Wait. Her words from a moment ago drifted through his head. You’re learning, angel. He was learning? “No,” he croaked out. He would not do such a thing. Not even for her. “These people need the money their goods provide. Do you care nothing for their welfare?”
A flash of guilt joined the excitement. “No,” she said.
Another lie? Probably. That guilt…it gave him hope. “Why do you need to steal like this, anyway?”
“Foreplay,” she said with a shrug.
Blood…heating…again.
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”
At the unexpected intrusion, they both stiffened. Bianka’s gaze pulled from his; together they eyed the policeman now standing beside her.
She frowned. “Can’t you see that I’m in the middle of a conversation?”
“Doesn’t matter if you’re talking to God Himself.” The grim-faced officer latched on to her wrist. “I need you to come with me.”
“I don’t think so. Lysander,” she said, clearly expecting him to do something.
Instinct demanded he save her. He wanted her safe and happy, but this would be good for her. “I told you to put the items back.”
Her jaw dropped as the officer led her away. And, if Lysander wasn’t mistaken, there was pride in her gaze.
ARRESTED FOR SHOPLIFTING, Bianka thought with disgust. Again. Her third time that year. Lysander had watched the policeman usher her in back, empty her purse and cuff her. All without a word. His disapproval had said plenty, though.
She hadn’t let it upset her. He’d stood his ground, and she admired that. Was turned on by it. This wouldn’t be an easy victory, as she’d assumed. Besides, for the first time in their relationship, he’d offered to kiss her. Willingly kiss her.
But only if she replaced her stolen goods, she reminded herself darkly. Didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wanted to change her. To condition her to his way of life.
It was exactly what she wanted to do to him. Which meant he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him.
It also meant it was time to take this game to the next level. She, however, would not be the one to cave. The six hours she’d spent behind bars had given her time to think. To form a strategy.
She was whistling as she meandered down the station steps. Lysander had finally posted her bail, but he hadn’t hung around to speak with her. Well, he hadn’t needed to. She knew he was following her.
At home, she showered, lingering under the hot spray, soaping herself more slowly than necessary and caressing her breasts and playing between her legs. Unfortunately, he never appeared. But no matter.
Just in case her shower hadn’t gotten him in the mood, she read a few passages from her favorite romance novel. And just in case that hadn’t gotten him in the mood, she decorated her navel with her favorite dangling diamond, dressed in a skintight tank and skirt and knee-high boots, and drove to the closest strip club.
“I only have a few days left. Then I’m traveling to Budapest for Gwen’s wedding and you are not invited. Do you hear me? Try and come and I’ll make your life hell. So, if you want a go at me, now’s the time,” she said as she got out of the car.
Again, he didn’t appear.
She almost screeched in frustration. So far, her strategy sucked. What was he doing?
The night was cold yet the inside of the club was hot and stuffy, the seats packed with men. Onstage, a redhead—clearly not a natural redhead—swung around a pole. The lights were dimmed, and smoke clung to the air.
“You gonna dance, darling?” someone asked Bianka.
“Nope. Got better things to do.” She did, however, steal the stranger’s wallet, sneak a beer from the bar and settle into a table in the back corner. Alone. “Enjoy,” she whispered to Lysander, toasting him with the bottle.
“Have you no shame?” he suddenly growled from behind her.
Finally! Every muscle in her body relaxed, even as her blood heated with awareness. But she didn’t turn to face him. He would have seen the triumph in her eyes. “You have enough shame for both of us.”
He snorted. “That does not seem to be the case.”
“Really? Well, then, let’s loosen you up. Do you want a lap dance?” She held up the cash she’d taken. “I’m sure the redhead onstage would love to rub against you.”
His big hands settled on her shoulders, squeezing.
“Or maybe you’d like a beer?”
“I would indeed,” the stranger she’d stolen from said, now in front of her table. He reached into his back pocket. Frowned. “Hey, my wallet’s gone.” His gaze settled on the small brown leather case resting on her tabletop. His frown deepened. “That looks like mine.”
