A Very Demon Christmas [Demon Hunters 1] (5 page)

"Hold still.” He slapped her butt smartly.

His command alone had halted her squirming. The spanking was definitely overkill in more ways than one. Her sex swelled and gushed—eager for more. Eager for him.

Now I'm a masochist?
Perhaps she was. The idea seemed more probable since her face had heated more. No doubt she was as red as her missing bustier. Her nipples were bunched tight enough to qualify as dangerous weapons, and her pussy throbbed with its own pulse and grew wetter with a shocking gush of cream.

She couldn't deny the response was at least in part because of his slap on her derriere, especially not with her bottom stinging and the rest of her craving more of his erotic punishment.

"One last knot.” His fingers moved, and the rope loosened, easing the pressure on the swollen tissue of her overstimulated sex.

The coiling inside her belly relaxed, making her conscious of just how tense she'd been. Her breathing and pulse slowed with relief. The binding was almost over, and she'd survived.

Master rotated her so that her back was to the crowd. Then his clever fingers spread her cheeks and pressed the last knot against the furled entrance to her rear passage. “Very pretty."

The hemp creaked as he tightened the fit and worked the last of the rope against the small of her back. “Since Holly is a very special Christmas present, I'm finishing the sakura with a bow."

Applause from the crowd roared in her ears. Light-headed, she swayed. Master was right there, slipping a strong arm around her waist and tucking her against his side—anchoring her. His warm lips brushed her cheek. “You did well, baby."

Something changed. The audience noise lessened because she could hear Master's steady breathing and heartbeat. Had he been nervous about the demonstration? She didn't think that was right, but something had unsettled him. Whatever had ruffled his usual confidence was gone.

While her mind teased at the mystery of what had upset his iron control, he interrupted her thoughts. “Time for your reward."

Her imagination careened on a new course, speculating about what kind of reward he had in mind. Kinky possibilities made her breath catch in anticipation. Were people still watching? Did she care? Surprisingly, she didn't mind more than a little. The fires he lit smoldered, and she wanted a bonfire. She waited impatiently for him to remove the blindfold.

Master traced the shell of her ear, leaving the blindfold in place. Moving at a geriatric patient's leisurely pace, his touch followed the tendons in her neck to the hollow where her pulse fluttered wildly. Nibbling kisses traveled the same trail his clever fingers had blazed.

Perhaps it was his intoxicating scent, perhaps the blindfold heightened her other senses, or perhaps Master was simply very good at making love, because she was already poised on the brink of orgasm. Then he lifted her as if she were a blow-up doll instead of very solid woman and sat her on something hard and smooth.

The cool wood beneath her bottom warmed as the hemp knots between her legs pressed against her swollen sex. An earthy fragrance—a combination of her arousal and the damp rope—added fresh provocation to the smells teasing her. She shifted her weight. The rope creaked and rubbed her excited folds. He hadn't given her specific permission to come, but the bikini portion of the demonstration was over. She held very still, unsure what he wanted.

Master's rough hands worked gently to adjust the hemp bra. He brushed her swollen nipples, and she whimpered. Instantly his mouth was there, laving her—soothing the tiny injury. Her back arched, her body involuntarily seeking more. She needed more of his magic caresses to ease the pain and to light fires in the unexplored territory of new erogenous zones, as well as to keep her familiar hot spots sizzling.

He caught her mouth in a drugging kiss.

His dark-chocolate taste, his power, his dominance overwhelmed her and made her long for his complete possession. When the kiss ended, she wriggled, trying to get closer. The rope thong's three flat knots tortured her clit, the entrance to her pussy, and her anus. They spread her sex and kept her cheeks parted. No doubt the hemp knots were expertly fashioned, but they felt huge, coarse, and much too stimulating. Her pleasure receptors went into overload and then shut down. The longed-for climax that had seemed so close a few moments ago retreated. It was an old pattern. One that she was all too familiar with. She'd get stimulated, hope for release, but no orgasm ever happened, just hours of misery before her irritated tissues recovered. True to the depressing pattern, she was still swollen, wet, and edgy, but her slightly achy slit was almost numb, and she no longer had any hope of relief.

