Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (22 page)

“Rebekah, I have wanted you for so long.”

His deep, raspy voice sent a shiver of longing down her spine. Heat bloomed in her breasts and belly at his touch. The hard ridge of his erection rubbed the throbbing place between her legs. Her greedy body, so long denied, tightened in anticipation.

“Your jeans,” she gasped between searing kisses. “Hurry.”

She felt him fumble with the metal fastening at his waist. The hot, hard length of him pushed against the damp patch of nylon between her legs. She was wet and aching for him. With a sound of impatience, he ripped off her panties and pushed inside her, filling her, stretching her, impaling her on his cock.

Oh, God, it felt wonderful. Beck clenched around him, sobbing.

He stilled. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she said. She grabbed his massive shoulders and held on. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He moved his hips, slowly at first, and then faster, driving his body into hers, taking her higher.

She threw her head back and let the pleasure take her, riding the wave to the crest and over the top. One, two, three more hard delicious strokes and Conall came with a ragged shout, sending little pulses of pleasure through her. The throb of his flesh inside her sent her spiraling into a second orgasm.

Now you’ve done it, Beck thought, floating back down from bliss.
That was perfect, and you know it. And you can’t wait to do it again, can you, Little Miss Horny Pants?

Yeah.

T
he strength of Conall’s sexual release shook him to the core. He had hungered for Rebekah for months. Pleasure and satisfaction he’d expected from their joining, but this . . .

He waited for the familiar postcoital emptiness that inevitably followed a session in the House of Thralls, but it did not come. Instead, he was flooded with sensation, his body and mind attuned to the woman in his arms. The satin feel of Rebekah’s skin beneath his palms, the graze of her soft breasts against his bare chest, the scent of heated jasmine that clung to her hair and body filled his senses. Sweetest of all, the exquisite pull of her womanly flesh around him as she climaxed again.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Her luscious mouth curved in a smile of satisfaction, her cheeks were flushed, her skin dewy from the heat of their sensual play. He nuzzled her neck, tasting her, delighting in her shiver of response. A hint of salt clung to her skin. Bits of leaves and straw clung to her hair from her long flight through the woods. A smudge of dirt marred one cheek. Ugly bruises dotted her arms and knees.

A sweet, sharp pain pierced the hollow of his chest, robbing him of breath. Something inside Conall cracked open—the last of the ice encasing his warrior’s heart. She was disheveled and dirty and clad in naught but a pair of muddy boots, and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The knowledge settled in his bones. The events of the day, the terror and regret he’d felt when he’d feared Rebekah might be hurt or dying at the hands of the djegrali, had torn down the barriers his intractable, rational mind had erected.

He loved her. He could no longer deny the stunning truth of it. For centuries, his existence had been duty and the Dalvahni way. It was all he knew, all he’d thought he wanted or needed, all that existed for him.

And his reward for such devotion? The universe had set him squarely in the path of a half-demon enchantress who’d shattered his every belief and turned him inside out. The universe was a strange and unfathomable thing, marvelous and capricious in its perversity.

Rebekah wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “Hmm, that was nice,” she said, arching her hips against him to the delight of his eager cock.

“Nice?” Conall raised his brows. “More than merely nice, methinks.”

“Ooh, someone has a high opinion of himself.”

Her face was upturned, her lips mere inches from his. She had a beautiful mouth, wide with a slight indention in the bottom lip, that fascinating sweet spot he had longed to explore for months. Giving in to temptation, he bent his head and touched the dimple in her pouty lower lip with his tongue, enjoying her quiver of response. Her eyes drifted shut, her lashes feathery crescents against her flushed cheeks.

He wanted her again already, hungered for her.

“It can hardly be conceit when the result is so evident,” he murmured against her mouth. “Behold what we have wrought.”

She opened her eyes and looked around. “What the—?” she said in shock.

Blue light pulsed around them and shot in whizzing sparks around the room. But that was the least of it. The cooling mechanism humans call a refrigerator had malfunctioned, spitting out cubes of ice onto the floor, the kitchen pipe was running and so was every machine and device in the house, including the squawking box called a television.

Her startled gaze met his. “We did this?”

She jerked in surprise as the refrigerator spewed out another stream of ice. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”

“It is understandable. We were . . . uh . . . otherwise engaged. Battle adrenaline is likely to blame.”

“Good to know we won’t cause a blackout every time we have sex. That is, if we have sex again.”

Conall tugged her closer. “If?”

Mr. Cat streaked out of the kitchen, a small mechanized dirt-sucking device in hot pursuit.

