A shiver followed in the wake of his finger moving along her arm. He reached for her blouse and started unbuttoning it from the bottom up. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Is it better than chocolate yet?”
“You’ll have to try a little harder.”
“Anything you want, cupcake. Want to maybe play a little? Here in the dark?”
She ached for him to touch her. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her and to listen to his breathing change, to hear that soft croon from low in his throat. The backs of his fingers brushed against her bare skin as he continued to push buttons through buttonholes, and for a while she thought she might just melt right here. She did want to play. A lot. He stopped unbuttoning her shirt and brushed his fingers along her bared skin. “Paisley? Tell me yes so I know you’re okay with this.”
“Don’t make me get up and find that gun.”
He laughed and undid another button. “After Fen,” he said softly, “I found out I like having sex with humans.” From the sounds and the way he shifted his body, she figured he’d just taken off his shirt. She reached out and discovered she was right. His skin was warm and smooth, and touching him made her long for more. He sucked in a breath when her fingers slid over his nipples. “You have a beautiful body, Paisley, and I want to see you naked and touch you all over and have dirty, kinky sex with you.”
He shifted around again, unzipping his fly and taking off his jeans. She helped him with that. For a few seconds, when his clothes had been dumped on the floor and she was back to straddling his lap, she listened to the sound of them breathing. A chill slid down her back and sent her heart beating hard in her chest. He’d used magic—she’d learned enough to recognize that reaction—but she had no idea what he’d done with that magic.
“I’d love to have sex with you right now,” he said in a rougher voice than she was used to hearing from him. “Like this.”
“Like what?”
He whispered, “Not human.”
She leaned over him, moving her hand forward to the arm of the couch near Iskander’s head. The shape of his body had changed. He was larger; that was certain. She rested her palm on his chest, and his skin wasn’t smooth the way it had been before. She slid her hand the length of his torso, over the ridged muscles of his chest. The texture of his skin was leathery but warm, so warm and supple. Her fingertips brushed over one of his nipples, and that elicited a soft inhale from him.
She bent closer. Her ponytail slid over her shoulder, and he pulled out the band that held back her hair. “I want to see you.”
“Not a good idea.” He pushed his fingers into her hair.
“Why not?”
“There’s a rule about letting a human who isn’t bound to secrecy see us when we’re not human. Sometimes it happens by accident, but we’re not supposed to let that happen. Not anymore.”
Her heart stuttered but it wasn’t in fear, exactly. “Weren’t you always not human?”
He went back to unbuttoning her blouse. “I should clarify that, I guess. It’s true—I’m not human. I am also not in my human form.” His hands left her shirt as he stretched his body. “Want to break a few rules?”
“If I say yes, we wouldn’t be breaking any rules, right?”
“True. So,” he said after a heartbeat, “are you saying yes?” He went still while he waited for her to answer. He was serious about that, about needing an answer from her. “I won’t do anything you don’t say is okay.”
She slid her hands over his face, finding the shape was different, his cheeks higher, more slanted. She stroked over his chest and down to his belly to his penis.
“It’s dangerous this way,” he said. “It’s making me hot and not just because of where you have your hand.”
“I don’t feel like I’m in danger.”
“You are. I can feel your magic, and it’s working on me something fierce.” He wrapped his fingers around her left wrist, stopping her from stroking his cock, except not really. His fingers tightened around hers, squeezing and then sliding up. Down. Slowly. “Listen to me, Paisley, there’s more I need to tell you.”
“Okay.” She was more turned on than she’d ever been in her life, ready for whatever might happen.
“My kind don’t reproduce with each other. Just with humans. And we’re only fertile when we’re like this.”
“Not human, you mean?”
“Yeah. So I’m telling you now that if we do it when I’m like this, I can’t come inside you. Condoms or birth control don’t work well with us. I can’t give you diseases because we don’t get them.” He touched her cheek with this free hand, and she shivered at the contact, at the faintest touch of what felt like a talon on her skin. “I want to have sex with you when I’m like this, but I won’t tonight. I promise you that, all right? Because right now, we’re playing. So you’ll know at least something about me if it ever happens like that.”
Her belly went a little loopy, and not in a bad way at all. He undid the last buttons of her shirt and pushed it off her shoulders. She drew one arm out of the sleeve and then the other, and he yanked and her shirt was gone. “Are you turned on?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s good. Me too.” The cushions shifted when he sat up. He reached around to unfasten her bra. Oh, God, she just could not believe this was happening. She flashed back to Urban and the way she’d always felt so inadequate with him, and for half a second she was back to her old insecure, far-too-fragile self. As if he knew what she was thinking, he hesitated. “Okay?”
Her breath hitched, and her breasts felt heavy, and she was dying for him to touch her. What came out of her throat was a kind of choked, “Yes.”
“Excellent.” He pulled her bra away from her. He let out a low breath. “Paisley,” he said in that same rough voice. “I swear if I was religious, I’d thank all the gods I can remember for giving me a life where I get to see you naked.”
“I’m not naked.”
“Not yet.” He leaned forward and then his tongue flicked over her nipple. His mouth, hot and damp, closed over her, and his hand was warm as he cupped her breast, his fingers warm on the other one. Her body was committed to being aroused.
