"Enjoy," she muttered with relish.
Anya flashed one final time, back to where she'd begun: his home in Greece. Lucien was still following her trail. Lightning-quick, she hid the chains under the bed and palmed her Taser.
When she straightened he was there, just in front of her. Her breath caught. He was still scowling, teeth bared and sharp, Death glowing in his eyes. He had a bleeding cut on his leg and he smelled like shit.
Her nose wrinkled. "Step in something?" she asked innocently.
"That, I did not mind." He took a menacing step toward her. "What I did mind was being hit by a cab, then landing on the lap of a naked man. With an erection, Anya. He had an erection."
She grinned. She just couldn't help herself.
"Now," he continued in that outraged tone, "you are going to tell me why you flashed to my room in Buda."
"No. I'm not." Grin widening, she lifted her arm and Tasered him.
His entire body shook, his expression frozen in outrage and anguish. Only when the last volt escaped did she drop the weapon. Hissing, he jerked the plugs from his nipples. Her aim had been dead on.
"Anya!" he growled.
Careful not to allow her expression to betray her, she whipped out two silver-tipped throwing stars and launched them at him. The whoosh was the only warning he had before the stars embedded in his heart.
He howled. "Again in the heart? Where is your originality?" He winced as he yanked them out, and his jaw set stubbornly as he tossed it to the ground. "This doesn't have to be messy, Anya."
"Hell, yes, it does." She threw another star.
He ducked, and the tiny blade sailed over his shoulder. Then he took another step toward her. Brave man. "Why can't you give Cronus the key?"
"Why couldn't you pick me rather than Cronus?" she ground out. "Why couldn't you pick me rather than your friends?"
Oh, gods. Had she truly said that? Whined like that? Heat spread over her entire face. Of course he'd picked his friends. She might wish otherwise—even the night Ashlyn sacrificed herself for Maddox, Anya had dreamed of Lucien being willing to do the same for her—but that was the way of the world. Lovers, whether they'd done the deed or not, came and went. Friends were forever.
Lucien paused. "For all I know, Anya, you will forget me tomorrow. Why should I risk all that I hold dear for a few days with you?"
Because I'm worthy, damn it! Foolishly, selfishly, she would have liked to hear that he'd go through anything for her, no matter how little or long they'd be together. Punishment. Hell. Torture. A combination of all three. "I could have helped you find those artifacts. I could have helped you fight Hydra. I could have helped you find that godsdamn box."
His shoulders sagged slightly. "I know."
Her hurt increased. He'd rather kill her than to 1) risk getting to know her more and perhaps watch her walk away one day and 2) obtain her aid for an item he desperately craved.
Growling low in her throat, she launched yet another star. He wasn't fast enough this time and it sliced into his already injured thigh.
"Damn it, Anya." He jerked it out and tossed it aside, even though he could have tossed it at her. "Calm down."
"Calm down? Are you serious?"
"Yes."
Shithead. "You wanna kill me, you're going to have to work for it."
"Very well." Eyes narrowing, he allowed his long legs to eat up the rest of the distance between them.
She flashed to the living room, but he was right behind her. She whipped around and jumped backward, placing a coffee table between them. He simply picked it up and tossed it aside. The glass shattered on impact, raining shards all over the room. The wooden legs splintered.
Why, why, why did the force of his determination and strength arouse her? Now of all times? She wouldn't let that arousal affect her, though. From the beginning, he'd done nothing but insult her, smash her hopes and ignore her feelings. He deserved whatever pain she dished out.
"If we are going to fight, it might as well be honorable," he said, and then he disappeared.
She wasn't given time to wonder where he'd gone.
He reappeared a moment later holding two swords. He threw one in her direction, and she caught it by the hilt. Heavy, but that wouldn't be a problem. She was much stronger than she looked.
"There's no fun in honor," she told him, waving the thick metal back and forth.
"Try it. You might be surprised."
