by Lexi George
He waited for the familiar postcoital emptiness that inevitably followed a session in the House of Thralls, but it did not come. Instead, he was flooded with sensation, his body and mind attuned to the woman in his arms. The satin feel of Rebekah’s skin beneath his palms, the graze of her soft breasts against his bare chest, the scent of heated jasmine that clung to her hair and body filled his senses. Sweetest of all, the exquisite pull of her womanly flesh around him as she climaxed again.
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Her luscious mouth curved in a smile of satisfaction, her cheeks were flushed, her skin dewy from the heat of their sensual play. He nuzzled her neck, tasting her, delighting in her shiver of response. A hint of salt clung to her skin. Bits of leaves and straw clung to her hair from her long flight through the woods. A smudge of dirt marred one cheek. Ugly bruises dotted her arms and knees.
A sweet, sharp pain pierced the hollow of his chest, robbing him of breath. Something inside Conall cracked open—the last of the ice encasing his warrior’s heart. She was disheveled and dirty and clad in naught but a pair of muddy boots, and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
You love her. You have loved her lo these many moons, though your stubborn will and warrior’s pride made you deny it.
The knowledge settled in his bones. The events of the day, the terror and regret he’d felt when he’d feared Rebekah might be hurt or dying at the hands of the djegrali, had torn down the barriers his intractable, rational mind had erected.
He loved her. He could no longer deny the stunning truth of it. For centuries, his existence had been duty and the Dalvahni way. It was all he knew, all he’d thought he wanted or needed, all that existed for him.
And his reward for such devotion? The universe had set him squarely in the path of a half-demon enchantress who’d shattered his every belief and turned him inside out. The universe was a strange and unfathomable thing, marvelous and capricious in its perversity.
Rebekah wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “Hmm, that was nice,” she said, arching her hips against him to the delight of his eager cock.
“Nice?” Conall raised his brows. “More than merely nice, methinks.”
“Ooh, someone has a high opinion of himself.”
Her face was upturned, her lips mere inches from his. She had a beautiful mouth, wide with a slight indention in the bottom lip, that fascinating sweet spot he had longed to explore for months. Giving in to temptation, he bent his head and touched the dimple in her pouty lower lip with his tongue, enjoying her quiver of response. Her eyes drifted shut, her lashes feathery crescents against her flushed cheeks.
He wanted her again already, hungered for her.
“It can hardly be conceit when the result is so evident,” he murmured against her mouth. “Behold what we have wrought.”
She opened her eyes and looked around. “What the—?” she said in shock.
Blue light pulsed around them and shot in whizzing sparks around the room. But that was the least of it. The cooling mechanism humans call a refrigerator had malfunctioned, spitting out cubes of ice onto the floor, the kitchen pipe was running and so was every machine and device in the house, including the squawking box called a television.
Her startled gaze met his. “We did this?”
She jerked in surprise as the refrigerator spewed out another stream of ice. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”
“It is understandable. We were . . . uh . . . otherwise engaged. Battle adrenaline is likely to blame.”
“Good to know we won’t cause a blackout every time we have sex. That is, if we have sex again.”
Conall tugged her closer. “If?”
Mr. Cat streaked out of the kitchen, a small mechanized dirt-sucking device in hot pursuit.
“Mr. Cat,” Rebekah cried. A jolt of pleasure-pain shot through his cock as she wiggled out of his arms. “I’ve got to save him. He’s terrified of the vacuum cleaner.”
Bemused, Conall watched her dart after the cat like a startled nymph. There was much to be said, he reflected as he went about the business of turning off the various electrical devices and shutting the water tap, for keeping one’s lady love naked. Particularly when the lady in question was a lithe beauty with high, full breasts, a narrow waist and flat stomach, and long, supple legs.
Rebekah clomped back into the room in her boots, the wild-eyed feline clutched against her breasts. “Poor baby,” she cooed. “He’s had a bad scare.”
