Leman

by Serena Akeroyd

  “You did not just call my clit a pearl?” She wrinkled her nose, clapped a hand to her face, and said, “Lord, open up the ground and swallow me now.”

  He huffed. “I was trying to be discreet.”

  “Pearl diving… muff diving. Same thing.”

  “More words sent to confuse me,” he complained. She jolted on his lap when he nipped the side of her throat to regain her attention. “My point is, did you feel me exploring your stomach?”

  Lara pondered that for a second. “Yeah.”

  “So, the mating mark could have been manifesting for the past two weeks,” he mused.

  Her brow puckered. “You’ve gone down on me since then.”

  He waved a hand at her confusion as relief flooded him. Two weeks was more than long enough for the mark to be brewing. “This pleases me greatly, leman. Until it’s made its appearance, I can’t present you to the Queen’s court. Until you’re presented, you can’t stay overlong in the other realm. She has some kind of bizarre magick-enhanced link to all her subjects. She uses it to keep tabs on us.

  “If she finds out we’re there and haven’t gone to court, she’ll go, as James charmingly puts it, ape shit.”

  “More eloquence,” she teased, lifting a hand to his jaw. He tilted his head so he could better feel her palm against his cheek. “But I understand why it’s so important to you. Let’s hope it is the mark, eh?”

  He nodded. Turned his head again and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. “I pray it is so, dearling. Now, I have interrupted you enough. I know you’re busy.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  As though his words were ordained by the Mother, his phone buzzed.

  “Before you go, show me how to accept the bloody call again.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Georgios. Two-year-olds know how to operate this shit.”

  He grunted. “Ask those same two-year-olds to turn into Dragons. Let’s see if they can do that.”

  She clambered off his lap, took his phone in hand, and accepted the call. Shooting him a wink, she gave him his cell back, and left him to it.

  As he put the phone to his ear, he kept his gaze trained on her butt.

  He’d claim that later.

  Or, mayhap Valentine’s would be more suitable?

  What better way to show his leman his love by claiming that delicious orifice for himself?

  Eleven

  Despite herself, and though she’d always disregarded Valentine’s Day as consumer nonsense, Lara had to admit it was totally different when you had a mate.

  She’d had a box of roses delivered to her door this evening upon waking. More than she knew what to do with, and more than she had vases to fill if she was being honest.

  Then, had come a large box of chocolates—those she had known what to do with. Centuries of seeing all the delicious morsels humans ate and unable to eat them, she was making up for that big time now.

  When he’d come to the coffee shop, he’d given her a teddy bear. And even though she wasn’t the teddy bear type, she’d had to laugh because God forbid he give her a ‘bear.’ No, he’d given her a stuffed Dragon.

  She’d keep it for giggles alone.

  Someone, and it wasn’t hard to guess who, had arranged for extra staff at the cafe, so the evening was free. And having returned to her townhouse, she’d encountered a box on the bed loaded down with lingerie.

  It amused her to think of him shopping for those kinds of fripperies because she knew, more than anything, he preferred her naked.

  Dragons were not like human males who liked lacy bits of nothing covering strategic areas.

  Whenever she went to bed with panties on, he always tore them off.

  Even if they weren’t going to have sex.

  And bras?

  Hell, the man was more anti-bra than the feminist movement was in the Sixties!

  Thus, eyeing the fancy lace, she had to laugh because it made sense to her that the gift wasn’t for him as it would be for another male. It was because he believed she liked wearing bras and panties because she always argued with him about wearing them.

  Laughing to herself, as she carefully riffled through La Perla’s finest, she turned on her heel when she heard footsteps in the hall.

  Seeing her sexy mate striding through the door, she grinned at him.

  “Thank you for the gifts, sweetling,” she told him, using his endearments, because they were cute as fuck, as unique as he was, but also, because they fit.

  He wasn’t a modern man. He was archaic and desperately trying to learn this new world… for her.

  Truth was, she could have asked for no greater gift than what he’d already given her—patience.

  For the past eight weeks, he’d lived in this crazy society. Not understanding most of the rules, completely bewildered by even the basics—he’d nearly had a heart attack when the toast had popped out of the toaster. And when he’d realized what a camera could do, she’d received more dick pics and requests for boob shots than any sane woman could stand.

  Through it all, he navigated the bizarre and the downright insane—to him, at any rate—with a smile on his face.

  He was never angry. Never annoyed. Some nights, if he was tired, he could be grumpy but never for long.

  Sure, he was dictatorial, possessive, demanding, and so far beyond traditional he made a Neanderthal look easygoing when it came to things like panties and tight jeans he deemed not tight enough, but it was all tempered with a generosity of spirit she’d never encountered before.

  When it came to business, he was never angry with her for spending time on it. If anything, he encouraged her. Willed her on. He never thought she was less because she was female—take the other evening with Remy, he’d let her handle the House Head by herself.

  It killed her to say it, because she loathed romance novels, but he totally belonged in one.

  He was like a perfect hero.

  Sexy and smart. Alpha. Tall, tawny, and handsome. A protector.

  But all without the pain-in-the-ass caveman techniques that made a woman feel like the dimmer sex.