"Seriously, though. You want to swordfight a girl?" She tried to put enough censure in her voice to shame him, even though she hummed with excitement. Could he beat her?
"You are hardly a typical girl, so yes. I want to fight you."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Flowers."
"It was meant as one."
Lucien was on her in the next heartbeat. She raised her sword to parry and metal clinked against metal, the force of which caused her to stumble. He continued to surge forward, continued to push her backward, his thrusts quick and unceasing, but she managed to twist to the side, swing and slice into his shirt. Oopsie, flesh too.
Blood seeped through the cotton, soaking it to his stomach. The flow swiftly stanched, and the wound, she suspected, closed. Damn immortal warriors and their supernatural healing! Because they were designed for battle, they healed much quicker than even the gods.
"Luck," he said.
"Talent." Clink. She kicked a lily-filled vase at him, and it shattered against his chest. Droplets of crimson appeared, blending with the sweat that trickled from his temples.
"We shall see."
"Should we worry about visitors?" she asked, dodging as he lunged at her.
"This place was chosen for its isolation. More than that, we paid dearly to be ignored, no matter what was heard." He jumped backward, hunching to remove his stomach from her line of fire.
"Well, aren't you a Smartie McSmartpants." She went low, aiming for his ankles. Hobbling him would be amusing.
Unfortunately, he hopped out of the way. They began a dance of thrust, parry and retreat, moving throughout the entire home. Clank. Something fell to the ground and splintered. Clank. Another item followed suit.
Within fifteen minutes, the couch and love seat were destroyed, as was every knickknack and even the television. Curtains were ripped down, and holes were punched into the walls. Much longer, and the authorities would arrive. Anya was panting, growing tired, but she managed to cut Lucien on his upper arm, calf and again his stomach.
He'd managed to cut her not at all.
Oops. Take that back. The tip of his sword slashed across her left shoulder, causing the shirt to gape and reveal the lace of her favorite demi-bra. The skin above it stung.
"You cut me," she said, gaping at him.
"I am sorry." And he did sound apologetic.
She growled, a predator locking on the evening's meal. "Not yet, but you will be!" She withdrew a dagger and stabbed at his thigh.
Contact.
"Ouch!"
End this. There was only one sure way to do that. She spun on her heel as she chopped at him, forcing him to turn and backing him toward the bedroom. He was strong—stronger than her, she admitted, for she knew he had been pulling back every time his blade almost nicked her. Why he did that, she didn't know, since he'd finally gotten serious about killing her.
"I don't know why I hung around you so long," she said amid thrusts and parries. "I don't know why I helped you."
"That makes two of us." His straight, white teeth bared in another scowl.
"You know what? I'm sick of your poor-me routine. It's old, sweetcakes."
"There is no routine," he gritted out.
"Like hell." Spinning, she swung at him with her fist. Contact. "You have scars. So the hell what. That doesn't mean all women think you're ugly."
When she swung at him again, he batted her wrist away. "You cannot think me handsome, and so you cannot want me. Not really. You have even admitted it."
"People lie all the time, assho
le. I believe I've mentioned that I personally do so on a regular basis."
He stilled, panting. His eyes widened with astonishment. And hope? "You lied about why you have stayed with me?"
"Wouldn't matter if I did. I hate your guts now." She dropped her sword and shoved him. "You were going to kill me."
He stumbled backward, finally past the threshold of the bedroom. He dropped his sword, too, and it clanked against the floor. "From the beginning, I meant to kill you. My intentions were never a secret."
"Yeah, but you weren't serious about it." When he made no move toward her, she pushed him again. Again, he stumbled. "Would you really have taken my soul?"
His knees hit the edge of the bed. "Yes. No. I don't know. You torment me like no other and I am constantly second-guessing my decisions about you."
She pushed again and his legs buckled. As his ass slapped against the mattress, she dove for his stomach, slamming her shoulder into him and knocking the breath from his lungs.
"Anya," he managed to gasp out.