She made a sound of dismay as the feline jumped down and stalked away, tail twitching in outrage. Conall opened the door with a wave of his hand, and the cat streaked into the darkness.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Rebekah said, her brow creasing in worry. “What if he doesn’t come back?”
Conall swept her into his arms. “He will return. He loves you.” Unable to resist, he stroked her bottom lip with his tongue once more. He would never tire of the taste of her. “He will not be able to stay away.”
She blinked up at him. “Think so?”
He looked into her eyes, and the strange ache returned to his chest. The air grew thin and hard to breathe, and the room seemed to tilt beneath his feet.
“Yes,” he croaked. By the sword, she sundered his every resistance. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I am certain of it.”
He carried her into the bathing chamber, set her down, and pointed to the tub. “Run a bath whilst I fetch us something to eat.”
He left her standing there and fled into the kitchen, as though all the fiends from the darkest recesses of The Pit were at his heels. He opened the door to the cooling device and stared blindly inside. Should he tell her that he loved her? Was it too soon? What if he was mistaken? What if his reaction to her was the result of proximity and sexual deprivation?
Best to wait. His feelings were still too raw and confused, and he too unsteadied by emotion.
He looked down at his shaking hands. Ah, gods, but he was undone.
Perhaps he should speak to someone, one of his brothers. Brand and Ansgar had passed through a similar fire. They could give him counsel.
Alas, Brand and Ansgar were away with their new wives. They would not thank him for disturbing their . . . er . . . celebrations.
His brother Rafe perhaps? He resided in Hannah with Bunny, his pregnant wife. Bunny’s pregnancy had caused Conall no small amount of concern. To his knowledge, ’twas the first time one of the Dal had produced progeny. The thralls were sterile and the Dalvahni, out of habit and custom, confined their appetites to them.
Until recently, that is, when certain of their numbers had come here in pursuit of the djegrali. The rules did not apply, it seemed, in Hannah.
The Great Book instructed the Dal to spend their lust and rid themselves of excess emotion in the House of Thralls. But, the thought of returning to the cool, draining clasp of a thrall held no thrill for Conall, not after the warmth and fire he’d found with Rebekah. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, the look on her lovely face when he brought her to pleasure, and his own shattering release within her delectable body.
She was an intriguing mixture of strength and vulnerability, his Rebekah. Her father might not have outwardly abused her, but his denial and revulsion of her demon nature had left its mark.
Conall’s jaw tightened. Jason Damian was an insensitive clod. Rebekah thought she should not have children, that she was unworthy. At her father’s behest, she had taken steps to prevent such a thing when little more than a child.
Conall would gladly thrash the man within an inch of his life but for the knowledge that he had committed the same transgression. He, too, had condemned and rejected her for her demon blood. The memory of his blind censure made him squirm.
This then, was what humans called regret. He did not care for the feeling.
She had been in harm’s way this day because of him. That, also, he bitterly regretted. Using his Dalvahni powers to repair her injuries had done little
to assuage his guilt. He grimaced. Guilt; another new experience. How did humans bear the dizzying onslaught of emotions?
His eyes widened at a sudden thought. What if he had repaired the damage to her reproductive organs when he’d healed her other hurts? His hand tightened on the cooler door. Nay, such a thing was not likely. He had not deliberately done so. Even if such a thing were possible, it did not mean he could sire a child with Rebekah.
He would not think on it yet. The Great Book said, “Worry not about wetting your boots ere you reach the river.”
He and Rebekah had but dipped their toes in the water.
Beck saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Eek! Her hair was windblown and full of leaves, and she was covered in dirt and mud. She’d scare a flock of crows off a dead cow.
She examined her face. A few pale pink stripes were all that remained of the ugly claw marks on her cheek. Her bruises were already fading, and her arm was back to normal, thanks to a certain demon hunter and his magical powers.
