Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

“Because I will use the time to research the Rakshasa.”

And leave me unguarded? Interesting, given the attack only this morning.

I do not—would not—leave you unguarded. I will simply request help with this matter. He walked around the bed and touched a hand to my elbow, lightly guiding me to the door. This distrust of yours grows old, Risa.

I guess it would, but I just couldn’t help it. We both knew that no matter what he said or did, in the end, his mission was the only thing that mattered. Right now, that mission and I were intimately connected, but if something happened to alter that situation, then I’d more than likely find myself unguarded and alone.

He didn’t say anything to that, even though he would have heard the thought as clearly as if I’d said it out loud. Maybe, despite all his declarations, he knew it to be the ultimate truth.

I returned the key, then headed back down the street to my bike. The ride to work cleared my head a little, as did getting lost in the mad rush of food and alcohol service that the next eight hours at the café brought. Business was still booming, and if it continued at this rate, we were going to have lines of people waiting to get in that rivaled anything the Blue Moon—which was only several doors up the road—had. Which was amazing, considering the Blue Moon was one of the most popular wolf clubs in Melbourne, and we were only one of many cafés catering to the hungry hordes that spilled over from it.

The night went by fast, and once the next shift had rolled in and the changeover was completed, I counted the takings, then ran upstairs to have a shower, washing the grime of the shift and the lingering smell of ghostly deaths—a smell that was in my mind rather than on my skin—away.

It was nearly four by the time I got home and I barely had the energy to even strip. I was fast asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The play of fingertips across my bare back stirred me hours later. I murmured sleepily, not ready to wake yet. The gentle caress paused, as if waiting for sleep to claim me again. Dream, I thought wistfully. Only the dream smelled of lemongrass, suede, and musky, powerful male. I smiled. Lucian.

The play of fingertips began again, sweeping slowly down my spine, the movements teasing, erotic. I became aware of his weight resting gently on my legs, of the heat of desire that swam all around me. The force of it burned my skin.

His big hands briefly cupped my butt and pressed my cheeks together. He kissed each one, the touch so light I barely felt it, yet it sent a tremor that was all anticipation shooting through my core. His touch moved on, down to my thighs, then slowly between them, until his fingers slid through waking slickness and found my clit.

A moan escaped and he chuckled softly. “It seems my plan to take you when you sleep isn’t quite going as I’d envisioned.”

He continued to stroke me, sending little shudders of pleasure skating through me, making it difficult to think, let alone talk. I licked my lips and croaked, “And what fun is there to be had in loving an unresponsive body?”

“Oh, none at all.” He pressed two of his fingers into me, sliding them in and out. I shuddered and raised my butt a little, allowing him greater access. He chuckled again, but his movements remained deliberate and painstakingly slow. “The fun comes with wakefulness, in feeling your surprise when—a heartbeat before your orgasm hits you—you realize that I’ve been fucking you senseless.”

His words had my pulse racing. God, I wanted that. All of that. Now. “I’m a wolf,” I said, my voice becoming more than a little breathless as those shudders of pleasure got ever stronger. “I’m always going to wake way before either of those moments.”

“As I’ve sadly discovered. It does not, however, alter my plan.”

And of that, I was glad. “Trouble is, all I’m feeling is finger fucking. When does the real action start?”

“Wolves,” he said with a chuckle. “Always impatient.”

And with that, he pulled my hips upward into doggie position and slowly thrust into me. I moaned as my body clenched around him, wanting his heat deeper, wanting him to go faster. He did neither, keeping the rhythm of his movements slow and steady, even though I could feel the tremble of desire that rode him where our flesh connected.

Then, with a suddenness that made me growl in frustration, that connection was gone. He chuckled again. “Patience, little wolf, patience.”

He shifted his position, then flipped me over onto my back. Before I could even squawk a protest, his body was pressed against my length and his lips were claiming mine. And this was no ordinary kiss—the kiss of an Aedh is like no other. It’s designed to enthrall, to not only captivate but sweep aside all objections and allow the Aedh to bed and impregnate the woman of his choice. Aedh usually did this only when they were nearing the end of their life span, and with human females only when they could find no female Aedh to mate with. Their lovemaking never actually lived up to the power and magic of their kiss, but it was still pretty damn fine.

Of course, Lucian was no ordinary Aedh. Not only had his wings been ripped off as punishment for murder—he’d taken revenge against the man who’d killed his half sister—but he’d been confined to human form for many, many centuries. In that time, he’d come to appreciate some of the finer aspects of holding human form, and making love was definitely one of them. To say he had an insatiable need to indulge in the pastime without impregnating his partner was something of an understatement.

Just as saying he was kissing me senseless was something of an understatement. He kissed me until my head spun and desire became a burn that would surely consume me if it wasn’t quenched. Then he released me and moved down my neck, the butterfly kisses he trailed along my skin making me tremble and groan. He kissed both breasts, then closed his mouth over one, alternating between sucking and swirling his tongue around the edge of the areola as he pinched and squeezed the other. My fingers clenched the bedsheets, and it was all I could do not to scream against the force of the sensations crashing through me.

As the shudders of pleasure assaulting my body threatened to become a quake, he continued his journey downward, kissing my stomach and belly button.

Then he reached my lower lips and began to slowly trace the edges, tantalizing me with possibilities. My breath hitched as his tongue passed briefly over my clit, but he moved on quickly. Too quickly. I moaned, and he laughed softly, his breath a teasing coolness that felt almost as good as his tongue’s caress.

He explored further, each thrust of his tongue delving deeper. It was an intimate yet gentle assault that left me delirious with pleasure, and I was torn between wanting it to go on and on yet not sure I could actually stand such torture for too much longer.

Then his tongue swirled around my clit again. I screamed as my body bucked and my orgasm crashed through me with a suddenness and intensity that left me trembling but still wanting more. Of him. All of him.

I grabbed his arms and swiftly switched our positions, straddling him quickly and thrusting him deep inside.

His hands moved to either side of my hips, holding me steady and still. “Wolves,” he said, the disappointment in his expression somewhat destroyed by the mirth so evident in his powerful, jade green eyes. “No stamina whatsoever.”

“Oh, really?” I said, more than a little amused. “I somehow doubt you’d last long under a similar assault of pleasure.”