by Susan Illene
A slick tongue ran up her leg until it reached her moist folds. He dashed out a lick and then another. She gripped the table hard, afraid she might break it. Despite the awkward position, Bartol was making it work well. He was getting her so turned on that if she didn’t have the table to brace herself, she would surely fall.
Two fingers slid inside her, and she let out a hoarse cry.
“You’re so wet I could take you right now,” he said.
“Do it.”
“Not yet.” He continued moving his fingers deep within her as he rose to his feet. “You’re not getting me that easy.”
“Please, Bartol,” she begged. Every night she’d dreamed of being with him again like this and woke wondering if it would ever happen. Part of her wanted it to last forever, and another part wanted him to speed things up.
He rested his free arm on the table and leaned over her, his mouth close to her ear. “What if I bit you again? Would you run from me this time?”
“I won’t ever run from you again,” Cori swore. At that moment, she would have promised him anything. He literally had her in the palms of his hands.
“Liar.” He added another finger, widening and preparing her for his entrance.
She rose on her toes, the pleasure almost too much to bear. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Bite me, fuck me, just do something more!”
“Such foul language.” Bartol bit her in the back of the neck with his human teeth—apparently, the fangs only came out for the initial mating process. Cori didn’t care. The pain felt good and right with him doing it, but then his fingers slid out of her, and his mouth drew away.
She let out a choked sob.
“You are lucky I need this as much as you do,” he said.
She caught the sound of a belt jangling and a zipper sliding down. She tilted her head and looked back at him. His large cock jutted from the opening of his pants, but he’d left all his clothes in place other than what was necessary for sex.
“Take your shirt off,” she begged.
“No.”
Cori lay there completely bare to him and vulnerable, but he wouldn’t give her that one thing. “Why?”
“I’m still angry with you.”
Before she could make an annoyed response, he thrust into her, and she lost all thought or reason. Over and over, he pushed into her. She felt the tendrils of their mate bond reforging and strengthening with each spark of pleasure. It was a heady sensation. Cori had been married once before, and she’d had a few lovers since the divorce, but she’d never experienced anything like what she had with Bartol. It was as if he penetrated her very soul.
His breathing was heavy as he gripped her hips and plunged into her with ever more forceful thrusts. Thanks to Melena’s blood, Cori was strong enough to handle it now compared to when he’d had to be so careful the first time. She caught his gaze watching her. With every push, she shoved her butt back to meet him, but he still monitored her to be sure he wasn’t hurting her.
“Harder,” she ordered, wanting him to give all he had.
Bartol let go of her hips and took hold of her shoulders, arching her back upward. “Be careful what you ask for.”
The next thing she knew, he was pushing into her womb so deeply she no longer knew who she was or where they were. Stars flashed across her vision. She wished she could touch him, hold him, let him feel how much he was making her wild, but all she could do was moan and cry out.
He grunted. “It was as if you were made for me.”
“Bartol…” she pleaded.
He pulled her up higher, bringing her closer. One of his hands dropped down to grip her left breast and squeezed it tightly while the other moved between her thighs. He rubbed her clitoris, and she screamed. This was the final touch she had needed to set her off. Her body shook as he worked her, bringing her to greater and greater heights. A hundred sensations washed over her as the orgasm made her lose all sense of reason. She felt him, wanting nothing more than for them to stay joined like this forever. How long it lasted, she didn’t know, but eventually she slumped against his hold, her body drained.
Bartol carefully returned her to the table and gripped her hips once more. His thrusts grew jerky and uneven. He must have known she couldn’t take much more, and he was doing what he could to speed up the process. Still, he wasn’t one who could rush things. It took another ten minutes before his warm seed poured deeply inside her. Cori’s body stirred faintly. She wanted to orgasm again but couldn’t find the strength.
A minute later, Bartol relaxed and leaned down to press his lips to the side of her neck. It was the sweetest kiss she’d ever felt from him. One full of caring and gratitude. He was showing how much he appreciated her, and the way she’d surrendered complete control to him. If only he knew how difficult it was to do that, especially with her past. He was the man that could bring out the submissive side of her in ways her ex-lovers never could.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he said.
Cori let out a lazy smile. “I’d stay this way all day if you’d keep touching me.”
“Greedy woman.”
He pulled away and zipped up his pants. “Don’t you have a business to open?”
“I could call Asher and let him do it,” she suggested, turning to sit on the table with her legs open for him to see.
Bartol sucked in a deep breath. He stood staring for a moment, a fresh bulge already rising in his pants before turning away. He moved over to a tall cabinet and drew out a box of tissues, tossing them at her. “Tormod will be here soon for training. I don’t want him seeing you like this—I’d have to kill him.”
Cori couldn’t hold back the sigh of disappointment. She took the tissues and cleaned herself up while Bartol did anything he could to avoid looking at her. He wasn’t immune to her nudity, and she could tell it was all he could do to keep his gaze off of her. One by one, he picked up the articles of clothing she’d left on the floor. It was a good thing he kept this place ridiculously clean for a workshop or else her things would be filthy.