"Nope. You don't get to talk anymore."
"You do not hate me," he said darkly. He had a hold of her wrists a second later and was jerking her on top of him, his mouth slamming into hers. His hot tongue thrust inside her mouth as surely as his sword had thrust at her body, only now his aim was deadlier.
Sweet lightning, she mused, a little dizzy. The man knew how to kiss, letting his tongue continue to invade her mouth with all kinds of electric heat. Her nipples hardened, and that damn moisture pooled between her legs. Every cell she possessed sparked to wild life.
You're not supposed to desire him anymore.
Well, he wasn't supposed to kiss me.
Grab the chains. Now!
As their tongues dueled, Anya forced herself into action. But she grabbed on to Lucien rather than the chains, gripping his head so tightly her nails scoured his scalp. Such an embrace would have killed a human, but Lucien seemed to revel in it, his erection pulsing under her.
Just a few minutes of play, then I'll lock him down.
He just…he tasted so damn good. Better than she remembered. Man and dark fever, power and roses. His touch was exhilarating, his hands kneading her ass as he ground his swollen shaft between her legs. Much more, and she would come. Then ask for even more. Beg.
Gods, she hated her curse.
And she hated herself for even thinking about fulfilling it. No way you want to be bound to this man, unable to love another, unable to kiss and touch or even dream about another. So why did the possibility excite her? Why did she want to smile at the thought of spending eternity with Lucien? Her heart belonging to him, even if he tired of her?
Don't think about that now. She straddled Lucien's waist, pressing his cock closer…closer…hitting exactly where she needed. She gasped in ecstasy, her entire body rejoicing.
"Take off your clothes," he commanded. "I want to feel your skin."
Yes, yes. "No." Common sense spoke for her. Her desire for him wasn't going to change the night's ending: Lucien chained to the bed and at her mercy, to be punished for trying to take her head.
That doesn't mean you can't enjoy him for a little while longer and take off something. Her hands fisted on Lucien's chest. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who second-guessed himself.
"I want you, all right?" he said. "I can deny it no longer. Know that I am not going to try to kill you during the act. You have my word."
But there was shame and guilt in his voice.
"Fuck me now, kill me later, hmm," she said, not offended when she probably should have been. "Well, you can take off your clothes." Oh, to feast on his glorious body. "Mine have to stay on."
He stilled, stared up at her, passion receding from his face and leaving that blank mask she hated.
She almost sobbed. She wasn't ready for the make-out session to end.
"Why will you not strip for me?"
"Why are we talking? I thought I told you that you weren't allowed to do so anymore," she hedged, pressing closer and sliding her tongue back into his mouth. She didn't want to tell him the truth, but she didn't want to lie to him, either. Not about this. She would much rather enjoy him.
He returned her passion for a few minutes more, hands tracing over the curve of her spine. There was desperation in his kiss. A desperation that was reflected in her own, she was sure. She never wanted it to end, could have stayed in his arms forever. But he finally cupped her jaw and forced her to look at him.
Tension lined his mouth. "You led me to believe my scars did not bother you," he said softly.
"They don't," she replied just as softly.
"Anya. Of all the times to tell me the truth, this is it. Please."
"They don't!"
His eyes tapered, nearly shut, feathered lashes pointing at her like spikes. Suddenly there was an evil glint in both the blue and brown iris, as if the demon of Death had taken over. Lucien gripped her hips and moved her off him.
Confused, she perched at the edge of the bed.
"You want me, but you will not take off your clothing for me," he said. Actually, he growled. "I do not think you really want me, after all."
"I do."
Staring at her, he unsnapped his jeans.
She pulled her gaze from his face, watching the movement of his fingers. Breath caught in her lungs. What was he doing? Stripping for her, as she'd requested? But why would he—
Unziiip.
Her jaw fell open as his erection sprang free. Huge, swollen, long, with a rounded tip already beaded with moisture. Her tongue nearly rolled out of her mouth. Was she drooling?
