“After watching you dry hump that man into an orgasm, I don’t think I can be gentle, love.”
“You always like watching me feed.”
“I do, because I know you take your pleasure with them just to incite me into violence.”
“You could have stopped me at any time,” she murmured while she lifted her breasts to redistribute them inside her formidable underwire cups.
“Seemed cruel when he was so close, so fast,” Dylan said, his gaze on the pale, pink flesh mounding over the tops of her cups. “I know how he feels.”
Emmy bent toward the concierge, giving him and Dylan an eyeful of her tits and gave the slim black man a quick kiss. Then she leaped to the top of the counter and to the floor. Giggling, she ran across the tiled foyer of the hotel toward the stairwell, Dylan on her heels.
He was faster, but he was running with a hard-on and cussing because it hurt.
She was up the stairs in seconds, twisted the handle to the door for the second floor rooms and slammed it shut behind her to stall him for a moment.
Emmy made it to the door of Quentin’s old room and slid the card into the reader. As soon as the light blinked green, she shoved the door open. But Dylan was already behind her, his hands gripping her hips and pushing her roughly through the door.
She’d wanted to make it the bed, but Dylan had other ideas—his hands were already at her waistband, dragging down her trousers. A rasping unzip and his cock was pressing between her buttocks, thrusting lower between her wet and swollen folds.
She bent, bracing her hands on her knees and groaned as he slid inside her.
He grunted. “You’re too short.”
“Shoulda waited until I got to the goddamn bed. Come out and I’ll get my clothes off.”
“Can’t. Feels too good.”
Emmy smiled and bent over. She pulled her shirt over her head, letting it drop to the floor. Then she reached for the back of her bra.
But Dylan was already there, undoing the hooks, his hands coming under her breasts immediately to cup them. “Ahhhh…Jesus, Em…”
So, she was halfway bared, and he wasn’t going to help her finish getting naked. She tried shuffling her feet forward, which was hard since her pants cinched her thighs together, and he was still rutting shallowly inside her. But she made it to the dresser, grasped the edge with one hand and slid the other down her thigh to shove down her pants.
How the hell was she going to get them off?
An arm slipped around her waist, and Dylan lifted her, cock still embedded inside her, and strode toward the bed.
Emmy sighed when he lowered her and grabbed for pillows.
So, the pants weren’t going anywhere, but her bottom was raised, high enough for him to brace apart his legs and aim straight into her cunt.
Her juicy, warm, very wet cunt. “Kitty’s hungry,” she purred.
“Kitty’s getting the shit slapped out of her.” Dylan’s hands tightened on her ass, pulling her toward him each time he slammed into her, shoving her away when he withdrew. His belly and balls did indeed make very juicy slapping sounds—a very nasty spanking.
“God, I need to spread my legs,” she said.
“Not here to please you, sweet.”
“Bastard.”
“You dry humped the guy.”
“Couldn’t help myself. He tasted so yummy, and he uses the same cologne as you do.”
“I’m not mollified. And he wears Old Spice.”
“That’s not your brand?”
“Shut up, Em. Talk about him for a second more and I swear I won’t be answerable for my actions.”
“His cock was quite…substantial.”
“Arrrrrgh!” His cock came out, and he rolled her off the pillows, grabbed her feet and jerked off her boots, stripped her pants away, and then he was on top of her, crushing her to the bed. “Can you breathe?”
She shook her head, eyes bulging.
“Good.” He rooted with his cock, still pressing down his chest to keep hers deflated, and then curled his belly to stroke inside her.
Emmy blinked once for yes.
“Going to use Morse code?”
She blinked again, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. She felt like her head was ready to explode, and not in a good way.
“Promise you’ll be quiet, and I’ll give you some air.”
She blinked then sucked in a deep breath as his weight shifted off her.
Before she had a chance to blast him, he’d hooked his arms beneath her legs and lifted her ass off the bed. He raised and lowered her incrementally, watching his cock slide into her pussy.
