by Larissa Ione
And when he’d seen Aurora, that fracture had led to a complete shatter, just like that vodka bottle on the floor.
She moaned as he covered her mouth with his and walked her backward until she bumped against the wide stone window ledge. He hadn’t done this in a long, long time, but sex didn’t have a steep learning curve and he’d always been a self-starter.
Still kissing her, he cupped her breasts, circling her nipples with his thumbs. She gasped in response, arching into his touch and thrusting her pelvis against his aching erection.
“We’re not naked enough,” she whispered against his lips, and he agreed.
His breath came faster as he dropped one hand to her waistband and ripped her jeans open. Her fingers fumbled with his fly until the buttons popped and his cock, swollen and stiff, sprung into her waiting grip.
He nearly came right then and there. “Easy, there, little Wytch,” he croaked. “My fuse has been on a slow burn for hundreds of years. Won’t take much to set me off—”
Suddenly, she dropped to her knees, shoved his jeans down to his thighs and swallowed him. Just swallowed him whole. The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat and he yelled out in sheer, electric pleasure.
“What are you doing?” he rasped as she flicked her tongue back and forth over his shaft.
She sucked upward hard, and his erection came free of her hot mouth with a soft pop. “I’m taking the edge off. Besides, you need at least two orgasms for the full effect of my magic to work.”
“Seriously?” Not that he was going to argue with that.
She graced him with a flirty, wicked smile that suited her. “No. I just want to know what an angel tastes like when he comes.”
He’d have laughed if he wasn’t on the verge of giving her what she wanted. As it was, he had to bite his tongue, concentrating on the pain rather than the pleasure of her fingers as they caressed his sac. She lowered her mouth to him again, her tongue flicking over the head of his cock.
Adrenaline surged through him, spiking his desire as his balls tightened and a tingle spread through his shaft. He was close, so close his legs were rubber and he had to throw out a hand to catch himself on the wall so he didn’t collapse on top of Aurora.
He dared not look down at the erotic sight of her sucking him. Instead he closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of her wet mouth sliding up and down. Of her tongue circling his mushroom head. Of her lips nibbling his balls while her fingers stroked the shockingly sensitive skin just behind them.
And when she increased the pressure, her fingers massaging, kneading, squeezing, a vibration unlike anything he’d ever experienced shot through him like a strike of erotic lightning—and that was when she took him to Heaven.
Screw the rules. He didn’t need to Ascend to get what he needed. Or what he wanted.
He drowned in bliss, pumping his hips as she pumped with her fist, and holy hell, Aurora was, for him, the pinnacle of Heaven.
* * * *
In Aurora’s experience, when a guy came, he needed a minute to recover. More than a minute, actually.
So she was shocked as hell when, just moments after his powerful orgasm that overloaded her senses with the blast of energy, he withdrew from her mouth, hauled her to her feet, and tore her pants off like they were made of tissue paper.
His emotions filtered through her, his anger and pain converting to positive power much faster than had ever happened in the past. Usually the negativity lingered, sometimes for days, but like everything else about Hawkyn, his energy was unique. Addictive. She wanted more.
“That was incredible,” he growled as he tossed aside the shredded jeans, leaving her only in aqua panties with lovely black lace—that Hawkyn bit through with his fangs.
She shivered, despite the fiery need flowing through her veins, consuming her as it built into an inferno she was sure would scorch them both.
His big hands palmed her thighs, spread them as he eased her back onto the windowsill. His emerald eyes glowed with erotic light as he took her in. Was he going to... Yessss.
His tongue speared her center, stabbing deep before he dragged it up, licking her swollen, sensitive tissues. She cried out, his name carrying through the small space, and she felt him smile against her core.
“I don’t have any experience with this,” he said in a raw, ragged voice, his hot breath tickling the skin of her inner thigh, “but I learn fast.”
Which he proved by latching on to her clit and drawing on it gently, using her moans and panting breaths as a guide. A finger penetrated her, pumping and flicking, and she had to bite down on the heel of her palm to keep from screaming in ecstasy.
The orgasm hit her like a sudden tempest, tearing her world apart before it all came together again with Hawkyn climbing up her body and settling himself between her legs as she sat on the stone ledge.
When had he taken off his pants?
Not that she cared about details like that. Not when he was staring down at her with half-lidded, possessive eyes that burned with male need. God, when he looked at her like that, he could have anything he wanted.
Anything. Anything except... ”Wait,” she breathed. “Protection.”
“Memitim aren’t fertile.” The tip of his shaft prodded her entrance, but he hesitated, waiting for permission. “Not until we Ascend.”
“Okay, then.” She leaned back against the thick, opaque glass in the window and spread her legs wider. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
“Damn,” he breathed as he pushed inside her. “You’re so beautiful. So perfect.”
No, what was perfect was the way he was so careful with her. His erection slid inside her slowly, stretching her exquisitely as he watched her, his gaze roaming her expression for every reaction.
When he was fully seated, he framed her face in his hands, holding her for his kiss. She took it eagerly, slipping her tongue between his lips as he started to move against her. In seconds, the kiss flared hot and urgent, and a rumble of approval rattled deep in his chest.
