by Moira Rogers
“Fancier, then.” She watched his tattoos dance as his arms flexed. “There are benefits to being reborn into a new body every one thousand weeks. I was a starving artist in the thirties—one who died tragically young, of course. Her work is very popular with distinguished collectors.”
“Sounds like a neat trick.”
“When you tend to outlive your lovers, you’re left with plenty of time to develop hobbies.”
“I bet.” He slid his fingers lower, over the swell of her breast beneath her bra. “I’m surprised you didn’t go looking for someone fireproof years ago.”
As if she hadn’t tried. “There aren’t all that many out there. I’ve never met a hellhound before.”
He seemed to consider that. “No, I guess there aren’t many of us around anymore.”
“Probably better for me.” Still feeling shy, she traced a fingertip up his arm and over his shoulder, following the vivid ink that cut a path over his skin. “If they’re all as fascinating as you, I’d be completely debauched by now.”
“Undoubtedly.” Jarrett turned her around and kissed her shoulder as he unhooked her bra.
Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this—especially not from a hellhound. Gentle touches, slow and intense. He was touching her the way you seduced a lover, not the way you fucked a stranger. “What do you want from tonight, Jarrett?”
“To have fun.” His breath blew cool on her skin, as cool as the hand that slipped around the tease at her stomach. “To make a little connection. To let go.”
“What happens when you let go?”
“Same as you, Phoebe.” He pushed her bra straps off her shoulders. “Things get hot.”
Fire. How wild would it be when both of them burned? Shivering, she let her bra slip away, leaving her bare above the waist. “We can both let go.”
“Nobody to hurt here,” he agreed softly. “Nothing to go wrong.”
She was being seduced. Stroked, petted, soothed into a melting puddle of hunger and loose-limbed eagerness. Phoebe tilted her head back to thump against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “I don’t think you’re letting go. I think you’re holding back.”
“For now.” His thumb grazed her nipple. “You should know better than anyone that a good fire takes a while to stoke.”
She lifted her hand to his and tried to urge a firmer touch. Catching her nipple between his thumb and her own pinched it tight—and drove a gasp from her lips. “I haven’t been...stoked in a long time. It doesn’t take much.”
He twisted her nipple, just enough to elicit another gasp. “You like it a little rough?”
“I think so.” She hadn’t wanted anything besides more, but the words resonated in an unexpected way, and her body’s reaction spoke for itself. “No one’s ever dared to try. I’ve never had an inherently fireproof lover before.”
“You like it,” he murmured, shifting his hand to cup her breast. “I can feel you heat up just thinking about it.”
He liked it, too. His erection pressed against the small of her back when she leaned into him, a bulge trapped behind denim that chafed her bare skin. His belt buckle bit into her skin, and she relished the sensation of being all but naked and held against his large, clothed body. It was dirty. Vulnerable. Not an emotion she’d ever thought of as an aphrodisiac, but it was turning her on now.
She wanted more, so she let her hand fall and pressed into his touch. “Be a little rough with me.”
Jarrett spun her then, dragging her close to his chest before catching her mouth in a forceful but brief kiss. “Undress me,” he murmured, his voice as dark and wild as his gaze.
His shirt was already disheveled from her earlier attempts, so she started there, coaxing the fabric up and over his head. As it fell to the floor, she returned her attention to his chest, pleased to discover that the thick swirls of ink continued up his shoulder and across his collarbone. “Your tattoos are beautiful.”
“One per decade.” He stroked his thumbs under her jaw. “A way to mark the years.”
“I’m jealous of the artists.” She reached for his belt next, savoring the rich feel of leather under her fingers. “I’ve never had a canvas as intriguing as you.”
He sucked in a breath. “Do you usually lick your canvases? Because that’s what you look like you want to do to me.”
She did—and she could. The truth of that knowledge finally sank in, and it left Phoebe giddy, weightless. Free.
She was at Last Call with an indestructible lover. She could do anything.