She buried her fingers in his hair while he suckled her. So soft, his hair was, like silk in her hands. After a bit, she tilted his head toward hers, and since she was still straddling him, she had to lower her head to kiss him. His mouth under hers didn’t feel quite the way it should, but his lips parted and his tongue moved into her mouth, and she thought this kiss, so different from every other kiss she’d had in her life, was better than any of them. The heat was astonishing.
His hands curved around her rib cage, sliding over her, around to her back, sharp nails gliding down her spine, a light touch. She slid off him and as quickly as she could, she shucked her jeans and underwear.
“Thank you, Jesus.” His voice was definitely rougher.
She went back to him, and he put his arms around her and kissed her shoulder. “I want you inside me,” she said. “And I want to see you.”
“Give me a minute.”
She didn’t, though. She kissed him, and he kissed her back, and one of his hands slipped between her legs, and she nearly came apart just from that. She threw back her head and moaned.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he said. “We should stop before it’s too late.”
“Bad idea.”
“Stopping?” He laughed softly and circled his thumb in the exact right spot. Coherent thought went flying right out of her head.
She bent down and kissed him, her mouth open, her tongue between his lips, touching his tongue, touching the sharp teeth, and when she lifted her hips, he moved, too, anticipating her, and then there was a moment of profound quiet. Neither of them moved.
“Yes?” he whispered.
“Oh, yes.”
Then he was pushing inside her, and he slowed down for her because it had been too long since she’d been with anybody.
Every nerve in her body seemed to be located between her legs.
And, God, this was just so good, stupefying. When he filled her, she arched her back, and he pressed in a little deeper and slid his hands around her waist and he was not human. She could see enough in the dimness to know he wasn’t. Her breath hitched, hard and in time with the first tingle of orgasm. How could she do the right thing when she was about to come and she could tell it was going to be massively good? She looked up and saw the flicker of his eyes and the blue sheen of his skin, and their gazes locked.
His hands tightened around her, and for a while they just fucked. They didn’t speak, and it felt beyond good. She ended up on her back again, and he gave her what she needed, which was this, to feel him moving inside her, to have him touch her and kiss her.
He supported his weight on his hands while she arched toward him, and then he pulled out of her and slowly drew his body downward, along hers, nipping at her legs, her thighs, and then between her legs, and he was wicked, so wicked. She screamed his name and called on God and came so hard she lost all sense of herself.
Then he raised himself the rest of the way up, and he was inside her again, thrusting, and she could feel muscles flexing beneath her hands. When he was close, he cursed under his breath and he froze, and then his body changed, and for some reason that made her shout again. She came again, and then he did, too.
Afterward, he held her close and kissed her and tangled his fingers in her hair and whispered, “Let’s find a bed and do that again, Paisley.”
CHAPTER 19
6:35 A.M., the next day
Paisley wanted to run but she didn’t, even though the back of her head was cold and her chest hummed from a source deep in the center of her body. “He’s here,” she whispered.
Iskander had woken her from a sound sleep about an hour ago to tell her Nikodemus and Carson were on their way to the farmhouse. They’d showered and dressed, and she went downstairs to make a breakfast of eggs, doughnuts, and muffins.
Both she and Iskander came to their feet at almost the same time, Iskander a bit sooner. From where she stood, she had a view of the hallway and most of the front door, with its boarded-over windows. Her pulse thumped in her ears.
Iskander opened the door and stepped aside, the first three fingers of his hand pressed to his bowed head. “Carson.” He repeated the gesture. “Warlord.”
A petite woman with black hair walked in, a witch, judging from the way Paisley’s head stayed so cold. Carson held hands with a tall man—a demon—whose sandy blond hair was a bit shaggy. A jade-green box about half the size of a brick was tucked under one arm. He held out a fist and Iskander bumped it with his.
After the men fist-bumped, Iskander bent to kiss the cheek Carson offered him. She had to be the Carson. The woman who had severed the bond between Iskander and Fen. Nikodemus’s witch. She wasn’t a screamer, thank God, and like Nikodemus, she didn’t look very scary at first glance. Paisley liked her on sight.
Carson put out a hand and blocked the warlord’s progress into the house before he and Iskander got out of the entryway. Paisley had the distinct impression Carson was the one controlling things right now. No one was going anywhere or doing anything until the witch said so.
The woman walked to the edge of the living room and scanned the room with a pair of brilliant green eyes. She paused at Paisley, who felt the merest whisper of something pressing in on her, but Carson did not acknowledge her in any way. The woman’s attention moved on. She walked farther in while Nikodemus and Iskander waited by the door.
“I vouch for her, Carson,” Iskander said, his voice raised. He propped one hand on the wall. “She’s no danger to us.”
Carson lifted a hand before she disappeared down the hall. She went upstairs next. Before much longer, she returned and addressed herself to Nikodemus and Iskander. “Clear.”
Nikodemus strolled the rest of the way in. He wore faded jeans and a red T-shirt that read The Apocalypse was yesterday. Where were you? His cowboy boots were scuffed, and he could use a haircut, but there was no denying he was a good-looking man.
