she didn’t understand fell from him as he approached the edge, and when he climaxed—when he came for her, he let loose a torrent of ancient speak that made her heart beat faster.

His hands were everywhere after that, and as the pressure built inside her body, she whimpered. All rational thought had fled. There was only Azaiel. And pleasure. And the darkness that hid the music.

He ripped at her clothes, his mouth on her breasts as he pushed her back against the table. He was there between her legs, his hands beneath the waistband of her jeans, his mouth and tongue driving her crazy.

There were no words. Only his body over hers. His rough breaths as his chest heaved. The growl that rumbled in his throat as he flicked his tongue across her turgid nipples.