Kiss of Temptation: A Deadly Angels Book

by Sandra Hill

  “Your fangs are really big, too.”

  Tell me something I do not know. Ah. She must be nervous. That is why she has become a chatterling. “Sorry. It took me many years to accept them myself.”

  “They’re cute.”

  Cute? No, no, no, a Viking does not want any of his body parts to be called cute. “I can’t control them when I am this aroused.”

  “I love it. Women can hide their excitement, but men can’t hide their erections. But in your case, you have a double whammy. You’re like blinking headlights . . . a hard-on and a fang-on.”

  “Are you enjoying making mock of me?”

  “Very much.” She grinned up at him.

  “Enough talking!” He studied her body. “I can’t decide what to do first.”

  “I can,” she said, staring pointedly at the part sticking out of his body like a flagpole.

  “Not yet. We did the quick tup already. Now we will take our time. If you only knew! There are so many things I want . . . intend . . . to do to you.”

  “Do me then,” she demanded.

  “Greedy witch!” And crude, too. He liked it.

  The only thing holding up the top of her dress was the tied fabric behind her neck. He made quick work of undoing the knot and unveiling her breasts. “Ah, sweetling, how I am going to feast on you!”

  “Like fried eggs?” She grinned with mischief.

  “You’re never going to let me forget that dream statement of mine, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “I was goading you. In truth, your breasts are a very nice size. Just right for my hands . . . and mouth.” He tasted her then in a special technique he had perfected over the years. It involved bracketing the nipple tightly between a forefinger and middle finger, then licking the distended peak.

  She squealed . . . a very nice feminine squeal, one he interpreted as womanspeak for That feels so damn good I could scream. There was similar manspeak for men, in Ivak’s opinion. When men roared their final peaking, they were actually saying, Hot damn! That was good!

  But he digressed.

  Gabrielle had almost shot off the bed when she squealed. If he hadn’t been holding her down with his thighs, she might very well have hit the ceiling.

  He did the same to the other breast then. Although he was not a breast man, a term some modern men used, having other body parts he favored more, he did appreciate a fine pair of bosoms. And Gabrielle’s were very fine. And extremely sensitive, the way he liked. As a result, he spent an inordinate amount of time playing with them. Fondling, tweaking, caressing, suckling. It was not long before Gabrielle was moaning with her mounting excitement.

  Time to move to other territory.

  He quickly removed the rest of her dress, then the scant panties, before studying and praising every inch that was visible. Which was not enough, of course. Moving back, he pushed her knees up to her chest and spread them wide.

  Another squeal. This time one of protest. “Yikes!”

  Now this was his favorite body part on a woman.

  “Let me,” he coaxed. “I like to look.”

  “I don’t know if I like you looking there so closely.”

  “You certainly examined that part of me closely enough.”

  No longer resisting, she let her knees go wide, but she hid her eyes beneath a raised forearm.

  “Coward,” he teased, then looked his fill. And he liked what he saw. Dark curls framing a cleft with pretty folds that were moist and plumped with arousal. In the forefront was that distended knot that was the key to many women’s pleasure. He leaned down and blew softly on the bud, causing it to further unfurl and her to clutch the bed linen with her free hand. “Methinks I have an idea for our first bed sex. A Blended O. Have you ever heard of that?”

  She peeked out from under her arm. “It sounds like a drink.”

  He let out a little hoot of laughter. “Hardly. You have heard of multiple orgasms, of course. But a talented man such as myself can manage to give a woman double orgasms at the same time. A combination of clitoral and G-spot peakings.”

  “You have a habit of mixing ancient Viking language with modern terms,” she remarked. Probably an attempt to shield her interest in what he was offering. But then she asked, “Is it kinky?”

  He almost bit his tongue with his fangy teeth. “Only the first time,” he replied, having seen that on a T-shirt one time.

  “Okay,” she said, surprising him.

  If she thought to keep him off kilter, he had news for her. He was a master at this game. “But first I have another idea.” He got up off the bed and let her lower and close her legs. He could see that she was confused. Good. Going over to her chest of drawers, he pulled out a pair of fluffy gloves.

  “What are you doing with my angora mittens? They were a gift from a client who didn’t realize I live in a warmer climate. How did you know they were there anyhow?”

  “I saw them when I was here last week.”

  “You went through my drawers?”

  “Yes. I like that lace thong, by the way.”

  She made a gurgling sound, watching intently as he donned the stretchy gloves, then returned to the bed. “It occurred to me that it might be fun to caress your body, all over, with these gloves. Later you can do the same to me.”

  “Fun?” She gurgled again, but did not protest when he brushed the light-as-air fur over every part of her body. Front. Back. Under her arms. Between her thighs. He did not dare go further. Not yet.

  One continuous moan was coming from her mouth as she tossed her head from side to side. “Oh, oh, oh, please, please, please . . .”

  On the other hand, mayhap just a little. He whisked his gloved hand over her woman’s fleece.

  She screamed.

  Surprised, he would have been the one hitting the ceiling then, but she grabbed hold of his cock with both hands, causing such excruciating pain-pleasure that he was frozen, realizing only belatedly that she had stuffed him inside her. He fell forward onto his extended arms.

