Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  He could feel her smile. “Adore me some more, Saint. Preferably until I lose my senses.”

  “Now that,” he said with a growing grin, “I can do.”

  Layla had stood on stage before hundreds, sang for kings and queens, poets, and artists. She’d held people captive with a perfect pitch. None of that prepared her for the breathless rush of anticipation and pulsing pleasure of being with Sin. When he touched her, she burned incandescent with desire. When he worked his fingers and lips over her body, she both sighed in relief and ached for more, more, forevermore. Would it ever ease, this wanting of him? Layla thought not.

  He stood before her now, his eyes hot with lust, his mouth slightly swollen from their kisses. “Layla.” His voice was thick and rough. “I need to know that you understand what will happen here. That I intend to take you, make you mine.”

  She caressed his jaw. “Yes. And you will be mine as well.”

  “Always.” He cleared his throat. “I would have honesty between us. Before he left, Augustus told me it would be safest if you were to get with child.” He frowned, stepping closer. “I do not want you to think that is why—”

  Layla kissed him softly before stepping away. “I know you, Sin. I know us. This is greater than circumstance. This is fate.”

  His eyes closed, and he leaned his forehead against hers. “Yes, it is.”

  Her belly fluttered. “Would you regret a child?”

  He pulled back to look at her, his expression fierce. “It would be my honor. A joy, Layla.”

  Warmth swelled within her. “Well, then. There is nothing more to worry over.”

  The blunt tips of his fingers ran up and down the curve of her neck, and he watched the action as if he were deciding how best to take her apart, one decadent taste at a time. “Grant me permission to control this.” His green glaze flicked to hers. “Trust me to take care of you, and I promise, love, I’ll give you pleasure.”

  Tension rode over his lean frame, and she knew he was holding himself in check for her. Tenderness swamped her breast. Sin had never been given the choice in his wants and desires. That he trusted her enough to ask now made her want to protect his love with all that she had.

  “Do what you will,” she said, “for I am yours.”

  His gaze grew more intense, as if he was searing the sight of her into his memory. “We are each other’s.”

  His hand, warm and strong, slid to her nape, holding her there. Layla leaned into the touch. “Then, I should like to undress you.”

  Sin’s lids lowered. “Would you now?”

  She grasped his hand to give him a soft kiss in the center of his palm. And his breath hitched. So Layla did it again. “It is about your pleasure as well. Between us, St. John, it will always be about equal pleasure, both given and received.”

  “Take off my shirt, Layla.” His voice was a deep command that stirred something within her belly.

  Layla stepped forward so that they were toe to toe, his warmth and power surrounding her. He stood perfectly still, his eyes on hers, his breath slow and even. Her hands shook only a little as she pushed the button at the top of his collar through its slit. Each button released with a little pop of sound that somehow made that empty space between her legs clench every time.

  Still he did not move. She stared into his eyes as her hands slid down his taut chest, along his narrow waist. His nostrils flared as she grasped the loose sides of his shirt and slowly gathered the fabric in her hands, pulling it from his trousers.

  “Lift your arms.” Her voice did not sound like her own. It was rougher and yet weaker.

  He obeyed, raising those strong arms that could carry her with ease. Layla drew the shirt over his head, coming up onto her toes, for he was so much taller than she. And her breasts brushed his bare chest, only the thin fabric of her chemise separating them.

  They both trembled at that small contact. She tossed the shirt aside, and he slowly lowered his arms, the sinewy muscles along his shoulders bunching and moving beautifully beneath his smooth skin.

  But no matter how badly she wanted to drink in the sight of a half-undressed Sin, she did not glance down at his torso. She kept her focus on his eyes. There would be time enough to explore. For now, it was about him knowing he was loved.

  Sin ran his knuckles along her bare arm. “Now you.”

  His hands found her waist and gently pushed the loosened gown over her hips. The heavy fabric slithered to the floor with a hiss, leaving her in the knee-length chemise.