She pulled off her boots and socks, grimacing at the orange gunk smeared on them. Good thing she had wooden floors. Alabama red clay was hell on carpets.
Selecting a bar of Evie’s jasmine-scented goat’s milk soap, she sank into the bath. The oversized, freestanding oval tub had been her one splurge in the bathroom. The tiny apartment she’d grown up in had boasted a cramped tub/shower combination. At five-feet-nine, she’d outgrown the small bathtub by the time she was eleven. By necessity, it had been showers from then on.
She still opted for a shower most days for speed and convenience, but she adored an occasional soak in the tub. She’d special-ordered the composite stone bath from a shop in Mobile, selecting the largest one she could find to accommodate her long legs. Toby would croak if he knew how much the thing cost, but it was worth every penny.
She washed her hair and body, using the handheld attachment on the side of the tub. The water felt wonderful, and she took her time. She was sore all over. Even there, she thought with a smile, remembering Conall’s passionate possession.
Being with Conall had been the hottest, most explosive, most deliciously glorious sex of her life. Not that she’d had much experience. She’d spent pretty much her whole life in the bar, and there wasn’t much to choose from around here, unless you counted Earl Skinner and his circus dick.
Which she most certainly did not.
She couldn’t wait to be with Conall again. She sat up in the water. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he was already bored with her? He’d probably been with scads of women, beautiful, sophisticated women. The thought shouldn’t bother her. It wasn’t like she and Conall were in a relationship. But it did bother her. A lot.
Conall entered the room carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea and a plate of fruit and cheese. He was still shirtless and his jeans rode his lean hips, exposing his broad chest, muscled arms, and washboard stomach. Lord a-mercy, he was a fine specimen. Looking at him made her brain short-circuit and sent the rest of her into full-blown lust.
Careful, girl. Enjoy the scenery, but don’t get attached. This is temporary.
He set the platter down on the counter. “Why are you scowling?”
Beck sank deeper into the water. “I’m not scowling. See?” She pinned him with a bright smile. “Um, look . . . It’s been nice and all, but don’t feel like you’ve got to stay. I mean, if you’ve got someplace else to be.”
“Where else would I be?”
Hooking the vanity stool with one foot, he dragged it over to the tub and sat down. He’d taken off his shoes and was barefoot. Even his feet were beautiful, lean and strong and bronzed, like the rest of him.
Oh, jeez, now she was fixating on the guy’s feet. What the hell was the matter with her?
She cleared her throat. “I dunno, wherever it is you go when you’re not here. I . . . uh . . . don’t want you to think you have to hang around because we had sex.” She tucked her legs close to her body and studied her kneecaps like they were the most interesting things in the world. “I mean, I’m totally cool with it if you need to leave.”
Liar. You want him to stay. You want it bad. You want to have sex with him again and again and again, until you wipe all those other women out of his mind. You want . . .
What? She had no claim on him and vice versa. This was a fling. Fun and exhilarating, but it wouldn’t last.
See, this is what comes of going without for too long. You should have bought that Flying Radish from Frannie Lee Buck when she had that sex toy party at the bar two Christmases ago. Everybody swears by the Flying Radish. Ora Mae says it’s better than a man. She says who needs a man when you got the Flying Radish?
Thoughts of vibrators disintegrated as Conall leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. Beck’s mouth went dry. It was a slight, ordinary movement performed by ordinary mortals throughout the world on any given day. All the guy did was rest his elbows on his knees, for God’s sake. But he raised it to an art form, a miniature ballet of muscle and sinew that was captivating. She could not look away. His lean belly rippled, creating a fascinating, deep ridge down the middle of his abs. God, he was beautiful. She wanted to lick that hard cleft. She wanted to drink champagne out of it. She wanted to—
“And if I stay?” he said, interrupting her lusty thoughts. “Is that a matter of indifference to you as well?”
“Sure.” She lifted her shoulders with studied nonchalance, though it almost killed her. “Okay.”
