Beautiful Misery (Miss Misery)

by Tracey Martin

  “Fair enough.” His shirt came off so easily, no bruises or casts to get in the way. Now he was all broad shoulders and chest before me, a hard, ripped stomach, a line of fine, blond hairs leading down into his jeans, teasing me with the knowledge of where they ended.

  In the days since I’d last seen him shirtless, he’d had a glyph drawn on his arm. Although it looked like an intricate tattoo, I knew it was a spell, one that would fade when he’d used up its power. Intrigued, I traced its lines with my finger, wondering what it was for but not feeling like this was the best time to ask.

  Lucen removed my hand from his arm. “Stand for me.”

  I did, though mourning the extra distance this put between my naked skin and his. Standing over him, I entwined my fingers through his wavy hair, and then over to his horns. I probed them with nothing more than my fingertips at first, wondering what they felt like. Bone maybe. Hard but smooth, or velvety like antlers? I explored them with more fingers now, wondering what I’d expected them to feel like. I had no idea, but they hardly seemed so scary in my hands.

  Lucen guessed my thoughts. “They’re really not the defining aspects of me.”

  “I know that.” Now. “But I want to understand all of you.”

  “You will, eventually. But if you want all of me, little siren, I need all of you. That’s all I’ve wanted for a long time.”

  “You have me.”

  He pressed his lips against my stomach, tiny, biting kisses down to my waistband. “So you’re telling me. Show me.” He tugged on my jeans.

  My fingers trembled as I worked on the button. Show me. Prove it. Own it.

  Need it. Oh, God. Ten years. My body throbbed with it. How did he stay so still when I could see such hunger in his every subtle gesture? The flicker of his tongue over his lips. The hitch in his breathing as I unfastened my zipper. How his eyes widened, devouring me in a glance as my jeans dropped to the floor.

  I stepped out of them, nudged them away with my foot. “I told you the bruising was bad.”

  With a concerned expression, he eased a hand up my thigh, which was more purple than flesh-colored. My tender skin barely registered pain. His touch, his hot breath on my abdomen was more potent than any drug.

  “Does this hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  His left hand slid up my other leg, his thumbs sweeping across my inner thighs, setting off tiny shivers as they explored higher and higher. More heat pooled between them. I gasped and squeezed his shoulders as he skimmed my underwear line.

  “You are so wet,” he murmured into my skin, and I whimpered as his teeth caught the waistband of my underwear. In one quick move, he wrapped his fingers around the straps and yanked them down.

  I dug my nails into him, not sure how much longer I could keep standing. My legs quivered. Every hurt in my wrist, on my thigh, in my ribs had been reduced to a distant memory. All I had was this ache inside, an emptiness waiting too many years to be filled, screaming to be satiated at last.

  “Turn around.” Lucen’s voice was thick, his well-honed control seemed to be slipping too. “I want to see all of you.”

  I loathed releasing him, but managed to oblige, and his hands grasped my butt, kneading my flesh, before roaming up my back. I could hear him standing, feel the scrape of his jeans, his erection pressing against me. He unclasped my bra and I peeled it off, letting it drop onto the sofa before me.

  Then those strong arms wrapped around my waist, bringing me closer but carefully, conscious of my injuries. His right hand stretched lower, toying with my patch of trimmed hair. So close but so far from where I wanted it to be. Yet my hips rocked against him, in time to the motion, urging him lower.

  “Will it hurt if I carry you? I’ve got nothing against the sofa, but you need to be coddled. Only a bed and soft cushions for you until you’ve healed.”

  “You’re going to need to carry me. I don’t think I can make it up there on my own.” I groped at his leg with my good hand, the only part of him I could reach, but his damned jeans barred my hand from his heat. I wanted to rip them off.

  He laughed once and kissed my ear lobe. “Turn around again.”

  I did and wrapped my arms around his chest, high as I could raise them without risking sending waves of pain through my ribs. Lucen grabbed my backside, and my legs curled around his waist. I could feel the muscles in his abs working against me as he carried me up the steep steps to the bedroom. Finally allowed access to his body, I kissed every patch of skin I could find on the way, leaning over until I discovered his neck, sucking and pulling with my tongue, my teeth. Naked skin at last. I couldn’t get enough.

  Until he laid me on the bed and put his hand over my mouth. “Your body is mine first, Jess. You’re just going to have to deal with me being selfish about it.”

  I sank into the bedding, too languid to fight him, but undaunted. Once more he hovered over me, and I reached for the button on his jeans. I could feel the heat of him seeping through the fabric. He pushed my legs up, knees bent so he could shift closer, but that’s as far as he went to help me. My frustration increased with my one-handed struggle, the throbbing of his erection beneath my hand teasing my efforts.

  Then the button popped under my fingers, and the zipper followed. And finally, the last of Lucen burst free from the confines of his clothes. I wrapped my fingers around the length of him, so silky soft and so hard, and as thick as I remembered.

  You’re a walking satyr stereotype, I wanted to tell him, but I was beyond speaking. There was only one thing my mouth was willing to do, and that was to take him in me. Taste him fully.

  I started up to do that but he eased me down again. “I told you. You’re mine first. I’ve waited too long.”