“I’ll need a ride—unless you want me to walk all the way to Mel’s house.”
He swung around, his golden eyes falling on her hazel ones. “How did you get here?”
“She dropped me off.”
He muttered something under his breath in some unrecognizable language. “That explains how you found me.” He tossed her coat over. “Put that on.”
Cori got off the table and drew it over her shoulders. Once it fully covered her, he braved getting closer to her again and pressed her knit cap onto her head and wrapped the scarf around her neck. It was sweet and intimate, despite the annoyance in his gaze.
“You should not have been out in the cold with so little on,” he said.
She licked her lips. “It was worth it.”
“This changes nothing.”
They’d just have to see about that. She knew things wouldn’t be worked out in a day, and she was prepared to lay siege until he forgave her and listened to all she had to say. Eventually, that would include convincing him to help Caius stop a demon. But everything had to be done one step at a time.
Cori drew on her gloves. “I’m cooking dinner tonight at Mel’s place if you would like to come—or any other night, for that matter.”
“Did you not just hear what I said?” he asked, giving her an incredulous look.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Bartol ran a hand through his brown hair. It was past his ears and almost as long as hers. She envied his hand for being able to touch it when she could not.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
She did as requested and felt a curl of contentment as he wrapped his arms around her. Trusting him, she let her guard down. Melena’s blood had given her a certain degree of immunity to magic. Cori had to concentrate if she wanted Bartol to flash her to another destination or else the nephilim form of transportation wouldn’t work.
She nodded.
Power rushed over her, and in a whirlwind of colors, they zoomed through the distance between his workshop and Melena’s home in a mere second or two. Solid ground returned under her feet. Bartol continued to hold her, ensuring she did not fall. Flashing used to make Cori dizzy, but it appeared the recent changes to her body had strengthened her against that. Of course, she wouldn’t tell Bartol that when it meant she could enjoy him holding her a few seconds longer.
“I’m fine,” she said after it was clear he was starting to shake from their close proximity. He sacrificed more than he would say every time he got close to her, except during sex when hormones helped override his fears.
“Good.” He pulled back from her. “Now go put some damned clothes on.”
He flashed away before she could reply.
Chapter 4
Bartol
Her scent lingered in his shop. Bartol should have showered and sprayed down his work area with something strong to remove any trace of her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. It had been too long since he’d been close to her, touched her, felt her warmth and soft skin. Sneaking glimpses from far away had seemed like enough for the first couple of weeks, but staying out of reach had begun to wear on him. He’d never admit it to Cori, but he was glad she came to his shop that morning. After only one encounter, he already felt better than he had in weeks.
Could a weakened mating bond truly harm him on a deeper level?
And if so, what might it be doing to her? As frustrated as Bartol was with Cori, she was his mate, and the last thing he wanted was for her to suffer. She’d had enough of that with her former husband—a man who’d beaten her regularly and later caused the death of their daughter. He suspected that was one of the reasons she was unwilling to commit to him. No matter what she said, she could not possibly trust Bartol after what she’d been through with another man. She’d had years to come to terms with that failed marriage, but he had no doubt recent events had brought back all her old fears. Cori was even still blaming herself over her failed murder attempt of Griff, thinking she deserved the terrible punishment he’d meted out. She hadn’t deserved to die. Bartol wished she could understand that and then maybe things could be different between them. Maybe she could trust him.
The thought of her rejection still hurt, though. They may have known each other for a short time—a mere six months—but deep within him he knew there was no other woman for him out there. He’d had his fill of females in every size, shape, and quality centuries ago, even if he hadn’t realized that simple truth until recently.
And from the moment he and Cori met each other, she’d managed to get under his skin in ways he’d never imagined. Not once did she make him feel like less than a man, despite his scars and traumatized past. If anything, Bartol suspected it was his darker side that drew her to him. She was the other half of his soul, if only she would accept him completely. But then again, perhaps it was for the best that they did not work things out. She needed and deserved someone who was less damaged. Though it killed him to do so, the greatest gift he could give her was time apart so that maybe she could eventually move on—even if he never could.
A bright flash of light disturbed his train of thought.
A young man with shaggy brown hair and violet eyes appeared near the shop door. He swaggered over to Bartol. Tormod was considered a nerou—part nephilim and part sensor—but unlike the rest of his kind, he also had a quarter demon in him. That made him fully immortal and a potential threat once he got older and stronger. As of right now, he was only fifty and had the maturity of a teenager. The nerou hybrid had led a sheltered life in Purgatory as the youngest of his kind and had a lot of growing up to do. His nephilim trainers were nearly at their wits end with his pranks and childish behavior, especially while having the others to focus on, which was why Bartol had begun giving private sessions to the boy so that Tormod could have more individualized attention. He earned extra money by conducting the training, but it also gave him a sense of purpose he hadn’t had when he first returned to Earth.
Tormod sniffed the air with his heightened senses and grinned. “Cori has been here.”
