The twist of her hips urged a groan from him. Her breath puffed in small pants, hot on the side of his face. Her tight nipples brushed his chest, and Ty couldn’t hold back from running his hands up to pinch and rub them.
Edie shook at his touch and sank onto him the whole way. Her sweet ass, so perfectly round, settled onto his thighs. She engulfed him. Her knees clutched his sides as she pushed up, her nails scoring faint lines down his chest and belly.
They moved at the same time, her body lifting and coming back down as he thrust deep inside. Ah, fuck, it was heaven, it was glory, it was too much.
He could never get enough of her smile, her laugh, her scent. Her heat. He filled his grasp with her breasts, tweaking her nipples, and she cried out and arched into his touch.
He was close, but she needed more. Ty’s fingers crept between them. His thumb settled on the hard button of her clit. Edie’s immediate cry of satisfaction sent ecstasy rippling through his balls and up his shaft. He wanted her to come first.
Edie had never been shy with telling him what she liked or wanted, and Ty had never been afraid of listening. Now, though, Edie gave him no encouragement but the rolling of her hips and her clit getting harder under his touch. When she came, he felt it in the pulse of clit and flutter of her pussy. He heard it in her low shout and watched it on her face as her head tipped back. Later, maybe pain, but now only sweet pleasure shot through him as her fingernails dug into his skin. He shifted his hand, taking away the direct pressure that would be too much for her right now.
Edie leaned forward to kiss him. Their mouths met, tongues stroking, and she pulled away, breathing hard. She looked into his eyes, and Ty’s whole world became this woman.
“Slow,” she murmured again, and Ty let out a muffled laugh.
“I can’t hold out much longer, babe.”
“You can.” Edie traced his mouth with her tongue but pulled away when he moved forward to catch her mouth. “Let me do it.”
It was too hard not to move when she did. Desire blinded him to anything but her pussy bearing down on his cock. It deafened him to anything but the sweet sound of her saying his name, telling him how good he was making her feel. Ty’s entire world had become Edie.
She moved on him, slowly, as she’d promised, lifting her body and twisting her hips as she slid back down his length. Again she did the same agonizing motion. Her inner muscles clenched on the downward stroke. He imagined the head of his cock sliding over the tight knot of nerves just behind her pubic bone, and when Edie groaned, rocking and twisting a little faster, he knew that’s exactly what she was doing.
She shook her head when he made to move his hand between them again. Her eyes opened, pupils dilated, and she drew in a quivering breath.
“Slow,” she repeated.
Up. Down. Twist. Ty lost himself in the inferno of her body. His cock throbbed with each slow thrust, and he tasted sweat on his upper lip. When Edie rocked forward again, he took one sweet nipple into his mouth. Her entire body jerked as he suckled, and she twisted her body on him again.
Now there was no room or need for words. Their bodies spoke. Edie put a hand on his shoulder to brace herself, and Ty held her ass, his fingers slipping around to slide against her from the back.
“Now.” Edie’s voice skipped on that one syllable. “Oh, God, Ty. Harder!”
Unleashed, he did as she said. He thrust up inside her, moving her entire body as she cried out. Her pussy convulsed and her heat spread over him. She’d been slick before, but now his cock slid inside her on the flood of her orgasm.
Their bodies slapped together. Edie went stiff and shaking, her head falling to his shoulder as her hips pumped to meet each of his thrusts.
Climax boiled up from his balls and tore through him. His cock jetted, each pulse an explosion of ecstasy that left him briefly mindless but for one thought.
“Edie!”
Bright pleasure brightened the back of his eyelids, and when he opened his eyes, she was there. Edie. The woman he loved.
She collapsed on him, breathing hard. Their bodies merged and melted, softening in the aftermath of their ecstasy. Ty held her closer, happy never to move if he didn’t have to. Happy never to let her go again.