She watched the way his biceps flexed so deliciously. But the cock sliding into her was lovely as well—thick, blue veins streaking around it, ropes of her creamy excitement slathered like runny butter all over.
“Ready?” he asked silkily.
“Ready? I’d say you’ve already started,” she said, a hum of contentment washing over her.
That was all the warning he gave. He shook his head and transformed into the beast—one second to the next—his face crackling as the bony structures of his forehead and brows protruded, distorting his handsome face, his body bulking outward as muscles thickened. His cock expanded to cram itself against her walls.
She had a tree trunk shoved up her cunt—minus the bark. Emmy’s back arched. The orgasm that had been gliding steadily on a flight path toward the stars exploded.
A low, growling roar ripped from her lover’s lips, and he hammered her—no mercy shown as his buttocks flexed, slamming forward to shove so deeply she thought she should be able to feel him at the back of her throat.
Her hands fisted in the bedding beneath her, her body shuddered, over and over, palsied quivers that rattled along her frame, squeezing rhythmically along her passage to clasp him deep inside.
He didn’t relent, even after she’d collapsed against the mattress, moaning, her head thrashing because it was too much. He’d kill her with this one. Suck the life force out of her like a giant alien leech attached to her cunt.
The image surprisingly didn’t alarm her. Instead, she laughed, a broken sound that resembled a sob, but she stared at his great, thick cock and imagined the leech attaching to her uterus and zapping her with electricity-loaded prongs, because another orgasm piled on top of the one she’d just survived, and her womb clenched, cramping hard, almost painfully, and she couldn’t do anything, just lie like a suffocating fish on the banks for a roaring river while he continued to plow her depths.
At last, she felt the scalding spurts washing through her, emptying his lust inside her. Because she didn’t want him withdrawing, she wrapped her thighs around his hips, which was difficult because he wouldn’t remove his arms from beneath her knees and continued to rock forward and back.
His features relaxed, his body deflated. His cock, spent but still turgid, returned to a meaty human size—filling, but not too many calories.
She giggled.
Dylan’s face screwed into a frown, and he fell over her, his chest once again weighting down hers to squeeze the breath from her. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because I was imagining your dick…” she gasped, “as a foot-long éclair. Creamy filling and all.”
“Still hungry, I take it?”
“Starved.”
Dylan came off her, jerked her by the shoulder to bring her upward then clasped the back of her head and sent her face straight toward his cock. “Open wide. See if you can laugh with your mouth full.”
Emmy grinned. Dylan was so damn predictable. Fuss with his fussiness and he had to retaliate like the manly man he was really was.
She opened her mouth and swallowed him down, creamy topping and all.
Chapter Seven
‡
Darcy sat on the bench in the middle of the dark field again. The man with the golden helmet was gone. She should have been glad that he’d finally left her alone, but she wasn’t. Before he’d come, she’d been co
ntent to drift—through the dark, airless night, in her thoughts—floating like a feather without the heavy burden of worries or fear, but he’d awakened something inside her.
His body had been beautiful despite the bloody tears cut deep into his skin. His smell had been familiar and comforting even though the musk of sex and tang of urine had clung to him. His pain had been palpable. And she’d felt drawn to him to provide comfort.
Which had really pissed her off, because she hadn’t wanted to care—not about her beautiful stranger or about herself. But here she was, unable to let go and simply drift, because she wanted to wait for his return.
Restless though she was and longing for his company, another force pulled at her, anchoring her to this open field.
The moon, overlarge and dominating the inky sky, rose high above the dark tangled branches of the trees surrounding the clearing. The silvery light it cast warmed her skin like a noonday sun but exerted a strange and magnetic draw. Her skin began to itch, her restless body felt infused with hectic energy. She left her seat and began to pace.
A faint howl rent the quiet, coming from deep inside the forest. And she knew what it was. From somewhere deep inside her, she found the image of a wolf, sleek-bodied and powerful. The image caused a shiver to crawl up her spine, followed by a restless yearning to seek out the creature. Which confused her.
