The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld 13)

Her back arched of its own accord, a moan bursting from her. Afraid she would yank out his hair in her excitement, she reached overhead and clung to the headboard. All the while he continued to lick. Suck. Liiick. Suuuck. Unable to stop herself, she writhed against him, her hips rolling.

"Lazarus, I--"

"Lazario. Like having a special nickname. Yours alone."

"Yes. Yes!" This was all so new to her. So surreal and perfect and wondrous. It was...undiluted, unpolluted pleasure, something she'd never thought to experience. "Don't stop. Please, please, don't stop."

Of course, Lazarus, being Lazarus, ended the sweet torment before she could ride his mouth all the way to completion.

Argh! "I curse your name and the day you were born, you climax-blocking bastard!"

He smiled up at her, wicked and brutal at once, and so astonishingly sexy she suspected--prayed--this image would be forever branded into her mind, and there would be nothing, absolutely nothing, Misery could do to erase it.

"You'll thank me soon enough...Cami."

Mmm. She liked having another special nickname.

He unfastened his leathers and drew down the zipper releasing his massive erection from its cage. Gaze white-hot on her, he stroked himself up, down. "Do you trust me?"

She licked her lips, nodded. "I do."

"Then trust me not to take more than you've offered me...no matter how much you might beg me otherwise." He bent down slowly, catching his weight with one hand--a hand he rested next to her waist. He used his other hand to...

She moaned before panting with shock and rapture. He'd wrapped his shaft around the crotch of her panties, the most intimate part of him pressing against the most intimate part of her. The rest of him was coiled around the thin--and now drenched--fabric. He hadn't entered her, and yet he'd managed to wedge himself against her aching core.

He cupped her ass to lift her...then, oh, then, he rubbed against her. A long, firm stroke. He rubbed again and again, coating his length with her arousal. Another moan burst from her, this one broken at the edges. The intensity of the pleasure! Nothing could compare.

Rub, rub...she chanted his name... he hit the spot where she ached most, stoking her need higher.

"Feels so good, sunshine. You feel good. Don't think I'll ever get enough of you."

She wanted to offer an intelligent reply, but couldn't quite catch her breath. Besides, her mind had fogged, her thoughts had fragmented.

"You like this?" he asked.

Incoherent words spilled from her, and she wasn't sure if she was begging him to stop...no, no, never stop...or to move faster...yes, yes, faster! The pleasure continued to build, creating pressure, scorching pressure that demanded she arch her hips and grind on him.

Inside her, a maddened frenzy escalated. A wild craze, the sensations so intense she feared passing out and missing the best part. Need pulsated from head to toe, even created a song of passion. Touch him...taste him...devour him.

This was...life. The life she'd always dreamed of having. As new moans rose from her, she fought the urge to do what he'd suspected and plead with him to take her. To give her more, to give her everything. Never had she felt so empty. He had to fill her up...please...please!

"Lazario...I can't... I need..."

"This is what you'll have with me, my Cami. Ecstasy. Every--time."

"Every time?" Had he just offered her the relationship she desired? Should never trust a man lost in the throes of passion. "As in, more than once?"

"More than many. With me." Faster...faster... "Only ever me."

He had!

"Tonight," he said, bending down to run the lobe of her ear between his teeth, "I'll make you come a thousand times, in a thousand different ways." The veins in his arms stood out as he used more of his incredible strength to--

Whoa. Tonight, he'd said. The word echoed in her mind, her hopes plummeting. And yet somehow her physical bliss continued to magnify; it was great and terrible, exquisite and excruciating; she was going to explode, and only pieces of her would remain.

Desperate for relief, she cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples. Think I'm losing my mind!

She traced the plane of her stomach, circled her navel...and stroked his erection's wet tip. He sucked in a breath.

"Love the feel of you. Hard, hot steel."

A new growl rumbled deep in his chest. "Look at my woman as she takes what she wants. Owning her pleasure. Owning mine."

How proud he sounded.

How intoxicated.

He was just as snared by pleasure as she was, and the knowledge felled her, destroying what little remained of her control. The pressure inside her finally burst. She screamed as satisfaction arced through each of her limbs and coalesced in her center. Aftershocks jolted her. Tremors reduced her to a limp rag doll.

That was... She... Shit! That was... Wow.

How had she ever lived without it?

She drank in the sight of her gorgeous, lust-consumed Lazario. His features were pulled taut, his teeth bared. The corners of her lips lifted...continued to lift...until she thought she might be...smiling at him.

His gaze met hers. A second later, he threw back his head and roared at the ceiling.

