The Darkest Promise (Lords of the Underworld 13)

He ignored a flare of panic, barely resisting the urge to cup the leather-covered pendant hidden under his shirt. It had left his possession only when he'd bathed Cameo; he hadn't wanted to risk contact with her skin, had feared the worst. But he now feared Hera finding it more, so he always kept it on a chain around his neck or within his sights.

The former bitch queen had to know what Cameo meant to him. Worse, she knew how the crystals had weakened Typhon, allowing her to strike at Lazarus's mother. She already suspected the same change was overtaking Lazarus. Now she waited for the perfect time to strike.

Every day he'd expected her to show up at the fortress.

"Lazarus," Cameo prompted, and worried her lower lip.

"The time for talking has ended." He stripped, grace beyond him. Weapons thudded to the floor. He ripped the necklace over his head and dropped it beside a dagger. His shaft was long and thick and harder than the titanium they'd found inside the griffin cave.

She stood before him fully clothed, her gaze heating as it roved over him. The distraction had worked. She trembled as she traced her fingertips along the crystal veins draping his shoulders. "There has to be a way to save you," she croaked.

Sorrow would not intrude. "There is," he replied. Leaving her. An impossible feat, as he'd already proved.

Hope brightened her features. "How?"

"We'll talk. Later." Steam escaped the stall and enveloped them. Outside, thunder boomed. A new storm brewed. Through the window, lightning flashed. "I want you," he rasped. Every inch of her. Nothing withheld from him.

Her tongue glided over her red, red lips, leaving a trail of glistening moisture. The shield around her mind vanished without any probing, her thoughts inundating him. She wanted him to feel the lust sizzling inside her, wanted to be vulnerable to him and for him. Her nipples ached for his touch, his tongue--only his. Her belly quivered, and between her legs, she throbbed with need.

She imagined him thrusting inside her, and she loved it. He loved it.

Lazarus's iron control utterly snapped. With an animal-like snarl, he backed her into the wall. Beautiful female. My willing captive. He ripped away her clothing, filling his hands with her beautiful breasts, her sweet little nipples puckering against his palms. My female.

Must slow down.

Must savor.

"I will do anything you desire," he breathed into her ear. "Tell me, Cami. Tell me what you want."

Shivers cascaded through her. "I want to get clean...so we can get very dirty."

The longing in her voice eroded the edges of his calm facade. He'd missed this. Missed her so deeply he wasn't sure how he'd breathed without her.

He nipped her earlobe before picking her up and placing her inside the stall. The steam had thickened, enveloping them both with sultry abandon, turning the small enclosure into a dreamworld.

"I'm going to make you come so many times you lose your mind."

"Lazario!" Her nails scoured his shoulders.

"My Cami."

Hot water rained over them as he soaped the mud from her exquisite curves. Little moans and mewls escaped her, driving him insane with lust.

He pressed her against the cool tile and kissed her with bone-deep ferocity. She alone held the power to give him breath. She was the only anchor amid a violent storm.

She melted against him, her nipples abrading his chest, the friction maddening. Grinding his erection against her, drawing new mewls from her, he cupped and kneaded her beautiful breasts. But the contact wasn't enough. With her, nothing would ever be enough. He would always crave more.

"I'm desperate to get inside you." He needed to brand her, needed to bond her body to his, now and always. "You haunt my every waking hour, star in my every dream."

She nipped at his lower lip. "You are my dreams." Her arms wound around him, and she rubbed her thigh against his.

He caught the underside and lifted her off her feet, forcing her to wrap her other leg around his waist. Then he ground his shaft against her core with greater force.

With her mental shield down, Lazarus heard her demon whisper words of discontent--going to forget this--in an effort to sow discord and therefore sorrow. Rage surged through him, setting the crystals in his veins on fire.

"I'll make this so good the demon can't erase it, love."

Love. He'd called her love. Was that what she'd become to him? And he'd meant his words as a vow. Even if she begged the demon for a total memory wipe, the image of Lazarus would forever haunt her.

"Yes. Please, yes."

He kissed her, greedily drinking from her. Her nails combed through his hair and sank into his scalp. An action born of the same desperation he'd battled since returning to the fortress, making his heart careen against his ribs. Her passion stoked his own.

"I'm so close already," she rasped. "I'm going to..."

He stilled, ending her quick descent into oblivion. Screeching in frustration, she pounded her fists into his shoulders, hitting with enough force to bruise him.

"Now, now. There's no reason to fret. You killed Juliette in under five minutes." He licked the corner of her mouth, the seam of her lips, before his tongue played a carnal game with hers. "I owe you a reward..."

