Ridiculous. I am not about to let a list or a simple guard disrupt my hunt. I raise a hand to wave the rope away, and silence the man if necessary. Before I can, he lumbers closer, his gaze poring over me, head to toe and every curve in-between. His eyebrows rise, a smile lights his features, then he lifts the rope for me.
“Go ahead, babe,” he grunts.
Uncouth, I think, but hold my tongue.
Once inside the cavernous building, my eyes adjust to the lack of steady light.
Just beyond the door stands another muscle-bound man; his black shirt screams in white letters BOUNCER. My gaze slides over him as I walk past.
My sinuses riot from the muddled scent of hops and perfumes. Tables spread in puddles around the edges, a bar stands against the one wall, a stage and floor littered with upright writhing bodies across from it. I let the throbbing sound wash over me, wash through me, guide my body with its driving beat. I mince across tough, ugly carpeting through the dimly lit interior.
The insistent weight of the bouncer’s stare bores into my back. He is beneath me. In my Temple, he would’ve been a guard or perhaps a sacrifice… Ignoring him, I follow my nose, and my body’s unerring senses toward where my prey stands.
A wicked smile warms his lips as he watches me approach.
His rolled-back shoulders and leisurely slouch against the table shout confidence.
He is not one I would have created, but Spirit and Soul promise me that he is mine. Besides, I like him. He stands behind a table, caught in conversation with a friend.
It is obvious from the distance between him and the dancers that he is not one for center floor. I’ll make him dance, though. He is what I want.
A goddess always gets what she wants.
Chapter Four
The Prey
Oh hell yeah, I think when the sexy blonde from the street appears in the crowd.
I knew she would follow me—knew it like I know she’s here for me. It’s in the air, crackling like lightning, spicy like her perfume. She’s all sunlight-gold and curves to get lost in. Even her eyes are gold. Sexier close up too, with her cat-like eyes trained on me. And the way she moves…fluid, almost feline as she weaves through people.
Elemental power ripples around her, sucking in every man’s attention, pulling a smile from me. It reaches in, strums a chord in me no one’s touched, even if the energy is similar to Naami’s.
Just steps away, she tips her chin down. Hair all wavy and wild frames her face, shadows her eyes in a sexy come-hither look I have to fight to resist. Then she holds out a hand and my resistance crumbles.
“What’s your—” Name, I start to say. She stops me with warm fingertip on my lips.
Maybe names aren’t important. She doesn’t care, and the desire to touch her gags my question and beats it into submission. Her gold eyes shift from me to the dance floor and back, then she offers her hand again. I’m vaguely aware of Jazz making shocked sputtering noises at my table, other people in the club, but we might as well be alone. She destroys the world, and if she wants me, I’m there, even if it is in the middle of the damn dance floor.
She guides, lacing between couples sucking face and copping feels, to the middle of the floor. I can’t take my eyes off her, sliding over her curves, diving into her cleavage as she turns to face me. The DJ spins a new tune—exotic, kind of kinky sounding, like pharaohs and harems in a modern dancehouse. The melody builds, the lights fall. And I hardly notice, she’s calling me without saying anything, and damn it, my body’s responding.
I’m not a dancer, I think ruefully. And, God this woman is. I’ve seen them all, pole dancers, hip-hop dancers, lap dancers. She’s none of those. She weaves into the rhythm, sightless and still leaving electric touches on my face, my arms, my chest while her hips sway in a slinky side-to-side roll, like a belly dancer, only way more private and enticing.
The lyrics don’t matter, she’s not the kind of dancer to let others’ words guide her. My hesitation doesn’t matter, either. Nothing matters but the pulse driving her, and the heat she’s bringing up in me. Every beat brings her closer and makes me hotter, till there’s nothing but shadows between us and I think I might catch fire.
The next touch she strokes over my shoulder melts something in me. Suddenly I’m moving, mirroring her movements, working up to the body she’s rippling in front of me like water before a man dying of thirst.