  Layla’s breaths grew unsteady as she reached for the closure of his trousers. The hard length of his arousal butted up against the fabric, stretching it tight. She could not help it; she pressed the heel of her hand over the rounded tip, and he grunted, swaying into her touch.

  “Layla.” His voice was a near growl of sound. “Keep on with that, and we won’t be going slowly for much longer.”

  Smiling, she ducked her head, her forehead touching the smooth, hot cap of his shoulder. She made short work of his buttons, for she didn’t want to go very slowly after all. But before he could be revealed, she looked back up to meet his gaze again.

  Layla heard his trousers fall. He peered at her, his expression almost sleepy, as he skimmed his palms over her shoulders. Her chemise dropped to the floor. Cool air kissed her skin.

  For one silent moment, they stared at each other. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they looked down. A ragged breath caught in Layla’s throat. He was so perfectly formed, his body chiseled and strong, a study of lean muscle and graceful lines. His chest was bare of hair, his flat nipples sugar brown and tight.

  Sin stepped forward and the hot, smooth tip of his cock touched her belly. It took all her attention. He was very thick down there, pulsing with need, the crown so swollen it looked pained. A pearl of moisture adorned the little slit at the tip.

  His chest rose and fell in agitated movements, and she became aware of her own nakedness. Of the rounded swells of her breasts, the way her stiff pink nipples stood at attention, nearly touching his chest. She felt beautiful just then, sensual, powerful in her own right. Because she affected him as much as he did her.

  Sin’s hands ghosted over her arms, running up and down, sending shivers of pleasure along her skin. “Never in all my days have I seen anything as lovely as you, little bird.” He cupped her cheeks, tilting her head up. His eyes creased at the corners as he looked at her. “You are the sun around which my world revolves.”

  “Sin.” She couldn’t say anything more. Her heart was in her throat.

  His head dipped, and his lips came close enough that she felt their heat. “If I forget to say so when we are joined, I love you, Layla.” He kissed her then, soft, sweet. “Always.”

  Afraid that she might topple, Layla wrapped her hands around his wrists and kissed him back. “And I love you, Sin. Madly. Completely. Eternally.” With each word, she kissed his lips, and he sighed.

  And then he bent and swung her into his arms. The bed was cool and soft, his body warm and hard as he settled next to her, pulling her close. He cradled her jaw as he kissed her, a melting glide of lips and tongue.

  “Layla.” His voice was soft but urgent. “It feels like my whole life I’ve been dreaming of you. Wanting you just like this, soft and yielding in my bed.”

  His long lashes rested along the crests of his cheeks as he closed his eyes and kissed her again.

  And her heart ached even as her body ignited. Tenderness, bittersweet and heavy, swelled through her. This man, capable of leveling London, needed her.

  He kissed her for long, languid moments, until her lips swelled against his, until she grew restless and clutched his shoulders, her body at once flushing hot then shivering as though cold.

  Sweat dampened his temples, his color high. And all the while, the hard length of his sex pressed against her belly, a reminder that he would soon push that blunt instrument deep inside her. She wanted that. Suspected he’d fill all her empty places so well she’d never
want him to leave her.

  “I love kissing you,” he said against her mouth. “I didn’t think . . .” He licked into her mouth again and made a noise of contentment.

  “Didn’t think what?” she asked in a haze as she nipped his upper lip, then the bottom.

  “That I would like kissing.” He said it so simply, distracted as he was. He tilted his head and surged in deeper.

  Layla’s heart stilled. He’d never kissed another. Only her. Her fingers twined into his hair and she petted him, moving down to his strong neck, along the shifting muscles of his back.

  As if her touch spurred his, his warm, rough palms caressed her sides, and he slowly worked his way down her body, lips mapping the line of her neck, down to her breasts. When he kissed her nipple, she gasped, a jolt of heat going down her middle. When he sucked it into his warm, wet mouth, she nearly came off the bed.

  He chuckled darkly, his teeth catching the stiff bud and tugging. Layla saw stars. “Sensitive,” he said. “And delicious.” His tongue flicked her.