He forced her legs to lower. Then he did something he'd only ever done with her. He willingly dropped to his knees, granting her a position of power. Why not? She'd enslaved him in ways Juliette hadn't. Ways he relished.

Through his lashes, he looked up at paradise. The tantalizing dip of her navel. The strength in her stomach. Her breasts crested by hardened peaks. A pink flush stained the surface of her skin as water droplets rained over her. His tongue captured one on her outer thigh.

Her fingers combed through his hair. Nibbling on her lower lip, she applied pressure to his nape to draw him toward her. "Take me, then." The command of a queen. His queen. "Take me well."

Lazarus leaned in, so close he could scent her unique musk...she held her breath, waiting, eager...before he lifted to his haunches and sucked on her nipples, teasing and taunting her. She made a sound of frustration followed by a sound of ragged need.

He flicked his tongue over the swollen crests until both were swollen and hopefully throbbing. As her hips writhed, he kissed the outside of her navel, dipped inside it...then licked down, down, as if finally giving her what she wanted most...only to turn his head and bite her hip, where the wings of her butterfly tattoo glittered on her skin.

"Enough! I need to... Pleeease."

"Can't resist such a sweet plea." He slid his hands up, up her legs. When he reached the source of her desire, he thrust a finger deep inside her, at the same time licking her little bundle of nerves.

She screamed his name, just the way he liked.

Damn, she tasted so good. Was even more intoxicating than ambrosia. His perfect little lollipop. His tongue and fingers worked in tandem, propelling her need higher--propelling his own need higher. Her inner walls were hot and wet and so wonderfully tight around his finger.

His shaft ached with pain and with pleasure.

"Lazario..." A groan.

My woman desires more. He wedged another finger inside her, stretching her, preparing her for a more intimate penetration.

Then her soft lips parted, and she moaned his name. "Please...please..."

Frenzied, he shot to his feet and shut off the water. He picked her up, his motions shockingly unaffected by the crystals. His passion was simply too great. He carried her to the bedroom and laid her across the bed, pinning her body beneath his. Wet skin against wet skin. Long ebony hair spilled over the pillows like ribbons drenched in a rainstorm. Her arms and legs wrapped around him. With no other preamble, he surged inside her.

Her back bowed. She closed her eyes and cried out as she climaxed around his shaft. Pleasure morphed into agony as he fought his own need to come. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, but he forced himself to remain still.

Savor. He wasn't ready for this to end.

&nb

sp; When she sagged against the bed, a panting, boneless heap, he had a flash of rational thought. "Should have covered this earlier. Birth control?" Sweat trickled down his back, only to steam off his overheated skin.

If he had to withdraw from her, he would. He would suffer, but he would do it. He'd never wanted children, had never wanted his love for his child used against him, had never desired to sentence a child to a cursed eternity weakened by something as innocuous--and insidious--as crystals.

"I'm given a shot every three months." She practically purred the words. "I'm good to roll."

Heady with relief, Lazarus hooked his arms under her knees and angled her body for deeper penetration. With his first thrust, her languid contentment vanished. Moaning, she arched to take him deeper still.

He slid out with slow reverence and then thrust back in. The ecstasy! His skin pulled taut over his bones. Out...in. Out, in. The pressure inside him built. Her inner walls slick and hot, he increased his speed until he was pounding inside her, again and again. The bed rocked, headboard slapping the wall. Pictures fell, glass shattered.

"One more kiss. One more touch," she pleaded. "One more everything."

He slammed his mouth into hers, finesse beyond him. She met his ferocity with pure feminine aggression. Their breaths mingled. Through the connection of their minds, he knew how close she was to a second climax. How desperately she ached, as if she'd never experienced satisfaction.

He lifted his head and rasped, "Look at me, my beautiful monomania."

Her eyes opened, meeting his, her silver irises wild with lust. Then she screamed his name, her inner walls squeezing his length. He felt her pleasure, both physically and emotionally, and his own climax ripped through him.

With a roar, he jetted inside her.

*

Cameo opened her eyes, roused from the sweetest sleep of her life. Lazarus dozed beside her, his arms wrapped around her, and her heart melted. Was this the first time he'd slept since her bout with depression?

A tender smile shaped her lips. Poor, sweet darling. He'd taken such good care of her. She stretched and grinned at the lovely soreness in muscles long unused. Yes, he'd taken very good care of her, and in more ways than one.

Sex with him had been eternity changing. He'd catapulted her to heights she hadn't known existed. He'd done the impossible and quieted Misery. And through it all, he'd looked at her and touched her as if she were a precious treasure rather than a hated anchor.