His tongue slid against hers, stroking and thrusting, the tempo matching the rocking of his hips. Tension mounted between her legs as she locked her thighs around his waist, holding him where she needed him to be.
This was perfect. So perfect. Like everything about him. She slid her palms up from his waist to his perfectly healed back, charting the hills and valleys of his muscles, the heavy bone structure, the ropey tendons. This was her playground, and as he took her higher with every thrust, she used her fingers to knead all the pleasure points within her reach, loving how he gasped when she dug deep.
As a masseuse, she knew the benefits of massage. But as a Wytch, with sex demon ancestors, she also had unique knowledge that allowed her to access erogenous zones most people didn’t even know they had.
She used that knowledge now with precision and skill, loving how, when she knuckled a spot between his third and fourth rib, he moaned. Or when she used two fingers on a pressure point in the ridge of his shoulder, his entire body spasmed, his head falling back in a vision of male ecstasy.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”
Abruptly, he swept her up and, still sheathed inside her, he carried her over to the bed. His strength as he lowered her left her in awe.
Panting with desperate need, she pulled him down so they were chest to chest, her legs wrapped around his waist in a hold she wouldn’t let him break anytime soon.
She’d had sex before, obviously, and her succubus nature had been all about the pleasure for a purpose. Sex and magic were a release. But what she was doing with Hawkyn had gone beyond that. It might have started as a way to help him get rid of the negativity and pain that weighed him down, but now it was about being with him. About giving him a piece of herself.
She’d never done that before.
He rocked against her, plunging deep before driving a series of rapid, short strokes into her clenched core. His thick shaft rubbed h
er in just the right places as she arched into him, taking him as fast, as hard, as deep as he could go.
Her fingernails scored his back as he rotated his hips, and she couldn’t stop looking at his face, at the sweat glistening on his brow, at his jaw clenched in the most male of ecstasies, at his lips that had given her so much pleasure parted for his labored breaths.
At this moment, he seemed to be both angel and demon, because what he was doing to her was nothing short of evil, but he was so damned good at it.
“Now,” she whispered as she bucked against him. “Please...”
As if he’d been waiting for permission, he lunged, his pelvis slamming into her so hard she slid up the mattress and bumped her head against the headboard. The thing began to bang on the wall, but if it bothered him, it didn’t show.
He pounded into her, showing no mercy, but she didn’t want it. She wanted all of him. All of that lovely power and all of that immense strength.
“Yes,” she cried. “Right...there.”
He jerked, his body going taut as he roared in release. Hot splashes of semen warmed her from the inside and triggered her own climax. Her body seized, wracked by waves of pleasure so intense she thought she might pass out. She struggled to focus, to stay conscious so she didn’t lose a single second of the ecstasy that was utterly shattering. Life-altering.
Good...God.
Hawkyn’s heavy weight came down on her, and she welcomed it. It might be the only thing keeping her from floating away on a cloud of bliss.
Again, the emotional transfer of negativity sifted through her, individual threads of anger and sadness that made sense, given the fight with his father, the torture at the hands of his brothers, and the conflict he felt over choosing her safety over his duty to his Primori. She inhaled, counting through a breathing exercise that helped convert negative emotions to positive energy, and within moments, peace surrounded her in a cocoon of warmth.
“This feels so right,” he murmured roughly, one hand stroking her hair as he lay on top of her. “I should be regretting this right now. I should be laden with guilt and wondering what the Memitim Council is going to do to me, but I honestly just don’t care.”
“See? I absorbed all that negative energy and pain—” She broke off as what he’d just said sunk in, and alarm shot through her. “Wait. What they’re going to do to you? What do you mean?”
Smiling, he shifted but tucked her against him so they were one big side-by-side tangle on the bed. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. Whatever happens, it’s mine to deal with.”
That wasn’t fair, but the mind-blowing sex and the events of the last few days had caught up with her, and all she wanted was a chance to rest in the strong arms of an angel. Just for a little while.
They could deal with all the other shit later.
And something told her there was going to be a lot of it.
Chapter Seventeen
Aurora woke up sore, but in that amazing way that made her want to stay in bed all day. Except that Hawkyn wasn’t in bed with her.
Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. He hadn’t left a note, but he’d clearly showered and dressed. Where was he? And how the hell had he done all of that without her waking up? She’d always been a heavy sleeper, but geez, she must have been exhausted.
Which made sense, given that she’d barely slept since Drayger had captured her. Closing her eyes meant seeing the things he did to her on the backs of her eyelids. Sleeping meant nightmares. But she hadn’t had any last night.
Maybe sleeping in the arms of an angel kept the bad things away.
She could get used to that.
Yawning, she climbed out of bed and headed toward the bathroom, but after a couple of steps she swayed, a wave of nausea rocking her hard. Whoa. Maybe the vodka had been stronger than she’d thought. Another hot wave hit her, and she stumbled into the bathroom, her head spinning, her gut rolling. What was happening? Was it something she ate? Sketchy Memitim pancakes?
Bracing herself on the edge of the sink, she turned on the faucet and splashed icy water on her face. Much better.