“Mind your own business,” Bartol growled.
“Hey.” The nerou put up his hands. “I’m glad you got laid. I wasn’t looking forward to more days of grouchiness if this went on for much longer.”
Bartol stepped closer to the young man, narrowing his eyes. “Whatever happens between my mate and me is our business. Stay out of it.”
Tormod, who was every bit as large as Bartol, and perhaps a shade more muscular, didn’t back down or appear the least bit intimidated. “I’m only calling it like it is. You need her, whether you like it or not, and everyone knows it except you.”
It was difficult to restrain himself, but Bartol held back from punching the nerou. When it came to mates, immortals were very protective—especially in the beginning—and they lost their tempers easily to anyone who appeared to be a threat. On an intellectual level, he knew Tormod was just being himself and meant no harm. But on a primal level, he saw the young man as being far too familiar in matters that didn’t concern him. Bartol couldn’t even stand the idea of other males, or interested females for that matter, being near Cori. It was all he could do to control himself and one of the reasons he avoided visiting his mate’s shop. She didn’t need to deal with that level of jealousy, and he couldn’t afford to lose control.
“One day, I hope you understand the true nature of mates,” Bartol said, stepping away to grab hold of two training swords in the corner. He tossed one to the nerou. “I don’t want to hear another word on the subject.”
They used the open space in the middle of the shop to practice their sword play. It was close quarters, but that was a lesson in itself. Tormod was missing training at the nerou compound to spend time with Bartol, and the others didn’t like his methods of fighting anyway, so they worked on his skills here. It gave each of them exercise and helped to work off any aggression they were feeling. Between the two of them and their individual problems, they had a lot to burn through each day.
Tormod was quiet for the first few minutes, mostly working to block Bartol’s expert moves, but it was clear he was working up to saying something. “I heard about Caius coming to visit.”
“He’s on a fool’s errand.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” the nerou replied ominously.
Bartol kicked out and tripped Tormod, sending the young man flying onto his back and hitting the floor with a hard thud. “Caius has been foolish enough to fall into Zoe’s trap, but I expect you as my student to be smarter. She is attempting to manipulate us so that she can see her daughter—that is all.”
Tormod jumped to his feet, replying as he adjusted his sagging jeans, “Olivia had a vision about a demon rising. Zoe may not be lying.”
The nerou he spoke of was Micah’s daughter and Lucas’ niece. She had the second sight and could make predictions of the future. Most were vague and little could be done about them until too late, but others became clear while there was still time to act. Still, she saw many things that no one ever came to understand, which meant they might not happen for centuries, or they occurred too far away in the world to matter.
“She is likely influenced by Caius’ words,” Bartol argued.
“The first vision came a couple of months ago and the second a few weeks ago.”
He paused. That was long before the nephilim’s visit. “What did she see?”
“An evil presence rising out of the Earth. She got a sense of great doom.”
That was specific enough to fit, except it still told Bartol nothing. “Anything else?”
Tormod shook his head. “She logged them both, but she didn’t bother to mention them until this morning since she couldn’t find any way to relate them to anything happening now.”
“In other words, we still don’t know if what sh
e saw is the same as Zoe’s alleged demon,” Bartol said, thrusting his sword at the nerou once more. “I would not act on so little information.”
“If you go to Russia, I bet I could get permission to go with you. We could call it a training exercise, and I’d have your back if she’s lying and trying to trap you.” Tormod appeared more than a little excited by the prospect.
This explained why the nerou was so interested in the demon topic—other than being part demon himself. “No.”
“Just like that?” Tormod gave him an incredulous look. “You won’t even consider it?”
“Demons and Zoe are not my problem.”
A bright flash of light blinded them as Lucas appeared. He was tall and muscular with wide shoulders, golden skin, and short blond hair. These days, Bartol didn’t see the nephilim often without his mate, Melena. They were often inseparable outside their work environments.
“What if I tell you the Zoe situation is your problem?” Lucas asked.
Bartol pointed his sword at his old friend. “You have more reasons to distrust Zoe than anyone.”
Lucas worked his jaw. “Remiel visited this morning. There are whispers in Heaven about a demon, one the angels believe could be a real problem.”
“Then let Remiel talk to Zoe.”
“I said the same thing.” Lucas gave him a wry smile. “He says the angels will only step in if and when it is necessary. For now, they are willing to pay you a healthy sum to make the trip instead and track the situation further based on whatever information she gives you.”
Until recently, angels had never paid nephilim to do anything. He didn’t know why he was the exception to the rule unless they felt some sort of guilt over what had happened to him in Purgatory. They claimed they hadn’t known he was being horrifically maimed and tortured until his sentence was nearly over, but by then, it was too late to undo the damage. “Where do they get their money to pay me, anyway?”
Lucas shrugged. “I asked that same question, but Remiel refused to answer me. Perhaps they play the stock market or make investments. It’s also possible they’ve been taking it from the supernaturals they’ve punished recently, but I don’t have any concrete evidence.”