Then, on a downbeat, she gives me a coy look, spins and drops her ass. Her fingers follow her path, stroking the length of my body, right past my cock. Eyes casting a feral light she turns and, on the bridge to the chorus, grinds that full curve up on me, pressing her heat against my fly. Blood surges, temperatures rise, and I know she’s pulling something more primal than a sense of rhythm and a hard-on out of me.
I cup her hips, my thumbs over her backside, fingers straining for the pockets of her jeans. She times her seduction with the bass beat driving through us. Every rock of her ass, every brush of her on me, and my need grows, strains against my skin and the back of my zipper.
She hooks her fingers around my wrist, dragging my hand farther around her and tucks my thumb in the well of her pocket. The denim of her jeans slides against my fingers with every rock of her hips, a beckon to explore her southerly regions. It’s too easy to slide my fingers down her short zipper and lower, so I let them travel.
Blonde hair whispers over my shoulder when she tips her head back and rests it against me. I send my other hand north of her studded belt, gliding it across the filmy fabric of her top, grazing her breast.
Her sigh is an invitation for more.
Who am I to pass up an invitation like that?
Succumbing, I bury my face in her hair, curving around and pressing into her body as she pushes my bounds of public display. We could be alone, dancing in my apartment, and not on a crowded dance floor, damn near screwing and still totally clothed.
The heat between us keeps rising, boiling in my blood, smelting off my connection to Naami. I feel it snap like a guitar string cranked too tight. A new bond with this woman rushes in, flooding me with a liquid warmth from, and a hunger for, her. The kind of kismet Naami and her soul-sucking can never create, the kind of perfection only a woman as powerful as the one in my arms could create.
With every breath her ribs flex under my fingers, her heartbeat echoes in mine. I hold her tighter, cinching in with each breath, molding her to me. Her skin is hot, slick with a perfume-sweetened sweat, and I think I’m burning. I pump against her, to hell with the music, the club, our contract here.
She reaches one hand up, hooks her fingers under my chin and guides my face forward.
Message received.
I nuzzle her neck, lips and a little teeth. Every nip elicits a quiver from her and a rise in the pressure against my fly. I groan and feel my breath slipping beneath her skimpy shirt. She grinds urgently against me, rocks her body until her breast is cupped in my hand.
She’s so hot, rocking in just the right rhythm to drive me mad, and I’m prey to it all. I couldn’t stop now, unless she wanted me to, and I know she won’t stop till she gets what she wants. Much more of this and I’m going to come and need a clean pair of jeans.
But, she’s not done, and neither is the song. One hand works free of my hair where she’d buried it, then she slides it between us. The need grows, and my cock hardens to an almost-painful insistence. She fondles me, a quick-slow grind with the music, and I ease my hand to the apex of her thighs and return the favor.
I’m so into her, I could drown in the moment. The high is better than any night onstage, any other tryst.
The music builds, her hand working my cock until the pressure has to blow or I’m going to lose my mind. Fighting it, I bite her shoulder, feeling her energy and heat rise. Her body twitches, muscles clench around my hand and by her moans, she’s getting what she’s giving when I come. Pleasure pumps through me in savage blasts, hot and sudden, and I groan against her shoulder.
; The music fades, and I can’t untie myself from the knot I’ve made around her, despite the need for a change in the wardrobe room. She’s not ready to let go, either. We pull our hands from where they shouldn’t be in public, and she laces our fingers together when I turn her to face me. Cheeks pink, hair even more wild, eyes sparkling in the afterglow of what we’ve done—she’s sexier now, and I’m sure I look rumpled and spent. I cup her flushed cheek, trace my thumb along the full line of her bottom lip.
Her voice is a maddening mix of smoky sex and naughty-girl precocious when she whispers, “Sorry, but I never got your name…”
I can’t fight the grin curling my lips. Hand still on her cheek, I answer, “I’m Mace. And you are…?”
A laugh as gold as her eyes escapes her. “You can call me Goddess.”
I arch an eyebrow and use our twined fingers to lead her toward the dressing room.
“After a dance like that I think I can.” What kind of goddess, though? Her off-the-charts energy is beyond mortal. “But really, what’s your name?”