  “Son. Of. A. Bitch!” he gritted out.

  Then something happened that stunned them both.

  “Did you bring the mist inside with you?” she asked him with wonder in her eyes.

  “Huh?” Then, “Oh. No, the mist is not of my doing.”

  The electrified air that had surrounded them in the car swirled around them now like a blue mist, then settled itself above him, presumably into the blue angel wings. But something even more remarkable was happening. Down below.

  The walls of her vagina closed around him and tightened, liked a vise.

  “Ivak, what’s happening?” Gabrielle asked, a little frightened.

  “I have no idea. Can you lighten up your grip on my cock? You’re cutting off my blood supply.”

  “Me? You’re the one who keeps growing. A woman can only stretch so far.”

  He tried to move, but couldn’t, not even an inch. “Uh-oh!”

  Arching her back in an attempt to undulate against him, she realized that something was wrong. “What?”

  “I’m stuck.”

  Her jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide. Then she burst out laughing. “This has never happened to me before,” she said.

  “And you think it has for me? I have talents, but this is not one of them.”

  “What should we do?”

  “How would I know? Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll kiss you and play with your breasts so that you can moisten more and I can slip out?”

  “Like a lube job?”

  That sounded like a trick question to him. “Um. Sort of.”

  “Idiot! I’m already slick enough. This isn’t a question of oiling up the dick.”

  He cringed at her blunt language.

  Suddenly, he felt a pulling sensation on his shoulder blades. The blue mist rose, swirling around them, and his cock began to move. Tentatively, he began his long strokes. He was able to draw out, even though it seemed as if her inner walls had developed a thousand pulling te
ntacles trying to hold him in. He didn’t think he’d mention that to her, especially since she was staring up at him as if he’d invented chocolate . . . or sex.

  “That feels so good,” she said.

  Good was an understatement. Mind-blowing wonderful would be more accurate.

  He experimented with rotating his hips. Amazing! He alternated with thrusts that were deep and slow. More amazing! “Can you corkscrew?” he asked.

  “What?” she huffed out.

  “Never mind. I’ll teach you later.” He was huffing, too.

  After losing count of the number of times he’d thrust into her spasming folds, he began to worry. Gabrielle had already experienced several small peakings and she was writhing mindlessly, crying out for a final release. Perspiration beaded on his body, and an overwhelming urge for climax roared in his ears. He needed that culmination, too.

  “Help me,” she pleaded. Then, as if some divine inspiration had occurred to her, she smiled softly, pulled his face down close to her, and whispered, “I love you, Viking.”

  That was the trigger he needed.

  As her body began to convulse wildly, his mounting urgency ended. He slammed into her, reared his head back, and let loose into a swirling mist of ecstasy. Their mutual shattering went on and on.

  He, with all his myriad sexual activities over a thousand years, had never experienced anything like this. As his heart slowed to a mere pounding, he rolled over on his side, taking her with him, her face resting on his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

  After several long moments, she raised up and asked, “What just happened?”

  He knew, and it was something he’d never expected to say. “Love.”

  Twenty-One

  Love hurts, for sure . . .

  Gabrielle was in a state of wonder and disbelief.

  It was a cliché to say that Ivak Sigurdsson had rocked her world, but he had. Literally. Gabrielle had never had sex like that before. She didn’t believe any woman had.

  “You love me?” she asked, raising her head from his chest, which was damp with sweat from their energetic bout of lovemaking. She had been perspiring, too. They would take a shower soon.

  “Yes,” he replied with a tone of surprise in his voice that should have offended her, but she understood what it implied. This thing between them was too remarkable. He reached over and laid his lips against hers, being careful that his fangs did not cut her. He looked sad, though, and that did offend her.

  “Why are you so unhappy?”

  “Not unhappy. Never that. What we just shared is a memory I shall cherish forever.”

  She sat up and pulled the sheet up over breasts, staring down at him. “That sounds rather ominous.”

  He rolled over to his back and ran his fingertips along her arms and up to cup her face. “I have nothing to offer you, Gabrielle. Oh, I don’t mean monetary things; cash or worldly goods are easily accessed. But I can’t give you a future.”

  “Oh please! The commitment phobia already!”

  He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I hope this isn’t about the sterility issue. Love is the most important thing. If children become important, they can be adopted.”

  “Heartling, you warm this long-dead heart. I hope to be with you as long as possible, but I know without a doubt that Mike will be calling me on the angelic carpet any minute or day or week now. It will end, no matter what I may want. Do not doubt that.”

  Gabrielle’s heart ached at that prospect, but at the moment she cared more about how sad Ivak was. It took every ounce of courage Gabrielle had to say, “Well, then, let’s enjoy every moment we can have together.

  He smiled up at her. “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “Well, how about a shower?”

  “I have a better idea. Do you have any bubble bath?”

  She laughed. “You? A big macho Viking wants a bubble bath?”

  His cheeks heightened with color. “I’m fairly certain my brother Vikar takes bubble baths with his wife. The idea always intrigued me.”