The gorgeous expanse of his chest beckoned, and she gave in, pressing her parted lips to his flesh with a moan. He was cool, especially compared to her own fevered body, but not as cool as he had been a few minutes earlier. He was warming up too, and the thought drove her to drag her tongue across his skin until she could close her teeth lightly around his nipple.
Warm wasn’t enough. She wanted him to burn.
Jarrett groaned and clenched his fingers in her hair. “Harder.”
She obeyed, lashing her tongue over the tight tip before biting harder.
He backed her toward the bed. “Don’t stop.”
The blunt commands might have bothered her at any other time, but this felt right. He was a hellhound, after all. A creature of sin. He could have enough experience in debauching women to make even the dreams she didn’t know she had come true.
She’d only find out if she gave him everything.
He could lay her down right now, thrust inside her, and make her catch fire.
Jarrett clenched his jaw and tugged her head back, pulling her mouth away from his nipple. “On the bed, Phoebe.”
She slipped onto the smooth expanse of silken sheets with a smile. “I like how you say my name. As if you want to devour me.”
Oh, he was going to, and she was going to watch. “On your elbows,” he ordered as he yanked open his belt.
Her eyebrows rose in a perfect arch, but she obeyed. “You’re very domineering, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” He watched her breasts move enticingly with every breath.
“Bossy.” She smoothed her foot over the sheets. “It’s hot.”
Jarrett caught her leg and reached for the top of her stocking. “You haven’t seen bossy until you’ve seen an alpha werewolf get tetchy over what’s his. People think hellhounds should be the same, but we’re not. We’re pretty damn easygoing.”
She clenched her hands around the sheets and watched him, wide-eyed. “This is easygoing?”
“You really don’t come to Last Call often, do you?” He peeled her stocking down her leg, off her foot, and let it drop to the floor.
“I’ve never come here before.” She hesitated a moment before tilting her head. “The last time I had sex, this bar didn’t exist.”
That was damned tragic, but he could make up for it. Jarrett walked two fingers up the inside of her leg. “Did he eat your pussy?” he asked casually. “It was a man, right? Or do you like women too?”
Flames danced along her skin, spilling down her body as her cheeks flushed. “The last man was quite...traditional. In his defense, keeping me from incinerating him took a great deal of his concentration.”
Traditional, or boring? Instead of pressing the comparison, Jarrett reached the top of her thigh and teased his fingers over her damp panties. “What about tonight?”
“I’ll be very disappointed if you’re traditional,” she whispered, lifting her hips.
He held her gaze as he curled his fingers and rubbed his knuckle against her. “Do you want my mouth on you?”
Her breathing hitched. “Yes. I want everything. I want to be debauched. I want to feel.”
“You will.” Jarrett tugged her to the edge of the mattress and sank to his knees beside the bed.
Big brown eyes watched him with hunger and anticipation. She eased her knees wider and wet her lips. “You want me to watch?”
He rubbed the skin just above the waistband of her panties. “Does that
embarrass you?”
“Not exactly.” Her gaze tracked the path of his fingers as she tensed under the soft touch. “It’s lewd, but I want that. I haven’t been truly lewd in almost a hundred years. I admit, I’ve wondered if vices have changed since then.”
“Vice never changes, sweetheart. People only like to tell themselves they’ve found new ways to fuck.”
“They seem more open about it, at least.” A wicked smile curled her lips. “And the accessories have improved. For women, at least.”
“Have they?” Jarrett grinned and dragged her panties and her other stocking down at once. “Tell me more.”
“Mmm...” Her eyes turned dreamy. “Vibrators you can bring into the bathtub. It’s the safest place for me to come.”
He pushed her legs wide, baring her slick, wet pussy lips to his greedy gaze. “I bet you steam the place up.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. Her thighs trembled, and her breasts heaved with her quick, unsteady breaths. “Why are you taking so long? You could be inside me already.”
True—but she’d burn hotter if he took his time. “Because I’m going to tease you.” He traced his thumb over her folds, down and up again, until he reached her clit—and flicked it with a quick, rough caress.