Had she known wolves before or was the knowledge of their nature born inside her? She shook her head. It wasn’t important how she knew, just that she resist the call.
Instinctively, she knew that following the sound, surrendering to the allure of the night and the moon, would change her forever, and she wasn’t ready to move on. The beautiful man might return, and she would miss him.
So she drew deep, calming breaths, sat again on the cool marble seat, and closed her mind to the call that grew insistently louder and closer. If she didn’t respond, if she didn’t enter the woods, she would be all right. Soon, her helmeted companion would return for her. She knew that as surely as she knew only horror awaited her if she heeded the wolf’s call.
*
Quentin awoke with bright sunlight streaming into the window. He judged it to be late afternoon by the lengthening shadows. Feeling lethargic, knowing he needed to rest for the coming night, still he pushed off the bed and headed to the window where curtains billowed inward with the light sea breeze.
He closed the window, pulled the curtains to shield the room from the dangerous rays, and turned back to Darcy’s bed, freezing when he saw the two figures standing beside her still body.
He swallowed, noting the moisture welling in Emmy’s hazel eyes and the stubborn, firmed edge of Dylan’s jaw. “How did you find me?” he croaked, stepping closer to the bed, his body tightening as he prepared to defend Darcy because he knew why they were there.
“Does it matter?” Dylan asked, his voice gruff.
Emmy moved toward him, her hand lifting.
“Em, stand aside,” Dylan said softly, gripping her upper arm and pushing her behind him.
Quentin gazed at his old friend, remembered all they’d shared, but felt a warming hatred build within him. Before he’d let either Dylan or Emmy harm his wife, he’d kill them. Stone-dead. And he thought he might actually feel some satisfaction from the act.
The thought chilled him. He should have been taken aback by the rising anger spiked with adrenaline that coursed through him. He’d spent his entire afterlife fighting the beast inside him, but he’d held his emotions at bay since the first outpouring of numbing grief when he’d held Darcy’s still body in his arms.
The journey, his battles with his memories, his guilt, and Kamaria’s wicked deal combined in a deadly lust for vengeance.
“You should leave,” Quentin said quietly. “This isn’t any of your business.”
“You belong to the council. You belong to your family. To me,” Dylan said. “Navarro sent us to retrieve you.”
“He sent you to murder my wife.”
“She’s not Darcy. Not anymore.”
“Darcy is still inside her. I’ve spoken to her.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed but never left his face. “She woke from her coma?”
Quentin clamped his jaws tight.
“What? Did you see her in your dreams?” Dylan snorted. “She’s gone, Quentin. If the creature inside her awakens, it will kill you.”
“She’s not lost,” Quentin ground out.
“Do you think your witch will help you? Can you trust her? She wove enchantments around you the last time, kept you here to serve her. Do you think she will do this for you out of the goodness of her heart? For old times’ sake?” His hands curled into fists. “What did you promise her in return?”
Quentin shook his head. “That’s none of your business either. But she’s already proven she can be of use. I tell you, I’ve been with Darcy. There’s still a chance—”
“A chance to turn her back? A chance to awaken her? Whatever the witch has done, it’s a trick. Can’t you see that? Darcy can’t come back. She will never be the same. It would be kinder to let her go now.”
“Let her go? You make it sound like she’ll just drift away. What you’re talking about is murder.” Quentin raked a hand through his hair. “She’s your friend too, dammit. How can you even consider it?”
Mossy eyes shimmered with moisture, and Dylan’s throat worked around a hard swallow. “I can do it because I know it’s what she’d insist on, if she could.”
“Baby, what if he’s right?” Emmy said, pressing closer to his side. “What if there is a chance she might make it through?”
Dylan must have sensed the emotions boiling inside Quentin. His gaze turned deadly. “Em, get out of here.”
Her chin jutted upward. “I won’t. You two will kill each other. He’s your friend even if he doesn’t remember it right now. When the dust clears, nothing will ever be the same.”