“How odd,” she said innocently. “So do you want me to buy you a beer or not?”
Lysander’s grip tightened. “Give him back his wallet and I’ll kiss you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Gods, she wanted his kiss. More than she’d ever wanted anything. His lips were soft, his taste decadent. And if she allowed him to kiss her, well, she knew she could convince him to do other things.
But she said, “Steal his watch and I’ll kiss you.”
“What are you talking about?” the guy asked, brow furrowed. “Steal whose watch?”
She rolled her eyes, wishing she could shoo him away.
Lysander leaned down and cupped her breasts. A tremor moved through her, her nipples beading, reaching for him. Sweet heaven. Her stomach quivered, jealous of her breasts, wanting the touch lower.
“Give him back the wallet.”
Suddenly she wanted to do just that. Anything for more of Lysander and this sultry side of him. She didn’t need the money, anyway. Wait. What are you doing? Caving? She straightened her spine. “No, I—”
“I’ll kiss you all over your body,” Lysander added.
Oh…Hell. He’d decided to take their game to the next level, as well.
Damn, damn, damn. She couldn’t lose. If she did, he would control her with sex. He would expect her to be good like him. All the damn time. There would be no more stealing, no more cursing, no more fun. Well, except when they were in bed—but would he expect her to be good there, too?
Life would become boring and sinless, everything a Harpy was taught to fight against.
She stood to shaky legs and turned, finally facing him. His hands fell away from her. She tried not to moan in disappointment. His expression was blank.
She blanked hers, as well, reached out and cupped him. Though he showed no emotion, he couldn’t hide his hardness. “Steal something, anything at all, and I’ll kiss you all over.” Her voice dipped huskily. “Remember last time? You came in my mouth, and I loved every moment of it.”
His nostrils flared.
“Yes!” the guy behind her exclaimed. “Give me five minutes and I’ll have stolen something.”
“You aren’t trainable, are you?” Lysander asked stiffly.
“No,” she said, but suddenly she didn’t feel like smiling. There’d been resignation in his tone. Had she pushed him too far again? Was he going to leave her? Never return? “That doesn’t mean you should stop trying, though.”
“Wait. Trying what?” the stranger asked, confused.
Gods, when would he leave?
“Lysander,” she prompted.
“That’s not my name.”
“Get lost,” she growled.
Lysander’s gaze lifted, narrowed on the human. Then Bianka heard footsteps. Her angel hadn’t said anything, hadn’t revealed himself, but had somehow managed to make the human leave. He had powers she hadn’t known about, then. Why was that even more exciting?
“If you won’t give the wallet back and I won’t steal anything, where does that leave us?” he asked.
“At war. I don’t know about you, but I do my best fighting in bed,” she said, and then threw her arms around his neck.
CHAPTER TEN
WIND WHIPPED THROUGH Bianka’s hair, and she knew that Lysander was flyi
ng her somewhere with those majestic wings. She had her eyes closed, too busy enjoying him—finally!—to care where he took her. His tongue made love to hers. His hands clutched her hips, fingers digging sharply. Then she was tipping over, a cool, soft mattress pressing into her back. His weight pinned her deliciously.
And it shouldn’t have been delicious. This was not a position she allowed. Ever. It caged her wings, and her wings were the source of her strength. Without them, she was almost as weak as a human. But this was Lysander, honest to a fault, and she’d wanted him forever, it seemed. And as wary as he’d been about this sort of thing, she was afraid any type of rebuke would send him flying away.
Besides, he could do anything he wanted to her like this…
“No one is to enter,” he said roughly.
Moaning, she wound her legs around his waist, tilted her head to receive his newest kiss and enjoyed a deeper thrust of his tongue. White lightning, the man was a fast learner. Very fast. He was now an expert at kissing. The best she’d ever had. By the time she finished with him, he’d be an expert at everything carnal.