  As he strode into the room, hands in his pockets, she eyed him and felt like drooling. He lived in suits. A fact she’d yet to determine why, because if anything, she’d have thought he hated them. But then, Remy was always in a suit in this realm too.

  She wondered behind the reasoning, and knew it would be too damn cute for her to stand, and he already had her ovaries in a twist. She didn’t need further ammunition working against her.

  He peered into the box and, then, eyed her expression. “I should have gone for the cream. But the woman at the store said you would prefer black.” He frowned. “Why would she think that? Do you know her?”

  She bit her bottom lip to hold in a smile. “No, love. I don’t know every woman in an underwear store.”

  He jerked a shoulder. “She seemed to know a lot about you. Talked about how the straps were more comfortable.” He pursed his lips. “I can’t see how. These bras look like torture devices, but if you like them…”

  His subsequent shrug was totally ‘what can I do?’

  She cleared her throat and coughed, when laughter still tried to edge its way out. “They’re beautiful,” she told him. “But when she was talking about me, she was talking about women in general.”

  He huffed. “That makes even less sense. How can your breasts be the same as Grace’s, and yet, you all shop at the same place? At least Savile Row tailors everything to me…”

  “Why do you wear suits all the time?” she asked, amazed the topic had come up when she’d only just been thinking about it.

  “Why not?” he asked suspiciously, peering at her then down at the shirt and suit trousers he wore. “Don’t you like them?”

  “No, I love them. You look hot as hell in them. But aren’t they uncomfortable?”

  “I tried those Leviathans you got for me.” He sniffed. “They pinched.”


  Helpless now, Lara let it out. Jesus, the man was hilarious without even trying. Falling forward and propping herself up by her knees, she laughed. And laughed and laughed. Then, when she could gasp out a single word, she stated, “Levis, sweetling. LE-Vis. Not Leviathans.”

  He frowned at her. “Why is this so funny?”

  She waved a hand. “It’s a buildup, babe.”

  “I’m glad someone finds this strange universe hilarious,” he complained, a definite pout to the words. “And how many times? I am not an infant. This ‘babe’ nonsense.” He scoffed, leaving her with no alternative but to reach up and give him a kiss. He held her chin in place so the soft peck turned deeper. More sensual. Enough to have her moaning into his mouth.

  With a whimper, she placed her hands on his chest and leaned deeper into him, letting him take her lips, explore her mouth, and conquer her, one soft kiss at a time.

  With a groan, he grabbed a hold of her ass and began to knead the muscle, and she’d admit, the extra pounds she’d gained since discovering Red Vines and Arby’s.

  When his mouth retreated and his teeth burrowed into her bottom lip, she let out a soft whimper. Her head fell back as he began to explore her throat, nipping here and there, and then, deciding on a place, he promptly began to suckle.

  With a moan, she ran her hands through his hair and kept a tight hold on him. The way his tongue palpated the taut skin, the rasp of his teeth against her… it was made to drive her crazy.

  Then, he stunned the hell out of her. He pulled away and spun her around. Within seconds, she was dragged back against his belly. His mouth returned to her throat, and this time, she was more comfortable as her head fell back against his shoulder. His hands though, dear God, his hands.

  One cupped her through her skirt. His fingers digging through the material to part the folds of her sex. The tight weave added a heavy pressure to the caress, and it had her hips rocking back and forth against his dick.

  The other caressed her breast, gently squeezing the soft mound, and working in tandem the way they were, had her eyes squeezing shut as need slalomed its way through her system.

  “Ios,” she whispered, half whimpering his name as he began to rub her clit. The wave not allowing a delicate touch, but giving her a delicious pressure that teased her. Tormented.

  It wasn’t what she needed, but for some fucked up reason, it made her hot as hell. She could feel her legs start to shake from the pressure of keeping her upright when all she wanted to do was fall onto the bed and let him have at her.

  Let him take her and claim her. Again and again.

  No matter how many times he did it, it was never enough.

  Never.

  A quiver ran down her spine as he bit hard against the thick flesh of her throat then slowly bent her forward.

  She held out her hands for support, clutching at the duvet with clawed fingers as he let go of her breast and removed his hand from between her legs.

  She didn’t want him to go, but it would be worth it, if he got fucking on with it.

  Gulping as he rucked up her skirt, she let out a shriek when he pulled her ass cheeks apart. Air slithered down her pussy as he pulled her panties aside, then maintained a taut grip on her butt cheeks.

  He blew down the length and set upon her like a starved dog with a bone.

  And sure, she knew she just compared herself to a bone, but fuck. Did it matter?

  All that mattered was this. Now. Him. Her.

  “Jesus!” she shrieked as he began to suck on her clit, the pressure hard and heavy. Then he teased and fluttered and licked with delicate brushes that had her rearing up on to tiptoe.

  Mewls escaped her as she ripped into the bedclothes. She knew the moment the nightwalker in her awoke, because her nails clawed the sheets, tearing into them the only way they could when her inner bitch came out to party.

  That half of her wasn’t pleased with the submissive pose, but the very normal Lara didn’t give a shit.