Good sex could knock a person brainless, but it was still only a few minutes before Edie noticed the goose bumps prickling her. She lifted her head and brushed a kiss on Ty’s mouth. He opened his eyes and smiled, and she kissed him again simply because she could.
“I’m cold,” she said.
Ty lifted his head and looked to the right. “Blanket.”
She followed his gaze and found the folded comforter. Plain white like the sheets, it was thick but light. Down, maybe. It would be warm, too. She tented it over them, blocking out the light. In moments their breath and body heat had made a warm cave of the space.
The hills and valleys of their bodies aligned, Edie pillowed her head on Ty’s chest. His heart thumped beneath her cheek, and she pressed her fingers to the inside of his wrist to feel the pulse. He curved his fingers through hers, holding her hand to his lips before tucking it against him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said after his slow, deep breathing had already convinced her he was asleep.
Edie kissed his warm skin and let her lips rest there a moment before she answered. “Best I ever had.”
“For now.”
Ty’s arm tightened around her. Outside, a dog barked. Edie’s eyes drifted closed. She should get up and go to the bathroom. She should at least make sure the doors were locked. At the very least, she should turn out the light. Instead, she did nothing, drifting to sleep in the cradle and comfort of Ty’s arms.
She’d taken a plane and a rented car. Ty had driven for days to surprise her. They’d spent the past two years dreaming of the ways they would find to reach each other, and now they no longer had to dream about how to get there.
They were here.
Megan Hart
MEGAN HART has been writing since she could grip a pencil in her fist. Published in nearly all genres of romance, perhaps most notably erotic, she intends to keep writing stories that make her happy. She lives in the deep, dark woods of Pennsylvania with Superman and two monsters…erm…children. Readers may learn more about her at www.meganhart.com or drop her a line at [email protected].
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Part 3
Hell Is Where the Heart Is
by
Jackie Kessler
This story wouldn’t have been possible without the following
people: May Chen and Miriam Kriss—thank you so much for the
opportunity to write about a little (okay, a lot of) demon nooky.
Tom Knapp—
thank you so much for the awesome barometric pressure line.
Caitlin Kittredge and Richelle Mead—
thank you for keeping me sane and spurring me on.
Renée Barr—
thank you, once again,
for reading every single version of the first chapter.
Heather Brewer—
thank you for helping me figure many things out
way before (and when) the deadline loomed.
And most of all, Brett—
thank you, thank you, thank you for running all those errands
with the kids and leaving me alone to finish the story.
You guys are the best!
NOW:
VALENTINE’S DAY
Chapter 1
Daunuan
I smelled her before I saw her—this immediate, irresistible scent of cinnamon and sex that hit me like a witch’s curse. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, drew her aroma inside of me and savored her.
Jezebel was nearby.
A memory flashed: my face buried between Jezebel’s strong thighs, my lips on hers, my hands squeezing her ass as my tongue worked her clit. I remembered how her hands fisted in my hair, how he
r hips bucked as I sucked her, how I teased her to the point of ecstasy….
The woman under me moaned her pleasure, loud enough to pull me from my reverie.
Whoops. Focus, Daun.
I crooked my fingers again, just so, and she gasped. She tightened around me, and I could have nudged her over the edge right there—she was so close. Instead, I slipped my fingers out of her, smiled at her breathy protest.
I’m nothing if not an evil bastard.
Besides, if I finished her too soon, there was the slight possibility that I wouldn’t leave her craving me, making her almost delirious from the thought of me finally fucking her. I could have happily taken her right now, pounded her until she screamed my name and I burst inside of her. But that wouldn’t be tonight. No, tonight it was all about her pleasure. Her desire.
After all, clients always come first.
Look at her, sprawled on the bed beneath me, here in this tiny room in a tiny apartment. See her chestnut hair on the pillow, her tresses dark against the white cotton. Drink in the soft curves of her flesh. Feel how all she wants is for me to bring her to rapture.
My lips pulled into a hungry smile. But damn, I do so love my job.