“It’s already changed,” Dylan said, his voice even, his gaze never straying from Quentin’s. “He broke the rules. He knew what had to be done, but he defied God and Darcy’s fate. He’s made a pact with a demon. Already fucks her, I’ll bet. She’s changed him—and he doesn’t even know it.”
“Dylan,” Quentin said, keeping his voice even so as to not incite further tension. Let them think he was willing to talk. That he might change his mind. Kamaria might awaken. Her lackey might be seeking weapons even now. “Dylan, I’ve been with Darcy. Her spirit still lives—but she’s confused. We can lead her back…”
Emmy’s lips trembled. “Tonight’s the full moon. If you haven’t already reached her, it’s too late.”
Dylan remained unmoved, his body tightening subtly. “Get out, Em.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. Maybe we’re wrong.”
“You should listen to your woman,” came Kamaria’s lilting tone from the doorway.
Quentin took a deep breath, relieved as never before to see her.
She strode into the room, dressed in one of her long, opaque caftans. Her expression was alert, her lips curling upward. “Your Darcy inspires great loyalty. I’ve only seen her shadow. I find myself curious to meet her.”
“Kamaria…” Quentin growled, stiffening as she drew near and traced his forearm with a long, sharp nail.
“They mean to kill her. Your other wife, husss-band. How would you like me to handle them?”
“I don’t want them harmed. I just want them gone.”
Dylan’s lips curled into a snarl. “We won’t leave without finishing this.”
Kamaria’s head swiveled toward Dylan. “Dusk comes soon. Can you not give your friends a few more hours? For him to say goodbye or for her to open her eyes and greet you herself? She’s chained. What do you fear?”
Dylan turned his head toward her. “I know who you are. What you are. You can’t tell me you intend to help him. You want revenge.”
“Of course, I do. Don’t I deserve it? He deserted me. Left me without a word. He wounded me. But I
have already exacted a bargain, which provides me great satisfaction. We’ve made our bed. I promised to bring her back to him. I keep my promises.”
“Quentin,” Dylan said, seething, “you really should have been more specific. She could bring her back a beast.”
Kamaria’s laughter raised goose bumps on Quentin’s skin.
“You think me such a monster. I am only a woman who happens to be a vampire like your own sweet Em. Should I be flattered you think I could be so much more?”
“Navarro warned me about you.”
“Navarro.” Her eyes closed, a smile stretched her full lips. “Navarro has always been a fussy old woman. Such a waste. All that intense power…and he withholds himself, neuters himself.”
She didn’t know about Navarro’s mate Sidney. Interesting. Quentin had always thought Kamaria was omniscient. Perhaps he’d ascribed to her powers she didn’t possess. Maybe she was playing him after all. “Kamaria, tell them. Tell them you can bring her back.”
“Why don’t I show them? We can all make the journey to her dream world. Perhaps her friend,” she said, staring at Emmy, “can persuade her to return.”
“No fucking way,” Dylan bit out.
“What are you saying?” Emmy asked, stepping closer. “You’d put me in a trance?”
“Something like that. Ask Quen-tin. He’s already traveled there. He spent time with his Darcy. Spoke to her.”
“No games,” Quentin growled. “You won’t do them any harm.”
“Still smarting from the wounds I left on your backside?”
A flush of heat filled his cheeks at the reminder of how she’d taken him. He’d been helpless like never before, invaded, raped. “You will do them no harm,” he said, trembling with rage.
“And what more will you give me in return? You still have one more promise to keep. How would you sweeten our agreement?”
Quentin swallowed. “I would surrender completely. Give you everything you want of me.”
“No clever games of your own? Full satisfaction? Will you even let yourself enjoy my company?”
“Jesus, Quentin,” Emmy said, her eyes widening. “If Darcy doesn’t wake up a monster, she’s still gonna kill you.”
Truly, Madly...Werely (Night Fall Book 9) Page 6