His cock, hard and long and thick, rode the apex of her thighs. She could feel every inch of him through the softness of his robe. His arms enveloped her, and when she opened her eyes—they were inside his cloud, she realized—she saw his golden wings were spread, forming a blanket over them.
She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled from the kiss. “Are you going to get into trouble for this?” she asked, panting. Wait. What? Where had that thought come from?
His eyes narrowed. “Do you care?”
“No,” she lied, forcing a grin. No, no, no. That wasn’t a lie. “But that adds a little extra danger, don’t you think?” There. Better. That was more like her normal self. She didn’t like his goodness, didn’t want to preserve it and keep him safe.
Did she?
“Well, I will not get into trouble.” He flattened his palms at her temples, boxing her in and taking the bulk of his own weight. “If that is the only reason you are here, you can leave.”
How fierce he appeared. “So sensitive, angel.” She hooked her fingers at the neck of his robe and tugged. The material ripped easily. But as she held it, it began to weave itself back together. Frowning, she ripped again, harder this time, until there was a big enough gap to shove the clothing from his shoulders and off his arms. “I was only teasing.”
His chest was magnificent. A work of art. Muscled and sun-kissed and devoid of any hair. She lifted her head and licked the pulse at the base of his neck, then traced his collarbone, then circled one of his nipples. “Do you like?”
“Hot. Wet,” he rasped, lids squeezed tight.
“Yeah, but do you like?”
“Yes.”
She sucked a peak until he gasped, then kissed away the sting. A tremor of pleasure rocked him, which caused a lance of pride to work through her. “Why do you desire me, angel? Why do you care if I’m good or not?”
A pause. A tortured, “Your skin…”
Every muscle in her body stiffened, and she glared up at him. “So any Harpy will do?” She tried to hide her insult, but didn’t quite manage it. The thought of another Harpy—hell, any other woman, immortal or not—enjoying him roused her most vicious instincts. Her nails lengthened, and her teeth sharpened. A red haze dotted her line of vision. Mine, she thought. She would kill anyone who touched him. “We all have this skin, you know?” The words were guttural, scraping her throat.
His lashes separated as his eyes opened. His pupils were dilated, his expression tightening with…an emotion she didn’t recognize. “Yes, but only yours tempts me. Why is that?”
“Oh,” was all she could first think to say, her anger draining completely. But she needed to respond, had to think of something light, easy. “To answer your question, you want me because I’m made of awesome. And guess what? I will make you so happy you said that, warrior.”
Warrior, rather than angel. She’d never called him that before. Why? And why now?
“No. I will make you happy.” He ripped her shirt just as she had done his robe. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts sprang free. Another tremor moved through him as he lowered his head.
He licked and sucked one nipple, as she had done to him, then the other, feasting. Savoring. Soon she was arching and writhing against him, craving his mouth elsewhere. Her skin was sensitized, her body desperate for release. Yet she didn’t want to rush him. She was still afraid of scaring him away. But damn him, if he didn’t hurry, didn’t touch her between her legs, she was going to die.
“Lysander,” she said on a trembling breath.
His wings brushed both her arms, up and down, tickling, caressing, raising goosebumps on her flesh. Holy hell, that was good. So damn good.
He lifted from her completely.
“Wh-what are you doing? I wasn’t going to tell you to leave,” she screeched, bracing her weight on her elbows.
“I do not want anything between us.” He shoved the robe down his legs until he was gloriously naked. Moisture gleamed at the head of his cock, and her mouth watered. Reaching out, he gripped her boots and tore them off. Her jeans quickly followed. She, of course, was not wearing any panties.
His gaze drank her in, and she knew what he saw. Her flushed, glowing skin. The aching juncture between her legs. Her rose-tinted nipples.
“I want to touch and taste every inch,” he said and just kind of fell on her, as if his will to resist had abandoned him completely.
“Touch and taste every inch next time.” Please let there be a next time. She tried to hook her legs around his waist again. “I need release now.”