She cooed as she watched me suck her juices from my fingers. Her flavor filled me—tangy, delicious.
Just not my Jezebel.
Licking the last of her from my fingers, I said, “Think I can make you explode in my mouth?”
Her eyes lit, the promise of passion making them sparkle. “Ooh. God, yes…”
My smile slipped before I froze it into place. Fuck me; why did they always have to mention Him? It’s such a blessed buzz-kill….
“You make me feel so good,” she babbled, “make me come so hard. No one’s ever made me feel like you do.”
Aw. Flattery. That perked me up again. “You think you feel good now, doll? Wait until you feel my tongue on you.”
She shivered from anticipation, murmured her oohs and ahhhs.
It should have made my balls throb to see her spread out naked before me. Her entire body was an offering, so very flushed with need, her lust all but dancing over her limbs. And nestled within her fragile human shell, her soul silently beckoned me, taunted me. Between how her body was responding to my attention and how the evil within her soul was responding to my presence, it should have been impossible for me to think of any other woman at the moment.
But instead of imagining how I was about to make her squirm and squeal, how she would be sticky sweet in my mouth—how her soul would taste on my tongue—I kept picturing Jezebel. Smelling her.
Wanting her.
Even after almost twenty years, I still wanted her like a submissive wants to be dominated.
Soon, I told myself. First the client. Then go find Jezebel.
My smile stretched into a wicked grin, and I dove down.
Jezebel
Normally, I don’t have to worry about my clients dying on me before I finish the job. After four thousand years, my timing’s down pat. Sex, like dancing, is about the timing. And passion, of course. Without passion, it’s all just going through the motions. (Okay, granted, enjoyable motions. I’m certainly not complaining.)
This client was different. Too huge to settle for massive, he was a wall of flesh, with mere suggestions of musculature beneath all the fat. Me, I have no objection to obesity. People are a turn-on, no matter how they’re shaped—big, small, short, tall, flabby, trim, hang-nailed, well hung, you name it. Their bodies are unique art forms, and I appreciate them all for what they are: human and inherently beautiful. But my current client was a heart attack waiting to happen. And if he died before I killed him, I’d never hear the end of it.
I’d also be tortured, but that’s just a given. When you live forever, never hearing the end of your failures really sucks angel feathers.
“I don’t know about this,” my client said as I closed the door behind us. “Maybe it’s not a good idea.”
“Aw, don’t be like that.” Smiling, I reached out to touch his shoulder, and with that contact I pushed a smidge of my power through him. Just a hint of lust—enough to turn the “maybe not” into “do me now.” No, it’s not cheating; it’s part of the job.
But even if it were cheating, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I’m not exactly a saint. Neither was my client—after all, there was a reason why he was next on my Bag Him/Tag Him list. Good people are strictly off limits in my line of work. But people like him, who spent their lives lying about others, with no other purpose than to cause pain? They’re cruel. Heartless. Evil. In other words, perfect.
My client let out an adorable gasp as his body shuddered with desire. Bless me, I love the noises that humans make. Their sounds, their smells, the way they taste…ah, bliss!
Pitching my voice to warmth-inducing levels, I said, “We’ll have fun. You’ll see.”
“Fun,” he breathed. “Okay. Fun.”
Beneath my hand, his shirt was damp. He’d sweated through most of the material, so now dark patches plastered the light blue button-up to his body. I was making him nervous. No, more than nervous: I saw the unease in his eyes, understood his building dread that maybe I was leading him on. That maybe I’d laugh at him. Over his sweat and his liberal use of Old Spice, he reeked of fear.
Yum.
Inhaling his personal terror, I brightened the wattage of my smile. “If you want, you can undress me.” Putting a purr into my voice, I added, “I don’t remember if I’m wearing a bra. Care to find out?”
“I…I…” Perspiration beaded on his forehead. “I don’t know….”
