He grasped her backside, and pinned her to the wall as he kissed her and ground against her, gently rocking into her wet heat, rubbing every inch of her. She moaned whenever the head of his length swept over her sensitive bud and the heat of her increased, ratcheting up his temperature with it.
Thorne couldn’t take any more.
He eased his hips back and Sable broke the kiss, her moist breath puffing against his lips and her chest heaving close to his, her nipples brushing his pectorals.
“Thorne,” she murmured and he knew what she wanted to say, what she meant to ask.
He kissed her again, silencing her before she could put voice to his inexperience. He didn’t need to have slept with a thousand women to know how to make love to her. It was ingrained in him, a primal knowledge that told him how to please his female and how to bring them both to the point of ecstasy.
He would make the passion and pleasure of their dreams a reality.
Thorne released her right hip and grasped his cock. He dropped his hips, raising her higher at the same time, and stared down between them as he ran the head of his length through her wet centre. His heart stuttered in his chest, breathing coming quicker, mirroring Sable’s as she clutched his shoulders and moaned. He glanced at her to find her with her eyes closed and her brow furrowed, speaking of the pleasure that rippled through him.
“Thorne.” It was a moan this time, a plea. A supplication.
Thorne obeyed.
He guided his length lower and his breath hitched as the head nudged into her. She moaned again, her teeth teasing her lower lip, nibbling at the tender flesh.
Thorne breathed harder, steeling himself as he fed his cock into her. She was tight around him, hot and slick. The dreams hadn’t prepared him for the reality of her. His fingers tightened against her buttocks and he inched further into her, a growl rumbling up his throat as he watched his cock slowly disappearing, joining them.
His female.
His fated one.
His Sable.
He felt her gaze on him, burning into his face, and shifted his to meet it. A thousand emotions played out in her eyes and he willingly drowned in them, knowing that all he saw was mirrored in his. The fear, the trepidation, the tenderness, the passion, and the need. He felt everything that she did, experiencing it all with her as he slowly filled her, stretching her tight body to accommodate him.
He released his cock, grasped her other hip, and drove himself the rest of the way into her. A throaty gasp was his reward as she arched in his arms, her eyes closing and fingers pressing into his shoulders.
Mine.
She belonged to him now and he wanted all of her.
He grunted as he withdrew and swallowed her moan as he thrust back into her wet heat. She dug her fingers into his hair and then grasped his left horn as she clung to him. Her heels pressed into his buttocks and he growled at the delicious way she tried to control the pace of his thrusts, her wicked insistence that he move quicker. He gave her what she desired, always ready to please her, to surrender to her command.
She kissed him hard as he made love to her with long, deep strokes that drove her against the wall. Her lips clashed with his, her tongue brushing his one moment and then flickering over his fangs the next.
He groaned when she stroked one with the tip of her tongue, teasing it. His fangs lengthened, filling his mouth, awakening a dark need that he had tried to keep dormant, knowing it would only serve to push Sable away.
He wanted to bite her.
Ached to feel her soft flesh between his teeth and have her blood flowing down his throat.
Hungered to claim her.
Thorne shoved that need to the recesses of his heart and kept it there, held at bay by a more dominant need to pleasure her.
Not frighten her.
“Thorne,” she murmured breathlessly against his lips, her hips rocking into his, riding his cock as much as he was riding her. She clutched him closer, her mouth warring with his as she kept up with her feet, forcing him to thrust deep into her whenever he withdrew.
He groaned, the visible display of the fierce need he could sense in her pleasuring him almost as much as being inside her at last. That she wanted him so much, needed him so intensely that she was a slave to sensation, lost in her quest for release with him, sparked a deep ache in his chest that finally confirmed everything she had told him and he had found difficult to believe.
She desired only him.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
He buried his face into her neck and she tensed.
“Shh,” he whispered and kissed her throat. “Will not bite you.”