“Aurora?” Hawkyn tapped on the door. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she called out. She looked into the mirror and cringed at the crazy case of bedhead and the dark circles under her puffy eyes. “Fine” might have been an overstatement.
“Breakfast is ready. I can bring up a tray if you don’t want to eat in the great hall.”
“No,” she said, reaching for a towel. “Go on down. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”
“You sure?”
“I managed going down the stairs when you were passed out.” She turned off the water. “I think I’ll be okay.”
His deep chuckle filtered through the door. “I’ll have coffee waiting.”
Her stomach rebelled, but she thanked him anyway. She spent the next ten minutes getting cleaned up, and by the time she was dressed in the navy leggings, belted cream tunic, and casual flats she’d packed, she was feeling a hundred percent again. Well, ninety-nine, at least. She still didn’t think coffee sounded good.
She found Hawkyn in the great hall, seated at the end of one of the two trestle tables lining the walls. A few Memitim were gathered around him, full of questions—mostly about Azagoth and Sheoul-gra, if the number of times those names were thrown around was any indication.
Aurora’s heart squeezed painfully. She couldn’t help but feel sad for them, and she vowed to call her parents soon, if for no other reason than to tell them she loved them. She couldn’t imagine not knowing her father, who had patiently taught her math and how to fish, or her mother, who had been liberal with hugs and jokes. But then, she couldn’t imagine having the Grim Reaper as a parent. She had to give Hawkyn credit, though; as angry as he was with Azagoth, he didn’t badmouth him to his siblings. If anything, he downplayed his own issues with his father and encouraged everyone to decide for themselves.
It made her admire him even more.
As she approached the group, she turned her attention to the trays of fruit and pastries that crowded the center of the table. Even better, the mouthwatering aroma of eggs, cheese, and ham wafted from two steaming warmers and a platter.
The sight of the coffee pitcher, however, turned her stomach. Wendy, the barista at Hot Beans down the street from Aurora’s place, would be shocked. Aurora couldn’t pass the place without a triple-shot caramel cappuccino.
Hawkyn turned to her, his lips curved into a secret smile. The things those lips had done... God, he could do them over and over.
“Aurora, hey, I saved you a—” He broke off, his mouth open, his face draining of blood.
“Holy shite!” A red-haired Memitim who couldn’t be older than twenty gaped at her, his freckles standing out starkly against his ivory skin. “She’s...she’s...”
“What?” She looked down at herself, searching for evidence that she’d grown another limb or a horn or an all-over body rash, but she couldn’t see anything unusual. But now everyone was staring. Staring like she’d, well, grown another limb, a horn, or a rash. “What am I?”
Then she saw it. Her fingernails. They were turning silver, as if she’d applied a coat of glittery nail polish. She gasped, a thread of panic wrapping around her like a noose. This was bad. And...impossible.
“Hawkyn.” Drue, who had been so friendly and accommodating last night, turned his accusing gaze on her. “Man, you need to get her out of here. Now.”
Confusion tamped down her immediate panic. “Why? What’s going on?”
Hawkyn leaped up from the table, took her hand, and practically dragged her up the stairs. “We have to pack. We have to get you out of here.”
“Hawkyn!” She jerked him to a halt at the threshold of the room they’d stayed in last night. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why we need to leave.”
“Because Primori aren’t allowed here,” he said, troubled shadows flitting in his eyes. “And you’re Primori.”
“What?”
He stormed inside the room, his motions jerky and stiff as he packed her duffel. “This is crazy.” Outside the window, a storm was brewing, and it felt as if one was brewing inside, too. “Between last night and this morning, something happened to make you Primori.”
Recalling this morning’s fit of illness, she looked down at her nails.
“I...think I might know what it was,” she said, nausea welling up again, but this time she was sure it was coming from nerves.
He rounded on her, his body taut, his expression etched with concern. “Tell me.”
Holding her belly with one hand to quell the butterflies, she held up the other, showing him her silver nails, a telltale sign among her people.
“I don’t understand.” He scowled at her hand. “Do you think painting your nails did it?”
“I didn’t paint them. And there’s no easy way to say this,” she said in a voice that quaked like the tree outside the window being buffeted by the wind, “but...”
“But what?”
She hesitated. Shifted her weight. And then blurted words she hadn’t thought she’d say for a long, long time.
“I’m pregnant.”
* * * *
I’m pregnant.
Pregnant. Holy shit.
Hawkyn stumbled backward, banging the backs of his legs into the bed he and Aurora had made love in last night. But there was no way he could have impregnated her. Memitim weren’t fertile. There had to be another explanation.
She was watching him with glassy eyes, and he realized she was just as stunned as he was. She’d gone through so much recently, and then to add this to the mix... Damn.
“You said you haven’t had sex in a long time.” At her nod, he continued, somehow managing to sound calm instead of freaked out. “Is it possible that your species has an extended gestation period? I’ve heard that some female demons hold sperm inside their bodies for years before it fertilizes an egg. And others—”
“No,” she said sharply. “That’s not what’s going on. Wytches are, for the most part, just like humans.” She looked down at her hands. “Except for the silver nails.”