Appearances were definitely deceiving. Nikodemus didn’t look scary at all. Not until Paisley got a closer look at his eyes. They were a medium blue-gray, nothing special at first, but when his gaze meet hers, she felt like she’d been scoured clean. And that was with him smiling. He joined Carson, and the two linked hands again.
Iskander followed them into the living room. The demon warlord looked her up and down and at the end of his disquieting perusal of her, quirked his eyebrows. “Paisley Nichols,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Her mouth went dry. “Sir.”
He walked toward her, letting go of Carson’s hand to offer his hand to her. Carson came along, staying close. “Nikodemus,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” His shake was firm, his skin cooler than she expected. “This is Carson Phillips.”
Paisley shot Iskander a look. His smile wasn’t back yet, but he didn’t warn her against touching the witch, so she clasped hands with Carson, too. Nothing happened to her. There wasn’t any blast of energy, no pain, just a normal everyday handshake from a woman who looked too dainty to be dangerous. “Sir. Ma’am. Pleased to meet you both. Iskander’s told me about you, of course.”
“Please, call me Carson.” She had a pretty smile, but it didn’t make Paisley feel any safer. Her soft voice wasn’t girly. “How are you?”
“Fine, thank you, and you?”
Like Nikodemus, Carson was wearing jeans, but the rest was less casual—a pink button-down blouse, diamond earrings, a matching bracelet, and a pair of bejeweled sandals. Her toenails were a frosty purple.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Paisley asked.
“Do you have coffee?” Carson asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Regular or espresso?”
She gave Paisley a quick grin. “Espresso for us both, if you have it.”
“I do. I’d be happy to make some for you. Iskander?” She kept her voice formal. “Coffee for you?”
He nodded, stretching his long body out on the sofa where, not so long ago, she’d been flat on her back and screaming Iskander’s name. Better than chocolate. “The usual, cupcake.”
Carson cocked her head and looked from Iskander to her. Great. Just great.
“I’ll be just a minute, then.” She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans while she walked to the kitchen. She hoped to God there wasn’t going to be trouble over him using that offhand endearment. She set herself to making espresso and setting up a plate with the muffins and doughnuts she’d made this morning, along with fresh butter and jam. She added the remaining soufflés.
Iskander came in while she was arranging the food and trying not to stress over all the horrible outcomes she kept imagining. He didn’t say anything at first; he just stood close to her, one hand on the cabinet above him. Too close if they were just friends. Maybe not quite close enough for two people who’d been to bed together.
“It’s not even seven in the morning.” She snapped the first serving of the ground espresso into place and flipped the START switch. Two hours of sleep. “Don’t you people ever sleep?” she asked.
“No.”
“Shit,” she whispered. She didn’t know anything. Not a darn thing about mages, witches, or demons, all of whom had, at some point, threatened her life. She rubbed the scar on her wrist.
“That bothering you again?” he asked in a low voice.
“Sometimes it itches.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. A little.”
He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb over the scar. The streak of pain up her arm helped block the sensation of someone pressing on her head. “I know it’s early for you, but Nikodemus needs to talk to us. He understands if you can’t, but it would be better to get this done with.”
“Fine.” Her stomach hurt.
“I promise I’ll get you
to work on time.”
“They can’t fire me if I’m late. I’m the boss.” She leaned against the counter while the espresso machine burbled. “Are you in trouble because of me?”
“I would be if you were dead.” He snatched one of the doughnuts off the plate and ate it. “But you’re not, so we’re good.”
“Am I in trouble because of what happened with the witch? Or because of Rasmus?”
“No.” He leaned in and picked up the plate that held a haphazard jumble of food. “How about we distract them with this?”
“You can’t serve them food like that. We need plates, Iskander. Napkins. Silverware, too.”
“The food looks great. Nikodemus loves doughnuts almost as much as I do. You deal with the coffee. I’ll take this and come back for the rest, all right?”
He’d been naked with her, inside her. Both of them desperate for each other. He’d made her come apart in his arms, and she would have done anything he asked. Anything at all.
Iskander didn’t come back for the other things, so she stacked plates, napkins, and silverware on a tray with the coffee, cream, and sugar. When she came in, Nikodemus and Carson were on the couch, the demon with his arm around the witch’s waist.
Serious inroads had been made in the plate of food, and the table was covered with crumbs. The soufflés were gone and so were the doughnuts. There was one muffin left. She put down the tray and handed out coffee, plates, and the like. Iskander scooted over on a love seat. When everyone had their coffee, she used one of the napkins to brush up crumbs.
“Not necessary,” Iskander said. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her onto the love seat with him. “Your coffee’s going to get cold.” He stretched for her demitasse and handed it to her. “Relax,” he said in a low voice. “Everything’s cool. I promise you.” He stretched an arm across the top of the love seat. His fingertips just brushed her shoulder.
Nikodemus added several sugars to his espresso. The green box he’d been holding was on the coffee table, and from here, it looked to her like it was real jade. Powdered sugar dotted the lid. Her reaction to them wasn’t settling down the way she’d hoped, and it was disconcerting to say the least. This close, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever think Nikodemus wasn’t dangerous.
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