She relaxed instantly and tilted her head away from him, trusting him with her neck. He moaned and kissed it, licking the line of her artery, feeling her pulse hammering beneath his tongue. He wanted to bite her but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t force the claim upon her, no matter how fiercely he needed her, how violently he wanted to claim her as his forever.
Her breasts squashed against his chest as he drove into her, curling his hips so his pelvic bone brushed her sensitive bud. She moaned with each meeting of their bodies and held him closer, clutching him to her throat as he kissed and licked it, resisting the pressing need to sink his aching fangs into her.
She flexed and tightened around him, ripping a grunt from his lips that he couldn’t contain. She moaned in answer, her restless actions warning him that she was close. He focused on her pleasure, on giving her release before he found his own, and plunged deep into her, as far as she could take him, using more of his strength in each rough thrust.
Sable tensed and jerked against him, her cry of pleasure loud in his ear. Her fingers grasped his shoulder and the back of his head, and her legs squeezed him as her body exploded with ripples of pleasure that flowed over him. She quivered around his length, her hot moisture coating him, and his balls drew up, his release rising.
He gently bit her neck, careful not to break her skin, unable to hold back his instinct as he felt her climaxing, and clutched her hips as he thrust into her. He managed only three deep plunges before his release boiled up his cock and burst from him, shattering him in the process and making his knees tremble.
Sable slowly rubbed his back and sifted her fingers through his hair, her cheek coming to rest on his shoulder.
Thorne held her in his teeth, quivering from head to toe, hazy and hot all over. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of them joined, both of them trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. Pleasure they had found together.
Sable pressed a kiss to his shoulder and shifted backwards, forcing him to release her.
He lifted his head, unsure what to expect. His heart balanced on his tongue, fear that she would reject him keeping it trembling there, a timid thing that he cursed. He wanted to be strong, but Sable had the power to strip all of his strength from him. She left him weak. Made him vulnerable.
But she also had the power to make him feel invincible.
His eyes searched her golden ones, trying to read in them what she wanted to say.
She stroked his right horn, sending a hot shiver down from its root to his balls. His length twitched inside her.
“I thought we were going to have a shower?” She smiled wickedly.
Thorne groaned.
Grinned.
Invincible.
CHAPTER 21
Thorne knocked on the wooden door of the small thatched cottage. Sable stood behind him with Bleu, fascinated by the quaint building and the immaculate garden. Early dawn light shone on the roses that climbed over the creamy rough stone walls of the cottage, warming their red blooms.
More rosebushes lined the winding path through the garden, their blooms varying from white, to pink, to yellow and even orange. The yellow made her think of Thorne and his offering to his mother. Where did he go to in the mortal world in order to get those yellow blooms? They weren’t from Hell. She was certain of that. Was there a special place that he went,
perhaps one related to his mother? She wanted to ask him, but now wasn’t the time.
A cold breeze blew across the roses, sweeping up the scent and swirling around her.
She rubbed her arms through her black shirt, trying to keep the chill off. She should have brought a coat. She didn’t know how Thorne could happily stand there with no shirt on and just the morning sun to keep him warm.
Bleu shifted beside her, bending to smell one of the rose blooms. He looked at home surrounded by the beautiful flowers and plants, out in the countryside. He had been more relaxed ever since Thorne had announced that Rosalind lived out in the wilds of England, a short distance away from London. Sable surmised it was in Bleu’s blood to feel calmed around nature when he felt a connection to it. He leaned to breathe in a different flower and the long black coat he wore over his skin-tight scaly obsidian armour fell forwards, the hem brushing the path.
The door opened.
“Elf!”
It slammed shut again.
Bleu’s eyebrows shot up towards his wild black hair and he straightened.
“You have that effect on a lot of women.” Sable nudged him in the ribs with her elbow and he scowled down at her.
Thorne knocked again. “We must speak with you, Rosalind.”