  She just wanted to come.

  Now. Preferably.

  He stuck his tongue in her cunt, fiddled it up and down, left and right, and, then, began to fuck her with it. The simple stabbing motions probably shouldn’t have set her off, but somehow, he always seemed to know what she needed, and he’d find a way to give it to her but also take it away.

  Like now, he’d known she wanted him inside her. So he gifted her his tongue.

  He did it on purpose.

  She took back everything she’d said about him not being a caveman.

  “Ios!” she yelled into the sheets. “Fuck me. Please. Dammit. Please.”

  Her pleas didn’t move him. The only thing they did was tighten up the pressure on her asscheeks where his fingers were biting into them.

  His own grunts of pleasure were more than she could stand, and the endless whimper torn from her throat seemed to sync up with his slight moans, as he tortured her.

  He pulled away, and then, right on her sit spot, somehow managed to grab enough flesh between his teeth to bite down.

  She hadn’t expected it. Had never thought he’d do that. But he did.

  Oh boy, he fucking did.

  She roared out the agony as that most sensitive of places was marked by his teeth, but the damn thing was, she felt the pain release something inside her. Like a key in a fucking lock.

  Before she knew what hit her, she was coming.

  And coming.

  God help her, when would it stop?

  The ecstasy was never-ending. It hit her. So hard, so fast, and every-fucking-where. She could do nothing less than wail through the fabric in her mouth.

  But it didn’t stop there. Oh, no. Just when he knew she was coming down, his cock was there. And with little ceremony, he fucked it into her.

  His thrusts were hard and fast. They made the bed rock, the floorboards squeak. She tightened her claws, pressed her forehead to the bed, and rode it out. Let his cock brush every part of her cunt.

  Let him claim her with his every inch.

  Then, when she felt him grow close, she clamped down on him.

  Tightening every single Kegel she possessed, and more she’d only just rediscovered, to torture him back, she fluttered her muscles about him. Loving how his grunts of ecstasy turned into a long roar.

  His cum marked her. Coating her inner walls with his seed, until the nightwalker was soothed, but only just. Again, like he’d sensed her need, he covered her, blanketing her with his hot, heavy form, and burrowing his face into her throat, he bit down.

  She thought she’d seen sparks before, but that was nothing to the goddamn meteor shower that took place behind her eyes now.

  The dual marks, the pain, the pleasure, rattled around her system until the scream that escaped her made her throat hoarse and her nightwalker could do no more than take control of the moment and put them both to sleep. Because if the nightwalker had her say, her mate would be on her and in her until morning rose. Both sides of her nature had already established that though the spirit was very, very willing, the body was, ultimately, weak.

  “How the hell did you get a table here?” she demanded, astonished that they were in Audrey’s when she knew for a fact they’d been fully booked for the past three months.

  Hell, they were usually fully booked on the regular nights. Never mind a special occasion like tonight.

  “I know some people.”

  She had to laugh at that. “You know no people. Unless they’re in my coven. And Audrey’s is owned by humans. Trust me, I know.” She’d tried to get involved with them, wanting to offer a gourmet coffee menu for the upper class snobs who came to Audrey’s every night.

  She, too, could afford that particular luxury, but being a snob was a mentality she’d never learned to be at ease with. No matter how rich she was. And Lara just didn’t have it in her to be that big of a dick. Sure, she knew asshole was an adjective that could be used to describe her from time to time, only Mother Teresa was spared that particular ignominy.
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  Still, she wouldn’t spoil it for him by talking about her favorite subject—wealth diversification and profit margins. He’d tried so hard to make Valentine’s special even though she knew, point blank, he was totally perplexed by it all.

  This evening, when she’d tried to arrange the flowers in a way that didn’t look like a disaster, he’d stared at her actions and had asked, “Females enjoy this?”

  “On special occasions we do,” she’d replied.

  Then came his confusion with bras and panties. The only thing that he’d truly personalized was, instead of getting her a teddy with a heart in its paws, he’d gone with the miniature Dragon, which to be fair was the cutest fucking thing he’d done all evening. So, he wasn’t too bad at this Valentine’s shit.

  She eyed the menu, made her selections with the server, and even put in her dessert order.

  Georgios quirked a brow. “More chocolate?”

  “I have discovered there is never such a thing as too much chocolate.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I prefer potato chips.”

  She bit back a smile. He always mispronounced poh-tay-toh chips, which was another cute-as-heck trait that drove her mad.

  This man was totally hard wired into her system.

  She got him. He got her.

  It fucked with her head how right they were for one another. Jesus, did it.

  “You like chips, I like chocolate.” She winked. “You did good with that box, by the way.”

  He watched her lick her lips then stated, “I don’t understand why a heart-shaped box makes them better.”

  She snorted. “You’re a nightmare.”

  “Why am I?”

  “This is a consumer society, babe. Everything’s geared toward making you spend more money. A square box has a regular price. A heart-shaped box, they can charge three times as much for Valentine’s.”

  He scowled. “The shop assistant told me they had special flavors.”

  “They did. They were. But you can get them in their regular boxes too.”