Carefully, he eased the rope around her hip. His calloused fingers parted her folds and coaxed the first knot away from her engorged clit. He touched her with featherlight caresses, taking plenty of time. Gradually, his gentle ministrations lessened the buzzing numbness. Sweet-hot sensation fluttered back to life and slowly spread from her rigid clit to her core and throughout every portion of her body.

By the time he stopped, she was so aroused that she bit her lip to keep from moaning with need. This was the first time she'd ever regained the wild yearning for release. What if she still couldn't reach orgasm? She grabbed his wrist. “Please spank me again, Master."

The strong arm beneath her grip seemed to grow more rigid. “Are you giving me orders?"

His tone suggested that would be a very bad idea. Anxious to make amends, she slid off the bench and stumbled. He caught her and steadied her by curling one hand around her hip.

Oriented by his touch, she slipped out of his hold, sank to her knees, spread her thighs, and clasped her hands behind her head, taking the same pose she'd seen the redhead submissive use earlier, when Holly had first entered the club.

"I'm sorry, Master. It's just—” She bit back an urge to explain.

"Go on.” His harsh voice brooked no argument.

She cleared her throat of nervousness. “When you spanked me, it excited me. A lot, Master."

"And you thought I didn't notice this?"

"I wasn't sure, Master.” She bowed her head. At the moment she wasn't very sure about much of anything, especially her reactions to him. His dominance, sternness, and even the pain of his discipline—especially the pain, at least the kind of pain he delivered with the flat of his hand smacking her bare bottom—turned her on in a way she'd never dreamed.

He growled something that sounded almost as if he'd said,
I notice everything about you.

Hope sent fresh sparks of desire skittering throughout every cell in her body. Were people still watching? For a moment, she worried but didn't care enough to miss one second of her erotic adventure.

"I turned off the lights. No one can see us."

A slight shiver made the tiny hairs on her arms rise.
Did he just read my mind?

"I can't read your mind, just your face and your body.” He sounded almost disappointed as he answered her unspoken question.

Tilting her head, she tried to catch nuances that were probably imaginary. It was just the blindfold amplifying her other senses and making her susceptible to wild flights of fancy. Strange, since she was usually a very sensible woman. Or sensible as long as she didn't count her visit to La Ceinture Noire, letting herself be stripped and bound for an audience or...

She never should have started thinking about any of this.

She felt exposed, dirty, and tried to stop the runaway train crashing through her mind. A sudden wave of dizziness would've threatened her balance if she hadn't already been kneeling on the floor. Her chest felt tight, and she couldn't draw a decent breath.

Master's familiar palm curved around the back of her neck and gently guided her head between her knees. “Slow deep breaths. You're hyperventilating, baby."

Between slowing pants she said, “I'm so sorry that I spoiled your show, Master."

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The brave little slave is having a panic attack. And she's concerned about spoiling my demonstration? My shibari weaves never looked better.
“Don't worry. The audience gave up and wandered off when I turned out the lights."

"Oh, good—"

"Shhh, no talking,” he said firmly because his urge to be tender scared him, and he knew his dominance gave her security.

She responded beautifully. Damn, she got to him. She'd followed his commands with the naive perfection of a natural sexual submissive—absolutely his kind of woman. His protective feelings for her and his reluctance to let her go drove home why he couldn't keep her.

Holly was a weakness he couldn't afford. She was human and much too vulnerable. Demon hunter pretty much defined high-risk career. The work was vital, and he was uniquely qualified.

With more strength, speed, and vigor than any human male, he had to keep his demon gifts in check when he dealt with humans, especially at the club. On the job, he had the opposite problem. He had less strength, speed, and vigor than any adult male demon. His ability to alter both memory and mood was what made him a formidable hunter.