“I’m not speaking to an elf. Make him go away.” The feminine voice carried through the wooden door, a note of panic in it.
Sable moved forwards. “Why not?”
Thorne frowned at her and she shrugged it off. She wanted to know why Rosalind had a fear of elves. Besides, they needed Bleu to stick with them. He might be a royal pain in her arse at times, but he was also a skilled fighter, and they were out in the open. Who knew what other enemies might be lurking around waiting to take down Thorne, or her, or Bleu, in order to make winning the war between the two demon realms easier.
Sable lost patience. “Look, Bleu isn’t going to hurt you or do anything weird. He’s a friend. A good elf.”
“It doesn’t matter whether he’s good or not. He’s an elf.”
“We really need your help, Rosalind. Whether that’s through a door or not… although it’s getting light out and I think your mortal neighbours might have concerns when they see a guy with horns and one with pointed ears.” Sable edged closer to the door and told herself she was about to be necessarily cruel. They had to get inside and hidden. “Rosalind… you’re a code green. That means you’re not a threat. Archangel likes you. Don’t make me change your status.”
There was a squeak on the other side of the door.
Thorne shook his head, his expression speaking of how unimpressed he was with her behaviour. Sable shrugged again.
“She’s making things difficult. I had to try something. We need to get out of the open,” she hissed at him and then turned back to the door. “What is it you have against Bleu? I have a laundry list of complaints myself, and I think Thorne does too, and probably Bleu’s prince has—”
The door opened a crack and Rosalind peered out at her, her dazzling blue eyes enormous. “The elf isn’t a prince?”
“Um, no. He’s a royal pain… but no prince. He’s a commander.”
Bleu growled at her.
Rosalind’s eyes slowly edged towards Bleu where he stood behind her. She blinked rapidly, her fear palpable as she set eyes on him.
“I can never meet your prince,” the witch blurted in one rapid stream.
Now Sable really wanted to know what Rosalind’s deal was. Why couldn’t she meet Loren?
“Someone predicted your future and you do not like it,” Thorne said and Rosalind’s blue eyes shot to him. “You do not need to meet him. You only need to listen to us and decide whether you can help us.”
“We can pay you,” Sable put in and Rosalind’s fair eyebrows pinched tightly together, her rosy lips thinning with what looked like disgust.
“I do not accept gold. If I believe you in need of my help and feel I can assist you, I will do so.” Rosalind opened the door, revealing the candlelit interior of her cottage and the rest of her. Her long black dress reached her ankles, drab and boring. The typical garb of a witch on duty.
Sable had visited a fae town once and had seen avenues of witches peddling their wares, all of them wearing a shapeless dull dress of this fashion.
“Please enter.” Rosalind stepped aside, allowing Thorne to enter ahead of Sable.
He had to duck to fit into the corridor and almost banged his head on a ceiling light. Sable followed him, close to having to hunch herself in order to avoid feeling she was about to crack her head on something. She couldn’t resist glancing back at Bleu.
He entered, stooping to fit his six-feet-five frame into the low hallway, and Rosalind practically flattened herself against the wall. The witch edged behind him and closed the door.
“Please go on ahead. There is a sitting room just to your right.”
Sable followed Thorne down a step into a large open plan sitting room with an inglenook fireplace to her left and dark wooden beams across the pale ceiling. It was certainly cute and quaint, but she could never imagine living in such a cramped place. After her own apartment and Thorne’s enormous castle, this cottage felt like a prison cell.
Thorne banged his head on a beam and growled. “Did that last time.”
Sable rubbed his arm while he rubbed his forehead.
“You came before,” Rosalind said as she squeezed into the room, giving Bleu yards of space, as if he had something highly contagious.
Did the witch think her bad prediction could come to pass just by being near an elf who had been near an elf prince?
“I did.” Thorne took the armchair near the fireplace that she offered with a sweep of her hand. “It is not going well. I have been sealed out of my kingdom by witchcraft.”