"You want me," he repeated flatly. "Well, now you're going to have to prove it."
"Wh-what?" So damn big.
"Prove it. Suck my cock."
At his uncharacteristically crude language, her gaze jerked back up to his face. Anger was banked there, as was self-deprecation. His cheeks were flushed with shame. Did he expect her to scoff and walk away? Did he think to teach her a lesson about playing with him?
"What's the problem? Do you not want me?" he mocked. "Can you not bring yourself to do more than kiss me?"
Oh, yes. He expected her to walk. She'd never performed this act before, considering it too humbling and too intimate in light of her curse. With Lucien, however, she was aroused by the thought. His pleasure would be a thing of beauty, she had no doubt.
"Was this to be my punishment for trying to kill you or was this just another attempt to soften me?" he demanded before she could respond. "Either way, we both know you never meant to take it any further. Your cruelty astounds me."
Cruel? When she ached for him? When part of her wanted to finally forget her curse and spend an eternity in his arms? "I can keep myself alive, thank you very much. I don't need your help, and I've never needed to soften you. Didn't I admit that already? And FYI, you don't have any room to talk about cruel intentions."
"You are stalling," he said. "Do it. Suck me."
He thought he was being harsh, forcing her hand to make her leave. He should have known better. She never would have guessed it, but she truly wanted to do this. Had craved it, perhaps, from the very first.
Slowly, she crawled up his body until her mouth was level with his shaft. His breath caught, the room again going silent. "Anya, you—"
"I'm not doing this to prove anything," she told him raspily. "I'm doing this because I can't seem to stop myself. I must. Your taste…I have to know…can't be as good as I imagine." And with that, she took him into her mouth, fully, completely, sliding all the way down and feeling him hit the back of her throat. Odd, the sensation, but she liked it.
He groaned in pleasured agony, and the sound poured over her skin like a caress. His hands tangled in her hair. "Anya. Don't. I shouldn't have…Anya."
Up, down, up, she moved, the way she had seen in the naughty movies she sometimes watched.
"You don't…you don't…Ah, gods. Anya. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
From co
mmanding to begging. She reveled in her power, in the need emanating from him. Need that was filling her up, ratcheting her own pleasure up another notch. Mine.
Up and down she continued to move. Her tongue swirled all the while, stroking everything it touched. She cupped the heavy weight of his testicles. He arched into her movements, going deeper, his every muscle clenched tight. She could feel the passion-hum in his blood. Wanted more. Had to have more.
"Changed my mind. Anya, stop. Stop!"
Merciless, she continued her upward glide, flicking her tongue over the swollen head. Sucking. Scraping with her teeth. She treated his cock exactly as she treated her favorite lollipops. Only she liked the taste of him more. Such desire…oh, his desire.
He was hard for her, and only her.
"I'm going to—Anya!" He roared her name as the climax ripped through him, shooting hot seed into her mouth.
She swallowed every drop and even licked the last little bit away, instinctively knowing that would please him. As she sat up, he continued to spasm in pleasure, even though he was spent. His eyes were closed, his mouth open in wonderment. I did this, she thought with pride. Never had she felt more powerful and never had she seen a more erotic sight.
Her own need reaching a new level, she straddled him. She was so wet her panties were soaked.
His eyelids slowly opened and he peered up at her, his expression sated. "Anya. You did not have to do that."
"I wanted to," she said. "And I want you. Don't ever doubt that again."
Tenderness glowed on his face. "What are you keeping from me, then? Why can I not strip you?"
That tenderness…Vulnerability claimed her, for no one other than her mother and her father had ever looked at her like that. As if she were precious. As if she were a treasure. Anya's heart lurched in her chest.
Lucien reached up and caressed her cheek. A shiver traveled through her.
"Why, Anya? I've tried to resist you since the moment I first smelled your strawberry scent," he said. "As you can feel, that has not worked out for me."
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