“If Goddess is unsuited to your mouth,” she quips, “you may call me whatever you wish.”
”These curves,” I say, sliding my fingers from her cheek to her collarbone, “are well suited to my mouth.” She bares her shoulder and the slight teeth marks I left there, and then winks. Damn if my mouth doesn’t water a little. “How about I call you ‘mine for the night’?”
I shouldn’t have said it, but something about this woman brings alive every lusty gene in my body. On a deeper level, I know the feeling isn’t anything Naami has ever brought to my bed or hers. The succubus takes, this “goddess” gives—herself, her power. I feel physically better, like I never took that damn deal with Naami and she never took weeks of my life.
“You would call me yours without knowing me?”
“Any woman who can make me feel like this…” I sigh and take the last couple steps down the little back hall, “is worthy of my every devotion… My goddess.”
“That,” she purrs, “is a good answer.”
Hand on the door handle, I say, “Can you gimme a minute? Then join me for a drink?”
She inclines her head. “Of course.”
Exhaling a breath, I duck into the dressing room. Part of me is screaming I’m a fucking idiot to leave a woman like that alone for a second. The rest of me can’t stand the feel of my pants anymore. My boots smack the cement floor as I hustle to my locked cabinet of clothes. Then, in the bathroom I clean up, pull on a clean pair of jeans and stuff today’s pair in my bag. I stow the bag in the bottom of the open-faced closet.
Her sexual energy smashes into me the minute I open the door. Even when I’m not touching her, I feel the flow cycling between us, bounced back and forth by our heartbeats.
Taking a play from her book, I offer her my hand. Heat builds between us, weaves us closer together when she threads her fingers through mine. I’m so tempted to stay in the hall, kiss her neck and see how far she’s willing to go. But if I don’t get back to the table, Jazz and crew will hound me to death.
She eases close, her curves brushing mine. We make our way through the dance floor and back to the table. The expression on Jazz’s face is enough to rile my Neanderthal side and tempt me to cuff the look off his face. One part shit-eating grin, one part absolute shock. I’m sure he’s floored I’m with a woman so gorgeous. He’s also proud as hell I did that on the dance floor. After years with him playing in my band, I know how the horndog thinks.
I pull out a stool for her, thinking somehow it’s a pathetic offer. Everything about her really screams “goddess”. Her stunner looks, the way she carries herself, the energy she puts off. I’ve learned very few people can feel that energy, but it licks up and down my skin, nibbles on my tattoos.
She eyes the stool and shrugs. “I’d rather stand.”
I nod and slide onto the seat instead. Turns out well for me—she sidles up, slides an arm around my back and presses her curves to me. Unable to resist the immense draw between us, I guide my hand down her spine and cup the gorgeous curve of her ass, fingers beneath the edge, close to her heat.
A knowing smile crooks Jazz’s smartass mouth. He had a perfect view of our dance. I stifle the desire to punch him in the face for thoughts I know he must be entertaining. My companion gracefully ignores Jazz, though—which of course will only makes him more interested in stirring something up.
Before I can even try to introduce them, Jeneva, skinny waitress and acolyte of Naami, inserts her negative energy into our little group. She eyes my companion like a cat unsheathing its claws.
“What can I getcha, hon?” never sounded more like who the fuck is she?
A tick feathers the muscle of my jaw. I’m tempted to clench my teeth, but the “goddess” at my side mellows everything, even smothers the knowledge that I’ll face Naami’s reckoning for this. The lady with her hand on my thigh turns from the waitress and looks at me. “You may order me a beer.”
“A girl after my own heart,” I say, and give her a wink. Then I pass the order on to Jeneva, whose mouth falls open and painted eyes narrow before she leaves in a serious huff to fill it.
“I’m no girl,” my companion says softly, voice heavy with meaning. “And I’m after more than your heart.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I warn. “You may not like what you get.”
Jazz laughs darkly. He knows what a broken string of relationships I’ve left in my wake. The urge to punch him rises again. Instead, I kick his chair underneath the table. The longest relationship I’ve had is with a succubus who’s draining the life out of me.