He shucked off his jeans and climbed in the tub, facing her.
“What are you doing?” Beck said as he pulled her onto his lap.
His erection nudged the aching place between her legs. Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation. She was a glutton for it, a glutton for him.
“I should think that would be obvious. But, as you appear to need clarification, I am attempting to engender a more passionate response from you.”
“Huh?”
It was the closest thing to an intelligent reply she could muster lying next to all that wet, hard, delicious male flesh.
“You have a fondness for using words like nice and okay, and cool, words that imply a measure of indifference,” he said, licking the water off the tops of her breasts. Beck shivered, though not from cold. “Such a lack of enthusiasm lessens this warrior’s confidence.”
Something warm bubbled up inside her, a different kind of heat than lust. She was happy. At this moment in time, she was happy. With Conall. It was such a rare and unexpected gift at the end of a truly horrendous day that she wanted to throw her head back and laugh.
She traced the outline of his beautiful, serious mouth with the tip of her damp forefinger. Wisps of steam rose from the water and curled around them.
“Bruised your ego, huh?” she murmured.
“Fractured it.” Catching her finger with his teeth, he nipped the pad at the end, sending a jolt of desire zinging through her body. “I fear the damage is beyond repair.”
“I doubt it. Your ego is the size of a planet.”
“Harpy,” he said without heat. He picked up the soap and gave it a sniff. “Jasmine, heady, elusive, and complex . . . like you.” He dipped his hand in the water and trailed the wet bar of soap across her collarbone and down her shoulders. “You have no idea how your scent has haunted me all these months.”
“You sat in the corner and glared at me like some dark avenger.” Leaning closer, she took his face in her hands and pressed feathery, little kisses on his cheeks, his nose, and along the hard line of his jaw, memorizing the taste and feel of him, the shape of his face. For when he’s gone. So I can remember. “I thought you hated me, but I had no idea why.”
“You bewitched me.” He stroked her breasts with the soap, dragging the bar across her wet skin, teasing the undersides and the sensitive tips. “For the first time in my life, I was not in control, and it made me angry.”
“But, I didn’t—”
He put his finger over her lips. “Perhap
s not a-purpose, but the result was the same. Like your overfed feline, I kept coming back for more.”
He dipped his hands in the water and poured the warm liquid over her soapy breasts. Beck held her breath as his hot gaze fastened on her puckered nipples. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her, there.
“Beautiful,” he said. His deep rough voice sang along her nerves and made her body thrum. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You take my breath away.”
She closed her fingers around his wrist and brought his wet palm to her lips. “Babe, I know exactly how you feel.” Rubbing his wet knuckles with her mouth, she explored the crevasses between his fingers with her tongue. “Looking at you makes me ache all over.”
“This sounds serious.” His slow smile made her insides flutter. “What can we do about it?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I was hoping you could maybe give me some relief.”
“I feel sure I can think of something. Show me where it hurts.”
She touched her bottom lip. “Well, for starters, here.”
He bent his head and licked the spot with his tongue. “Better?”
“A little, but now it hurts here.”
She curved her neck, offering him her throat. His hot mouth moved along the tender flesh and nibbled at her collarbone. Warmth, languid and intoxicating, spread to her breasts and belly.
“Where else?” he asked.
She lowered her chin and met his smoldering gaze. “Here,” she said, circling her breasts and aching nipples with her fingers. He watched her, his black eyes glowing hotter. “But, this . . .” She lowered her hand and touched the throbbing place between her legs. “This is where it really hurts.”
He rested his hand on her inner thigh. “Here?”
“Not . . . quite,” she said. Her heart pounded. “A little more to the left.”
He cupped his hand over her. “Here?”
“Close.”
“Here, perhaps?” he said, sliding his finger inside her. He flicked her clitoris with his thumb. “Or is this the spot?”
“Y-you’re getting warmer. Definitely.”