He grabbed her by the knees and spread her. Her head fell back, her hair tangling around her, and he kissed a path to her breasts, then to her stomach. He lingered at her navel until she was moaning.
“Lysander,” she said again. Fine. She’d jump on this grenade if she had to; if he wanted to taste, he could taste. “More. I need more.”
Rather than give it to her, he stilled. “I…took care of myself before following you this day,” he admitted, cheeks pinkening. “I thought that would give me resistance against you.”
Her eyes widened, shock pouring through her. “You pleasured yourself?”
A stiff nod.
“Did you think of me?”
Another nod.
“Oh, baby. That’s good. I can picture it, and I love what I see.” His hand on his cock, stroking up and down, eyes closed, features tight with arousal, body straining toward release. Wings spread as he fell to his knees, the pleasure too much. Her, naked in his mind. “What did you think about doing?”
Another pause. A hesitant response. “Licking. Between your legs. Tasting you, as I said.”
She arched her back, hands skimming down her middle to her thighs. Although he already held her open, she pushed her legs farther apart. “Then do it. Lick me. I want it so bad. Want your tongue on me. See how wet I am?”
He hissed in a breath. “Yes. Yes.” Leaning down, he started at her ankles and kissed his way up, lingering at the back of her knees, at the crease of her legs.
“Please,” she said, so on edge she was ready to scream. “Please. Do it.”
“Yes,” he whispered again. “Yes.” Finally he settled over her, mouth poised, ready. His tongue flicked out. Then, sweet contact.
She expected the touch, but nothing could have prepared her for the perfection of it. She did scream, shivered. Begged for more. “Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, please.”
At first, he merely lapped at her, humming his approval at her taste. Thank the gods. Or God. Or whoever was responsible for this man. If he hadn’t liked her in that way, she wasn’t sure what she would have done. In that moment, she wanted—needed—to be everything he wanted—needed. She wanted him to crave every part of her, as she craved every part of him.
Even his goodness?
Yes, she thought, finally admitting it. Yes. Just then, she had no def
enses; she’d been stripped to her soul. His goodness somehow balanced her out. She’d fought against it—and still had no plans to change—but they were two extremes and actually complemented each other, each giving the other what he or she lacked. In her case, the knowledge that some things were worth taking seriously. In his, that it wasn’t a crime to have fun.
“Bianka,” he moaned. “Tell me how…what…”
“More. Don’t stop.”
Soon his tongue was darting in and out of her, mimicking the act of sex. She grasped at the sheets, fisting them. She writhed, meeting his every thrust. She screamed again, moaned and begged some more.
Finally, she splintered apart. Bit down on her bottom lip until she tasted blood. White lights danced over her eyes—from her skin, she realized. Her skin was so bright it was almost blinding, glowing like a lamp, something that had never happened before.
Then Lysander was looming above her. “You are not fertile,” he rasped. Sweat beaded him.
That gave her fuzzy mind pause. “I know.” Her words were as labored as his. Harpies were only fertile once a year and this wasn’t her time. “But how do you know that?”
“Sense it. Always know that kind of thing. So…are you ready?” he asked, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
He must not know proper etiquette, the darling virgin. He would learn. With her, there was no etiquette. Doing what felt good was the only thing that drove her.
“Not yet.” She flattened her hands on his shoulders and pushed him to his back, careful of his wings. He didn’t protest or fight her as she straddled his waist and gripped his cock by the base. Her wings fluttered in joy at their freedom. “Better?”
He licked his lips, nodded. His wings lifted, enveloped her, caressing her. Her head fell, the long length of her hair tickling his thighs. He trembled.
Would he regret this? she suddenly wondered. She didn’t want him to hate her for supposedly ruining him.
“Are you ready?” she asked. “There’s no taking it back once it’s done.” If he wasn’t ready, well, she would…wait, she realized. Yes, she would wait until he was ready. Only he would do. No other. Her body only wanted him.
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