A moan slipped free of her. “You are teasing me.”
“Mm-hmm.” But not for long. Jarrett leaned down and soothed her swollen, aroused flesh with long strokes of his tongue. Her elbows slid out from under her, spilling her upper body to the bed as her hips bucked.
Fire sparked from her fingertips, and Phoebe whimpered. “The sheets—”
He twined his fingers with hers and redoubled the caress. She seemed to forget about the fire as quickly as she’d forgotten about the wards, all of her focus clearly on his mouth and tongue. The flames from her hands curled around his arms, crawling higher like living tattoos that left prickling heat in their wake.
She twisted and begged and came, so fast he had to wonder how many orgasms it would take to truly sate her need. He eased one hand free of hers and pushed one finger just inside her entrance. “Yes?”
Her knees hit his shoulders, and her whole body tensed. One breath. Two. Her legs shook. “Yes. Deeper.”
Her pussy gripped his finger, even tighter when he eased a second one inside her. He pushed them as deep as he could, then rose over her and rocked the heel of his hand against her clit.
“Oh God,” she sobbed, twisting away from him. “Too much. I want it but I can’t, I can’t.”
Jarrett couldn’t release her, not until he felt her come again. He tangled his free hand in her hair and pulled her back. “Burn, sweetheart,” he whispered against her mouth. “Let it go and burn for me.”
She dragged in gasping breaths. Her skin glowed, as if liquid fire surged through her veins. “Harder.”
He could do that. He moved his hand, fucking her with his fingers, and bent to suck her stiff nipple into his mouth.
No more moans. She was damn near screaming now, broken cries tangling pleas and encouragement with hungry, desperate noises. Her fingernails sank into his shoulder and raked across his back as she went tense beneath him, that one moment of stillness his only warning before she exploded.
The room went up in flames as she convulsed around his fingers. Jarrett stroked her through it, heedless of the scorching heat. It couldn’t hurt them or anyone else, and what did that matter anyway in the face of such absolute, unbridled pleasure?
When the magic faded, Phoebe sprawled beneath him, spent and trembling, her skin rapidly cooling. Little spasms tightened her body around his fingers, the aftershocks of an orgasm so intense she looked dazed when her eyes drifted open. “You’re not hurt?”
Only his aching cock. “Right as rain, Phoebe. You’re fucking gorgeous.”
She laughed, soft and lazy, and arched her back. “I haven’t been this relaxed in decades.”
“Good.” Relaxed meant she wasn’t worrying anymore.
“What about you?”
He had to laugh. “If you crawl in my lap, I won’t turn you down.”
“Stand up.” She pushed at his chest as she twisted and pulled her legs under her. “It’s my turn.”
No sane man in his position would turn down a blow job, either. Jarrett rose and tugged at the button on his jeans.
Phoebe shoved her disheveled hair back from her face and took over, gently freeing his cock. “You’re still hot,” she murmured, stroking her fingertips up his shaft. “What will make you burn for me?”
He sucked in a breath as the touch shot up his spine. “Suck my dick, sweetheart.” He gathered her hair in one hand. “Find out.”
The bed was high enough that she had to bend low, giving him a mouthwatering view of her ass. Every movement she made seemed careful and deliberate, even when she explored the head of his cock, swirling her tongue around it like she meant to memorize its taste and map its shape.
One thing was obvious. “You like to tease too, Phoebe.”
Her laugh vibrated around him a heartbeat before she sucked hard. Wet heat, slow but firm, and Jarrett steeled himself against the urge to tug at her hair, push into her throat.
A moment later, it became clear she didn’t appreciate his restraint. She raised her eyes to his and pulled back. “If I’d wanted a gentleman, I wouldn’t have picked a hellhound.”
“Thought you picked me because I won’t burn.” Though he tightened his fingers anyway and rocked against her cheek. Silently, she parted her lips again. Challenge sparked in her dark eyes, daring him to give in to his basest urges.
Oh, sweetheart.