Thinking about a hunt tightened his gut with a toxic combination of determination, regret, and fear. He didn't fear his own death. A violent end was pretty much a given for every demon hunter. If he failed to eliminate a rogue, then innocent lives would be lost—starting with his. A rogue demon was a powerful, hungry monster without mercy or conscience. Too easily he could imagine Holly tracked and caught by a rogue, a real danger for anyone close to him. Rogues were male demons with every bit of their power and cunning, but stripped of a conscience or a survival instinct. A rogue was instant gratification in action and always hungry.

No one knew precisely what caused a male to go rogue. War, stress, or loss of a mate were common factors, but sometimes a seemingly stable male could succumb to the phenomenon with no discernible trigger. Whatever the cause, there was no cure and no turning back. Once a male was rogue, he was a danger to humans and demons alike and had to be eliminated.

Swift execution by the secret cadre of demon hunters was the only thing that kept rogues from endangering the other preternatural communities, wreaking havoc on the human population, and exposing demon society to the unsuspecting humans.

Every extraordinary species was more powerful than their human neighbors. But they were seriously outnumbered. No one wanted the kind of persecution that had happened in the past. In order to live in peace, keeping off the grid was mission critical. This made all interspecies relationships difficult. For a danger magnet like him...a vulnerable human girlfriend was out of the question.

Colin understood reality, understood the dangers more thoroughly than a civilian demon ever would, but he hated not having a future with Holly. Even though he could erase her memories of him over and over, each time would steal a little more of her mental stability until she would be lost—never knowing what was real and what was a dream. As much as he wanted to claim her as his permanent slave, it wasn't happening.

When the next few hours were over, she would remember nothing about him. Because he would alter her memories of the time they'd spent together, as always. Making sure she forgot him was another necessity that rasped against his instincts like the horrible grating of goblin talons clawing a metal door.

He could and would watch over her as long as he lived. And he had the infinite now, which was too damn brief, while she still knew him and responded to his touch.

From the main arena came a muffled roar of laugher. The happy sound was followed by a round of applause. The slave auction had started. Colin continued rubbing lazy circles on Holly's soft back, slowly working the tension out of the fine muscles and calming her panic.

He considered simply altering her mood. But once he manipulated her feelings, then her natural response to him would be slower and more muted for several hours. He wanted her real reactions—good, bad, or indifferent—to everything that happened between them.

There were lots of things he wanted with her—too many, and they only started with fucking her. He didn't even care how—he just wanted to be inside her as often and as long as possible.

Her breathing and pulse had slowed to normal. Carefully, he helped her stand, parked his butt on the spanking bench, and nestled her between his thighs.

"Come here.” He pulled her in tighter until the achy weight of his cock rested against the soft curve of her belly.

Holly reached for him. He captured both delicate wrists in one hand and pressed an openmouthed kiss to her palm. A quick intake of breath was his reward. “Hands behind your head."

Her quick obedience tugged on tender feelings that were far more dangerous than rogue demons. Those monsters might kill him. But Holly was stealing little pieces of his heart.

He ate danger for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Playing it safe had never been his style, and he wasn't going to run from the attraction flaring between them. He could control it. He had to for her sake, if not his own.

Her pose and his red hemp weave showcased her full creamy breasts. Using thumbs to torture her swollen nipples with tender flicks, he stored away the small sounds of her sensual distress and inhaled her sweet addictive fragrance before leaning to suck one distended peak, and then the other, into his starving mouth. She tasted more delicious than she smelled—a combination of cocoa, mint, and passion that belonged to him alone.

After a few minutes of his attention, her nipples were dark, wet, and even more swollen. If he'd been able to stop tasting the ripe berries, he would've clamped her nipples simply for the pleasure of soothing the sting after he took off the small vises. Since he wasn't in the mood to deny his need to suck, he contented himself with tightening the strands holding her breasts. He ran a finger under the narrow rope cupping the firm globes. “Too tight?"

A little whimper of feminine need teased him; then she said, “No, Master."

"That's my brave little slave."