  “Do it again,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “That and more, love,” he said, licking the lower curve of her breast. “Just keep talking to me. Let me hear your beautiful voice.”

  “I love the way you smell,” she told him as he moved over her, surrounding her with his warmth, his mouth and hands learning her body. “Like warm spices and cool rain. Your voice is a rumble that goes straight to my heart and makes it beat faster.”

  He hummed in approval and moved lower.

  “I love your mouth,” she said. “The way it moves when you talk, the way it curves when you smile. I love to feel it on my skin. Kiss me, Sin. Kiss me and don’t ever stop.”

  Kiss her he did. Over every inch he could find. Slowly, lingering in the oddest places—the crook of her arm, the dip of her waist, the inside of her knee. Spots she would have never considered sensitive until now. Until his thorough care and gentle caresses made her so attuned to his touch that, with each kiss, her body fairly vibrated with need.

  Her lids lowered, her breath came in frantic pants. Sweat glistened over her skin, her nipples so tight they throbbed. And that swollen, slick spot between her legs, the one he’d ignored, ached.

  Her fingers opened and closed as if wanting to grab onto the pleasure and haul it close. “Sin,” she begged. “Sin.”

  There were no other words. He’d become the entirety of her vocabulary.

  From between her spread and trembling thighs, he glanced up, his eyes molten silver and jade. Thick locks of inky hair tumbled over his damp brow. He was a dark angel, intent on driving her mad with lust.

  A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Yes, love?”

  She undulated, trying to push her sex closer to those lips. But his hand upon her hip kept her where he wanted. “Kiss me,” she said.

  He placed a lazy kiss on the curve of her inner thigh, and her body twitched. “I am kissing you, sweets.”

  Cheeky rat. She wiggled again, lifting her breasts as if the very air could relieve their ache. She was so very wet between her legs. Wet and hot. And he knew it. Layla moaned. “It hurts, Sin. I need you.”

  His expression abruptly turned fierce. With a groan, he surged forward and kissed that needy spot the way he kissed her mouth, open and wanting, desperate, as if she were his only sustenance.

  She broke apart, heat flaring so hot and sure that she could not breathe. Sensation rolled over her, red and strong. Like blood. Life, she thought, this is life.

  Sin was rising, his hips sliding between her thighs, his chest pressing against her breasts. He stared down at her with flushed cheeks. And the rounded crown of his sex notched against her opening. “Layla,” he whispered, “I’m going to take you now.”

  She could only nod, weak and shaking but needing more. The emptiness inside her contracted in anticipation.

  He pushed forward. Gods he was big, so very thick, so very present. Her flesh stretched around his, working to accommodate that unyielding hardness. A whimper escaped her, her hips wiggling as if to make room for him.

  He paused, and she felt him pulsing. “All right?” he ground out.

  “More.”

  He eased back a bit and then sunk deeper. By the time he was fully seated, they were both shaking. A rivulet of sweat ran down his cheek as he hovered above her. He stayed still, letting her grow accustomed to him. “Breathe,” he told her.

  So she did, and the stiffness in her limbs eased. “You are enormous,” she informed him tartly.

  He laughed then, a husky chuckle, his expression so light and happy it was almost boyish. “To be sure.” He circled his hips, grinding against her in a way that was utterly wicked. “How does the saying go?” he asked thickly, green eyes going dark with heat. “The better to tup you with.”

  She fought a laugh. “St. John, that is not how the story goes.”

  He dipped down, his lips brushing hers. “That’s how our story goes.” He kissed her deep and sure as he pulled back and thrust hard.

  Oh, my.

  She thought no more. He loved her with steady, smooth strokes, putting his whole body into the motion. “Yes,” he bit out when she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold on tight and lifted her hips to meet his. “Like that.”

  His thrusts came faster, finesse giving way to greedy grunts. The hot tension was building within her once more, that sharp edge that bordered pain. Perhaps he too felt it, for his brows furrowed, his lips parting as he drew in air. “Layla, I don’t think I can last.”