“You asked for it,” he murmured. “Remember that.”
Then he thrust deep into her mouth.
She hadn’t performed oral sex in a very long time, but some things never changed.
The power in it, for one, so paradoxical when Jarrett was the one gripping her head and forcing his cock past her lips. He was large, thick and long and undeniably masculine. She choked a little before she remembered how to fight her reflex, how to tilt her head and let saliva ease his path.
His first smooth thrust into her throat brought back the memory of the werewolf who’d taught her how to take a man deep, a rough, cocky bootlegger who’d paid for a charm to bind the fire beneath her skin.
It had even worked...for a while.
She wouldn’t think about their tragic end—not now. Right now she’d concentrate on Jarrett, on his dangerous eyes and the heat in him that matched her own.
He pulled back and thrust deep again, this time holding her head firmly for several long seconds. Then he released her with a groan. “You like that, don’t you?”
She liked how much he liked it, how his eyes got wild around the edges. Even more perversely, she liked the roughness of it. “I love it.”
“What else do you love?” But he thrust back into her mouth before she could answer, his skin hot to the point of sizzling on her tongue.
Feeling alive. Consumed. She fought to swallow him, and it wasn’t enough. Not until he lost control. The next time he pulled back, she smiled up at him. “I love fire.”
Jarrett grinned and pulled her up by her shoulders. “I should have guessed.” He caught her mouth in a quick, blistering kiss, then spun and bent her over the bed.
Of course there was a mirror. Why wouldn’t there be? The room was designed for seduction and sin—and she looked seduced and sinful. Tangled hair framed her face, and Phoebe barely recognized herself in the debauched stranger trembling on her knees. Naked and flushed, her lips swollen, eyes glazed, she looked like a wild creature, not the subdued professional she’d become in recent years.
Behind her, Jarrett stood in deep shadow, his muscles flexing in sharp relief under the slanting light from the lamps. When he met her gaze in the mirror, his eyes flashed red. “Lovely,” he murmured, and gripped her hips.
She tensed against his first thrust, her anticipation heightening with each breath as he loomed behind her wit
h fiery eyes. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Ride you until I come.” He leaned over her back and whispered his next words into her ear. “I want you to watch.”
It was odd that she could shiver with his skin blazing like a furnace at her back. “Hard. I may not have a werewolf’s healing, but it’s more difficult to hurt me to begin with.”
“I’m not worried.” The head of his cock rubbed against her.
Tearing her gaze from his wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. She’d never seen anything as shamelessly erotic as their bodies poised on the edge of joining, the thick crown of his erection parting the inner lips of her cunt. She wanted to watch him thrust inside, watch him bury himself inch by inch as she stretched to accommodate his girth. It might hurt a little at first, she remembered that. But only until friction burned away everything else.
Crude words felt awkward in her mind and clumsy on her tongue, but she forced them free on a rush of adrenaline. “Fuck me. Fuck me with your cock.” They sounded fake, high and forced, but maybe practice would make this perfect, too. “Fuck me, please.”
He slipped his arm around her, across her, his forearm pressed to her throat. “Shh.” Then he slid into her, slow and unyielding.
Pressure. Pleasure. She was torn between closing her eyes to savor the way he filled her and staring at the dizzying sight of her body trapped and penetrated, the arm around her throat a dangerous visual symbol.
She was at his mercy. Oh, not in reality—she was familiar enough with the bar to know that a true violation of her consent would unleash powerful protective magic—but even playing at this sort of domination intoxicated her in a way that seemed shameful. She spent every day wrapped tight in a façade of civilized humanity, but in this moment she was unbound.
Her cool skin heated again as longing kindled deep inside her. She could be what she was, an elusive creature of legend, a lover too dangerous to touch. No sweet, tender sex, but a triumphant claiming, rough and beyond the polite rules of human society.
Phoebe moaned again and raked her nails along his arm. “Hurt me.”
Jarrett growled, flame licking between them as his arm tightened and he thrust hard, burying himself to the hilt inside her.