*

Siobhan studied her new surroundings, a bedroom both feminine and masculine. The king-size bed had navy blue sheets, a brown comforter, but a single strip of cream-colored lace graced the edges. Different weapons hung on the walls, some modern, some ancient. A vanity was scattered with even more weapons rather than toiletries.

Cameo's personal chamber, Siobhan suspected.

Lazarus had deposited her here and vanished. He'd had no idea two Amazons were following him. Word of his last deed as king of Grimm and Fantica had spread throughout the tribes, among the living and the dead. He'd turned a contingent of Amazons to stone, and now he was marked for death. Again.

He would learn of the intended hit soon enough. And he had better destroy his new enemies. If the Amazons succeeded and he died before committing to Cameo, Siobhan would be forced to spend another hundred years in captivity. All because she'd decided to help the couple, and showed Cameo two possible futures. There was no going back.

The curse demanded she bring couples together, and if she failed, she suffered.

Denial screamed inside her head. How could she help Cameo?

Use her visions to convince someone to redecorate the room, make it more romantic? No one loved romance more than Siobhan. Perhaps she would convince someone to redecorate the room to her tastes. There would be a velvet sofa--purple! Dressers and other pieces would be made of pure ebony. The chandelier would drip with gold-set diamonds. A Gothic-style canopy bed with a separate chandelier that hung from the center would replace the sleigh monstrosity she now rested upon. The closet would overflow with the finest gowns from the finest seamstresses in the world.

Her favorite knickknacks would decorate the dresser. An hourglass held by her sister's severed hands. A case filled with poisons and an assortment of crowns.

The door suddenly burst open, and her breath caught in her throat. A visitor!

A black-haired, blue-eyed warrior stumbled inside, and heavens above, he was beautiful beyond compare, despite the hollows in his cheeks and the week's worth of stubble on his jaw. Despite, even, the disheveled clothes he wore, the material ripped and stained with dried blood.

"Cameo," he said. Or rather, slurred. "I came to hear your apology."

Images of the warrior's future played through her mind, teaching her much about him. He was William of the Dark, though his friends referred to him as the Ever Randy. His conquests were legendary. He'd bedded queens and goddesses, and he'd killed kings and gods.

He was the adopted son of Hades--

She huffed with indignation. Hades adopted a son? When? Why?

Siobhan scoured the visions for information about the mother...a petite blonde whom William seemed to be meeting for the first time in...she wasn't sure when, t

he days, months and years blurring together.

A thousand new images poured into her mind, and she cringed. Every path led this man to the same end: death.

Like her, he bore the heavy burden of a curse. Unlike her, he owned a book written in code. He'd been told the code would free him. He had hope.

If I save him from certain death and help him fall in love, I could shave another hundred years off my sentence. Then...finally, blessedly, she would be free.

The prospect tantalized her. But...

Help Hades's beloved son? Never!

Although...for freedom, she would do much, much worse.

Fine! She would aid him. But how? Before Lazarus had left, he surrounded her with an impenetrable illusion. William couldn't see her...could he?

Peering at her, he dropped to his knees at the side of the bed. The bottle of whiskey rolled from his grip, what little liquid remained spilling across the floor. Torment and hope battled for dominance, tightening his features.

He knows what--who--I am, Siobhan realized with no small amount of surprise. Few ever did.

"There's a girl. Her name is Gillian. She's--" He scrubbed a hand down his face. "She was too young for me. Was. Now she's not. She was abused by men who were supposed to protect her, has only seen the worst in us, and I want to show her the best. When she needed me most, I refused to bond with her. I didn't want to risk being made human or watching her love for me turn to hate. That's the only reason she would try to kill me as the curse predicts, yes? Because she hates me? Then another man came along, took one look at her and saw what I had seen from the beginning. A treasure worth waiting for. He did what I wouldn't and now she's bound to him, body and soul. I long to kill him but hurting him will hurt her. I can't hurt her. Show me my end," he croaked. "Show me who kills me. If I know..."

He assumed knowing would allow him to let Gillian go. He also assumed Gillian was the only one for him. And she was...if he made certain choices. If he made other choices, there was another woman...

If he knew about the other woman, he would kill her soon after Siobhan revealed her identity. Because, at this time, the woman was a stranger to him. She meant nothing to him. Was nothing--no, not true. In his mind, she was worse than nothing; she was an obstacle to a happily-ever-after with Gillian.

What to do, what to do. If Siobhan helped him and failed...

When the glass remained clear, William cursed and labored to a stand.