  He kicked off his pants the rest of the way and slid my legs wide. With his hands on my knees, I tightened every muscle as he stared me down for what felt like forever, his gaze lingering everywhere, his face tense with concentration. I felt like I’d never been looked at before, and I watched his face as much as I soaked in the rest of him in.

  Then he glided his thumb between my folds while I sucked in a breath. Upward he kept going, drawing my wetness over my stomach and swirling it around my sorely erect nipples.

  Not moving was damn near impossible. If his gaze smoldered, his touch ignited. I writhed beneath him, my tongue dying to trace the ridges of his muscles. The sweet lines of his cock.

  But he wouldn’t let me. He kept true to his word, draping every bruise, every cut and every scrape with sweet but passionate kisses that made me shiver. When I struggled too hard to do the same to him, he pinned me down.

  “My turn, little siren,” his whispered. “When I’m done savoring every inch of you, then it’s yours. I need to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  Damn you, I tried to say, but my voice was still missing. So I twisted his sheets in his response, clawed at his pillow, anything to release my desperate tension.

  A half-smile played across his lips, and his fingers gave my nipple a gentle squeeze. Then the smile faded, his mouth trailed lower, and when his tongue ran across my wettest spot, I arched my back and cried out.

  You know there’s a reason he can play your body so well, a voice whispered in my head, and it was the voice of my fears, the ones I thought I’d left behind in the kitchen. You know this can’t work. You know a satyr can’t survive on your lust alone. You know you can’t be the last woman in his bed.

  The fear was an icicle plunging through my chest, and I willed it to go away. A worry for tomorrow. For never. For some other time, but for God’s sake, not now.

  Lucen could sense the shift in my emotions too, and he seemed to be trying to chase it away with every sweep of his tongue. One finger then two plunged into to me, and I bit my own hand to stay sane. The fear melted in my fire.

  His thumbs swept over my folds and his scruff tickled my clit as he caught his breath. “Good, Jess. Squirm for me. I want to watch you wanting me after you denied me for so
long.”

  I had no choice. My mouth still watered for a taste of him, but if I didn’t feel him in me soon, I might explode. Each fierce breath I exhaled was laced with a prayer. More. Now. Please.

  Please!

  Lucen could sense everything, and he teased me again and again until my breaths gave way to gasps, until my mind was emptied not just of fear and pain but doubts and questions. Emptied of everything but him and the unbearable pleasure he brought me. That’s when he spread my thighs wider and thrust inside me at last, growling my name and cursing his own inability to wait any longer.

  I cried out, pulling him deeper inside. Desperately trying to fill that void he created.

  Even then he was careful. Even then he somehow knew exactly how to move so he didn’t exacerbate my bruising.

  I dug my fingers into his flesh, burrowed my face into whatever of his skin I could reach. His arms were locked around mine, so powerful and protective. So safe. Nothing I’d ever have thought I could feel with him. But I did. And that realization was as intense as the shockwaves that finally ripped through me as he pushed me to climax.

  I clawed at his back, sank my teeth into his arm, and he followed, his grip on me tightening and my name bursting from his lips with all the ferocity of the spasms pulsing through our conjoined bodies. It lasted forever, ten years worth of pent up longing, exhaled in two savage screams.

  When my breathing slowed down my awareness returned. Sweaty limbs wrapped around each other, and my body still clinging to his erect cock. For all the disadvantages his being satyr entailed, I was well aware of the advantages, too. If the rumors were true, he could probably stay that way all night if I let him.

  And I just might.

  When I could think again, my mind came up empty. When I could speak again, I had no words. All I could do was feel. Content.

  So unexpected.

  Lucen slid an arm out from under me. He cupped my cheek and kissed me tenderly, but I could sense the raw passion beneath the sweetness. Could tell he wasn’t done. My eyes closed. “We have a long road ahead, little siren.” His brushed my cheek as he bent his forehead to my chin. “But we can make this work. I swear to you. So long as you trust me.”

  I breathed in his cinnamon scent, the mingling aromas of our sweat and fresh linens. Of possibility.

  “We will.” And in the moment, after ten years of running away from him, I believed it.

  To discover how Jess and Lucen met, who framed Jess for murder, and to read about their first adventure, check out Wicked Misery. Their story continues with a tale of blackmail, betrayal, and sex that's literally to die for in Dirty Little Misery, coming August 2014.

  If you enjoyed this story, please consider posting a review. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Thank you!

  About the Author

  Tracey Martin grew up outside of Philadelphia, the lucky recipient of a drama-free childhood, which is why she spent so much time reading about other people’s lives. It was while she was working on her doctorate in psychology that she had an epiphany--imaginary people are way more fun than real ones. And so she began writing. Never able to choose just one of anything, she currently writes both urban fantasy for adults and contemporary stories for teens.

  She likes her coffee simple, her music epic, and her movies to contain explosions. A city girl at heart, she doesn’t understand how she and her husband ended up living in New Hampshire, but writing keeps her off the mean, small town streets. To read more about her books, you can visit her website at tracey-martin.com.

  Cover art was designed by David Zampa at PensiveDragon.com.

  Many thanks to Bryn Greenwood, Lindsey LaPlant, and Jenna Nelson.