  “A bubble bath it is, then.” Before she got of bed, though, she leaned down and kissed first one of his fangs, then the other. “I love you, darling.”

  For the next day and night, until Monday morning, they made love in every way and place conceivable in her small apartment. They slept only in short spurts and ate takeout or whatever she had in her cupboard. It was as if a time clock was ticking away, and they had to grab every chance they had to be together.

  Toward dawn on Monday, they made love for what might be the last time. She had that appointment with Thor and Luc in the Baton Rouge Federal Court’s office at ten a.m. And Ivak had to get back to Angola.

  Ivak awakened her by walking his fingers up her leg to her belly button. He was lying on his side, braced on an elbow, staring down at her. His long hair was loose but tucked behind his ears. She loved his hair. She loved running her fingers through his hair. She loved him.

  “You were snoring,” he said, smiling.

  “I do not snore.”

  “It was a cute snore.”

  “I do not snore.”

  “Whate’er you say, dearling.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  “Again? Haven’t you depleted your chest of sexual tricks yet?”

  He had in fact shown her the Blended O, the G-spot Tickle, the Corkscrew, and many other amazing feats. “Hah! We’ve scarcely tapped the chest. But this time, I think I would like to try something different.”

  “Uh-oh!”

  “I just want to make love to my beloved.”

  She put her fingers to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  “You are not to move. Just let me adore you.”

  And he did.

  He was beside her, at first, then over her. He turned her, this way and that. Every inch of her body was ministered to by his hands, and lips, and teeth, even his fangs that were starting to emerge. With each touch, he murmured compliments or made naughty suggestions, and melted her farther and farther ’til she feared she would dissolve and he would not be there to put her back together. Over and over he drove her to the point of madness, then withdrew. Each time the wave of arousal rose higher and higher. His hands created magic, and she was powerless to resist.

  “You’re torturing me,” she said.

  “Shall I stop?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  He chuckled and continued his sweet torment.

  Oh, she was not as passive as he’d suggested. Her hands ran over the supple muscles of his back, including the bumps on his shoulder blades that seemed to be particularly sensitive. She rubbed her calves over his furred legs. She kissed him everywhere that she could reach.

  A dreamy intimacy surrounded them. No sign of the blue mist, but she felt like they were in some unworldly cocoon nonetheless.

  When he eased inside her and began his long strokes, their eyes held. “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered, then arched upward and turned her head to the side. “Do it.”

  “No, no,” he said.

  “I want you to.” She drew his face down to her.

  And while he continued to thrust inside her, his fangs sank into her neck. It didn’t hurt, or not much. No worse than a shot. But then it felt wonderful as she felt the draw on her blood.

  He was murmuring his pleasure against her skin as his thrusts were short and hard into her vagina, which was rippling with the most incredible, endless orgasm. Then he withdrew his fangs and arched his back as his own climax overtook him. She imagined she could feel his sperm hitting her womb.

  Later, as they lay side by side, sated, they murmured softly.

  “Call me after your meeting,” he said.

  “I will. I’m afraid to be hopeful.”

  “Don’t let Tante Lulu hear you say that.”

  She smiled. “Will I see you again?”

  “Of course. As much or as long as I’m able.”

&nb
sp; She nodded.

  “Don’t be sad, heartling. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I can only be thankful for that.”

  Sometimes the wheels of justice move faster than others . . .

  Gabrielle arrived fifteen minutes early at Judge Thibault’s chambers in the Baton Rouge Federal Court Building. Luc was already there in the waiting room.

  He took one look at her and burst out laughing.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You look different. Did you have work done? Maybe a shot of Botox in your lips? Since Saturday night?”

  She knew what he was referring to. Her lips were kiss-swollen. That’s why she hadn’t applied any lipstick when she’d got ready this morning. She looked like Angelina Jolie, and not in a good way.

  Before she had a chance to reply, he spoke again. “Or maybe it’s the chemical peel on your face. I know about those because Charmaine talked my wife, Sylvie, into one a few years back. She looked like a boiled crawfish. Talk about!”

  He was referring to the whisker burns. If he only knew where else she had them. Actually, he probably did know.

  “Oh my God! I better go to the ladies’ room and put on more makeup.”

  “Not to worry, chère. I’m the only one who’ll notice. Besides, I was just teasing.”

  Thor came in then and the three of them discussed various things about Leroy’s case and how it would be affected by Hebert’s recant of court testimony, the only evidence against him in the murder of another inmate. Just before the secretary told them to go into the judge’s chambers, Gabrielle couldn’t resist asking Thor, “Aren’t you going to make a remark about my appearance?”

  He chuckled. “I’m a Norseman. I don’t need to ask.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ve been with a Viking, obviously. Enough said.”

  Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

  “Hey, we say the same thing about Cajuns,” Luc said to Thor.

  “What? You wanna have a pissing contest over which men are more virile?” Thor countered.

  “Not a pissing contest. A fucking contest.” Luc laughed then and clapped Thor on the shoulder.

  At her tsking sounds and a remark of “Men!” the two idiots ducked their heads and apologized for their crudity in front of her.