“Not a trick question.” I winked and stepped forward, which made him take a shuffling step backward. The office was cramped—between the desk, the bookshelves, and the filing cabinet, there was barely room for the two of us. Not a problem. I’ve seduced men (and women) in smaller spaces than this closet-sized room. I liked being creative, and part of my job was to be flexible. And double-jointed.
His ass hit the desk, and he let out a startled squeak.
Slow it down, Jezebel. Don’t scare him to death.
“I—”
“Shhh.” I brushed my fingers over his shoulder, up to his chins, lingered behind his ear. “No need to be so nervous. I promise I’ll make you feel good.”
“I’m not nervous,” he lied. “It’s just—what if a customer comes in?”
“It’s past closing time. Store’s locked tight.”
“I don’t know if I remembered to lock the front door….”
“I’m sure you did.” I found a sensitive spot on the nape of his neck and stroked him there. He shuddered, leaning into my touch.
Yes. That’s right, sweetie. Go with the feeling. It’s okay to let yourself enjoy it.
Almost as if he were shocked by my thoughts, his eyes popped open and he pulled away. “But it’s Valentine’s Day.”
“So?”
“They’ll be banging on the door, begging for just two minutes to get a card.”
Banging and begging? Sounds like my kind of place. And there’s a lot I can do in two minutes.
Tracing the folds of his skin, I said, “So they want to…take advantage of you?”
“They do.” Something ugly passed over his face, and he pulled his lip into a sneer.
Obviously, my client was not a people person. Dancing my fingers along his collar, I asked, “What do they do?”
“I’m already keeping the store open later than the Hallmark across the street. But can people bother getting here during business hours?” He snorted. “Hell, no!”
“Poor guy.”
“And they’re rude! Make me work late, and they yell at me when they can’t find what they want, as if I told them to wait until close of business before shopping for a freaking holiday card!”
He was getting all worked up, and not in the way that I preferred.
I leaned against him, making sure my double-Ds pressed into his chest. My client was a boob man, so I’d accommo
dated the fantasy when I’d dressed for the occasion: specifically, I’d magicked up a luscious body with supersized tits. (Human women needed bras or silicone to have their breasts defy gravity. I, however, didn’t have to worry about things like natural laws. Or lower back pain.) A low-cut, tight black shirt called even more attention to my Dolly Partons. A black patent belt cinched around my tiny waist, emphasizing my hourglass figure. And my ability not to breathe. Vampira, eat your heart out.
“And then they never leave,” my client said. He was babbling now, even as my hands explored his chest. “It’s always like this on Valentine’s Day. Always, always.”
“Sweetie…”
“And all the chocolate! And hearts! And those stupid kissing bears! I hate this holiday, hate it!”
“It’ll be over soon,” I promised.
“Valentine’s Day.” He closed his eyes again and shuddered—and not from how I was rubbing my chest against his. “It’s just a candy-coated hell.”
“So angry,” I murmured, feeling my body respond to his fury. Wrath wasn’t nearly as much fun as lust, but human ire was still enough to make my nipples ache with need, enough to heat my blood. I grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked his face to mine. He squawked his surprise, but then I sealed my lips against his and kissed him hard, and his protest turned into a moan as I tasted the rage on his tongue.
Mmm.
I felt him melt and go with the kiss for a moment, then he stiffened against me. He pulled away from my mouth, but not my embrace. Pressed against his body, I felt his heartbeat dancing in either anticipation or panic.
He whispered, “Why’re you doing this?”
“It’s called kissing,” I said, kissing his sweaty cheek. Salty. Sinful. Scrumptious. “It’s part of the sex.”
“But why me? Girl like you could get any guy she wants.”
“Told you before, when I saw you behind the counter.” I nibbled on his earlobe, grinned as I felt him squirm against me. In his ear I whispered, “I like ’em husky.” I put extra breath into the last word, let him know with my voice just how much I liked him. He was slated for Hell; he was my current client. What’s not to like?
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