“So who’s the babe?” he asks, then gulps the rest of the beer in his bottle. “Another groupie?”
“Ha ha. I’m tempted to say ‘fuck you’, but you’d take it as an invitation.” I slide my hand up to her hip and curl her tighter to me. “We crashed past the name exchange stage.”
“I’d say.” His grin turns wolfy. “Wanna share, Mace?”
“Hell no.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Jazz mutters.
Yes, I can, I think.
Jeneva returns with two beers and a shot of tequila for Jazz. She never takes her eyes off the “goddess” at my side, even when she takes my money.
“Keep the change,” I tell her. Polite way of saying to get to stepping. Instead she leans closer, shifting her gaze to me, then back to the bombshell on my arm.
“You from outta town?”
“Yes.” One word, in a tone that says Jeneva isn’t worthy of more.
“Well.” The waitress turns so she’s not looking at me when she says, “Watch that one. He’s not good dating material.” Her way of trying to protect the claim Naami has staked on me.
The curvy blonde loses some of her humanness when she curls her lips into a smile and growls, exactly like a lion only somehow feminine. “Your opinion is of no consequence,” she says in a dead-even, threatening tone.
Huffing something about last call, Jeneva flees the table. The “goddess” turns in my arm, and says, “Is she attached to you? I won’t trifle with an attached man.”
“No. She’s just the friend of a woman I used to…date.”
“Good. Because I do not share, and I will not compete.”
“There is no competition,” I promise.
I cup her face in my hands. Heat and electricity thrum in her touch when she covers my hands with hers. How could this gorgeous woman think any common mortal could ever be competition for me? She gives me back what Naami took, she sets my soul spinning.
“We are quite a pair,” I say, voice just above a whisper.
“We are.” From her mouth, the words have the power of a binding, a proclamation, and I see in her eyes she believes it.
“Look,” I blurt, “it’s closing time, and I still don’t know your name. How am I gonna find you again?”
“You won’t.”
My eyebrows drop, I feel the weight of a frown suddenly ver
y there over my eyes. I let it form. Screw Jazz, he can ride my ass for it later. “What do you mean, I won’t?”
“Just that,” she purrs. “You won’t. I will find you.”
She has. Now that we’ve forged such a hot burning bond, I doubt she could lose me. Still, the thought of not seeing her again, not tasting her sweat, cupping her curves… Torture.
“I’ve got something for you, then,” I say. “Something that might help you to find me.”
I stand on the supports of the barstool to rummage in my pocket. I know I had a pair in my other jeans, which are balled up and wanting a wash in the bag in the dressing room. Then in the back pocket I find what I’m looking for.
“Here.” I hand the slightly battered slip of paper to the “goddess”.
She scans it, her gaze running over the band’s name and information printed there.
“It’s a concert ticket,” I say. She’s more than human, ripping into this plane from somewhere else. Maybe she hasn’t been to a show. “Do they have concerts…where you’re from? I know it’s a small venue, but I thought maybe you could come and see me…”
“No,” she replies. “But I would love to come.”
“Awesome.” That stupid smile’s back, crinkling my cheeks, I can feel it. “The show will be right here. So, no searching if you’re new to the area.”
The night’s winding down and the clock on the wall confirms it. Then, right on cue, the DJ teases into the mic, “This is what she really looks like, guys.”
Normally, it’s a real eye-opener to see the woman you thought was a goddess and find you’ve been seeing her through beer goggles.
The house lights come on, as if the “goddess” brought them up with the power of her sexy smile. No alcohol clouding my vision or impairing my judgment. She’s the single most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Bouncers start herding the patrons out the door. She laces her fingers in mine and follows a step behind. Her energies swirl, tickling across my tattoos, itching on my nerves. She’s so much more than these people see. I pause in the doorway, tug her back to me hard enough that her soft curves crash into my body, and my cock expresses interest in crashing back into her.
In Pursuit of Prey: Of Gods and Consorts, Book 1 Page 2