  Last? She did not want to linger. Perhaps later, when she’d quenched her thirst for him. Now she chased that feeling, the hard coil in her lower belly that twisted. “Sin, I think I . . . It’s here again. That ache.”

  He rotated his hips, and it lit her up, all those aching spots of hers flaring hot. “Come for me, Layla. Let go, love. I have you.”

  His words set her free. She arched into him, her fingers digging into his sweat-slicked shoulders. She came on a wordless cry. Groaning, he bucked against her, his body shaking.

  They fell together. And when they came down, their bodies limp and slack, she could only cling to him, pressing her cheek against the crook of his neck. Her voice, when she could find it, was rough as sand. “That was . . . I have no words.”

  He stirred, turning to his side to face her. “Everything,” he rasped. “It was everything.”

  She could not agree more.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lena

  With Augustus missing a wing and Lena draining her powers to keep the hole in his chest sealed, they made slow progress from Vienna to London. She managed to secure railway tickets for them but the endlessly rocking carriages clearly taxed Augustus’s strength, and he’d soon grow whey white, his brow dotted with sweat. As Lena could not stomach the sight of her proud and once strong man waning with each passing day, she found reasons to take breaks, settling them into hotel rooms for the night.

  Once tucked up in a bed, she’d feed him a good, hot dinner, force him to drink down some hearty ale, and then watch him sleep.

  Asleep, Augustus was no less commanding in appearance. He was Michelangelo’s David—big, bold nose, hard brow, stern eyes, pouty mouth. Yet he was no youth. Augustus was sheer masculinity, painted in olive tones and ink black hair. Her fingers itched to trace the line of his furrowed brow, down along his firm cheek, to the puckered curve of his upper lip.

  He breathed softly, evenly, the thick clumps of his lashes fluttering against his cheek.

  In all the years of knowing him, Lena had never before seen Augustus at rest. Sleep simply was not something an ancient immortal did in the presence of another, unless there was absolute trust. And while Augustus had always claimed to want her, she knew he did not trust her. With good reason.

  A pang of guilt speared her heart. She’d tricked him into laying with her.

  “What,” came his rasping voice, “are you scowling about?”

  Lena
blinked and met his gaze. Eyes the color of coffee stared back at her. Lena wanted to move back from the pillow on which she lay with her head so close to his. But she stayed put. “When we were together, you under Apep’s spell, I felt . . .” She drew in a sharp breath through her nose. “I felt so very dirty, Augustus.”

  He frowned. “How heartening to know I made you feel like filth.”

  A humorless laugh left her. “Dirty because I was tricking you, old friend. You were there, present in the moment, and yet not. There was a distance in your eyes, a glassiness. I was using your body, not engaging your soul.”

  He was silent, his dark gaze moving over her face. “Did I enjoy it, at the very least?”

  This time she laughed outright. “What a question.” Heat suffused her cheeks. “You were quite enthusiastic.”

  His color heightened as well. “Gods, you make me sound as though I were a randy youth.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  His mouth quirked. “I’d like to think I displayed some skill, not gone at you like a bull in heat.”

  Lena could not help but lightly flick a lock of his dark curls back from his brow. “Stop fishing for compliments. Your skills were . . .”

  “Exceptional?” He flashed a shockingly boyish smile.

  “Exemplary.”

  For a long moment, they smiled at each other; then his faded. “Why, Lena? All you had to do was ask. I feel cheated. Out of having you and of knowing about Layla.”

  It was difficult to breathe. “I know,” she rasped. “My regret is more than I can express. But, Augustus, I am not a good soul. I do these selfish things. I take what I want.”

  “And yet you risked your life and the regard of your peers to keep St. John’s identity a secret from Apep.”

  “That was nothing—”

  “It was you and I who created the SOS. You could have been Mother, but you let the Ellis women lead. Always in the shadows, operating where no one could see you but where it was most needed.”