Sable went to pull up another of the dark green velvet armchairs and it moved on its own, shooting across the wooden floor towards her. She quickly edged backwards to avoid colliding with it and bumped into the arm of Thorne’s chair. He caught her around the waist, twisted her and settled her on his lap.
Sable slapped at his hands. He didn’t relent.
Bleu glowered at them from the corner of the room and looked as if he might leave. She didn’t want that to happen. The armchair halted next to her, another joining it. Sable pushed off Thorne’s lap and sat on her own chair. She patted the one next to her. Bleu reluctantly joined them.
Rosalind moved her chair further away, knocking over a stack of books, and sat in it.
The witch had moved furniture with magic. Why not tidy the place up with it too? Sable looked around her at the small room and realised it probably wasn’t possible. Books covered most of the floor, filled the bookcases, and even occupied most of the tables. Rosalind needed a bigger house.
“Excuse the mess,” Rosalind said pointedly, an undertone of irritation in her voice.
“Sorry. I think this is the most books I’ve seen outside of Thorne’s library.”
“You have been to the demon realm?” Rosalind’s blue eyes sparkled with interest. “Is it as grim and dark as all say?”
“Not really.” Sable felt Thorne’s gaze come to rest on her, intense and focused. He wanted to know what she thought of his realm. “It’s actually quite nice. Admittedly, there’s a monochrome colour scheme, but you get used to it.”
Sable flicked her long black hair over her shoulder with her right hand and Rosalind’s eyebrows rose.
“I didn’t know you were an angel.”
Sable’s eyebrows knitted together. “Archangel? Yeah. I’m with Archangel. I’m one of their hunters. We’re helping Thorne out with his war, so I have friends trapped in the Third Realm too. Friends I really need to get back to as soon as possible.”
“I understand that, but you misunderstand me.” Rosalind smiled, a bubble of laughter in her voice. “Although it is ironic that Archangel would in fact have an angel in its ranks.”
Sable’s frown hardened. Rosalind’s eyes widened.
“Oh… you didn’t know. I’ve seen that mark before.” Rosalind pointed to Sable’s right wrist and it shook as Sable turned it over to look at the cross.
“On who?” Sable sat up, her gaze locked on the petite ash blonde opposite her, Thorne and Bleu forgotten.
“A male. He came to me years ago… he bore that mark on his wrist. He wanted to know his future. He seemed pleased with the result.”
“Why?” Sable moved to the edge of her seat, her heart pounding against her chest now and her throat going dry. An angel with a mark like hers?
She looked down at it and a shiver went through her. An angel?
“Something about a mistake he made… or was it something else… it was something like that anyway. It was a long time ago, so I forget the details.” Rosalind shrugged. “I just remember that he was upset and thought he would lose his wings. He was seriously precious about those pearly white feathers of his.”
“How long ago?” Sable snapped and rubbed her thumb over the mark on her wrist.
Thorne’s large hand settled on her left forearm and his fingers gently curled around to hold it. She glanced back at him, nerves and anticipation exploding within her, making her tremble and feel nauseous. Thorne smiled at her and she silently thanked him for his support.
“Um. Thirty… maybe forty years?”
Sable’s heart leaped into her throat. “How about thirty-five?”
Rosalind shrugged again. “It’s possible.”
“Sable,” Thorne said in a low voice, a note of warning in it.
“I know.” She really did. She couldn’t just leap to conclusions but she was finding it hard to give reason a chance. She was too caught up in the thought that one of her parents was an angel and Rosalind might have met him. “This mark though, Thorne… you know I never met my parents… and I’ve had this for as long as I can remember… and then everything that happened during the battle.”
“What happened?” Bleu said and she looked over her right shoulder at him.
His purple eyes implored her and the words slipped free.
“I burned a demon to ashes with my right hand. I just touched him, Bleu… and he turned to ashes.”
Claimed by a Demon King Page 25