“Mr. Cat,” Rebekah cried. A jolt of pleasure-pain shot through his cock as she wiggled out of his arms. “I’ve got to save him. He’s terrified of the vacuum cleaner.”

Bemused, Conall watched her dart after the cat like a startled nymph. There was much to be said, he reflected as he went about the business of turning off the various electrical devices and shutting the water tap, for keeping one’s lady love naked. Particularly when the lady in question was a lithe beauty with high, full breasts, a narrow waist and flat stomach, and long, supple legs.

Rebekah clomped back into the room in her boots, the wild-eyed feline clutched against her breasts. “Poor baby,” she cooed. “He’s had a bad scare.”

She made a sound of dismay as the feline jumped down and stalked away, tail twitching in outrage. Conall opened the door with a wave of his hand, and the cat streaked into the darkness.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Rebekah said, her brow creasing in worry. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

Conall swept her into his arms. “He will return. He loves you.” Unable to resist, he stroked her bottom lip with his tongue once more. He would never tire of the taste of her. “He will not be able to stay away.”

She blinked up at him. “Think so?”

He looked into her eyes, and the strange ache returned to his chest. The air grew thin and hard to breathe, and the room seemed to tilt beneath his feet.

“Yes,” he croaked. By the sword, she sundered his every resistance. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I am certain of it.”

He carried her into the bathing chamber, set her down, and pointed to the tub. “Run a bath whilst I fetch us something to eat.”

He left her standing there and fled into the kitchen, as though all the fiends from the darkest recesses of The Pit were at his heels. He opened the door to the cooling device and stared blindly inside. Should he tell her that he loved her? Was it too soon? What if he was mistaken? What if his reaction to her was the result of proximity and sexual deprivation?

Best to wait. His feelings were still too raw and confused, and he too unsteadied by emotion.

He looked down at his shaking hands. Ah, gods, but he was undone.

Perhaps he should speak to someone, one of his brothers. Brand and Ansgar had passed through a similar fire. They could give him counsel.

Alas, Brand and Ansgar were away with their new wives. They would not thank him for disturbing their . . . er . . . celebrations.

His brother Rafe perhaps? He resided in Hannah with Bunny, his pregnant wife. Bunny’s pregnancy had caused Conall no small amount of concern. To his knowledge, ’twas the first time one of the Dal had produced progeny. The thralls were sterile and the Dalvahni, out of habit and custom, confined their appetites to them.

Until recently, that is, when certain of their numbers had come here in pursuit of the djegrali. The rules did not apply, it seemed, in Hannah.

The Great Book instructed the Dal to spend their lust and rid themselves of excess emotion in the House of Thralls. But, the thought of returning to the cool, draining clasp of a thrall held no thrill for Conall, not after the warmth and fire he’d found with Rebekah. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, the look on her lovely face when he brought her to pleasure, and his own shattering release within her delectable body.

She was an intriguing mixture of strength and vulnerability, his Rebekah. Her father might not have outwardly abused her, but his denial and revulsion of her demon nature had left its mark.

Conall’s jaw tightened. Jason Damian was an insensitive clod. Rebekah thought she should not have children, that she was
unworthy
. At her father’s behest, she had taken steps to prevent such a thing when little more than a child.

Conall would gladly thrash the man within an inch of his life but for the knowledge that he had committed the same transgression. He, too, had condemned and rejected her for her demon blood. The memory of his blind censure made him squirm.

This then, was what humans called regret. He did not care for the feeling.

She had been in harm’s way this day because of him. That, also, he bitterly regretted. Using his Dalvahni powers to repair her injuries had done little to assuage his guilt. He grimaced. Guilt; another new experience. How did humans bear the dizzying onslaught of emotions?

His eyes widened at a sudden thought. What if he had repaired the damage to her reproductive organs when he’d healed her other hurts? His hand tightened on the cooler door. Nay, such a thing was not likely. He had not deliberately done so. Even if such a thing were possible, it did not mean he could sire a child with Rebekah.

He would not think on it yet. The Great Book said, “Worry not about wetting your boots ere you reach the river.”

He and Rebekah had but dipped their toes in the water.

 

Beck saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Eek! Her hair was windblown and full of leaves, and she was covered in dirt and mud. She’d scare a flock of crows off a dead cow.

She examined her face. A few pale pink stripes were all that remained of the ugly claw marks on her cheek. Her bruises were already fading, and her arm was back to normal, thanks to a certain demon hunter and his magical powers.

She pulled off her boots and socks, grimacing at the orange gunk smeared on them. Good thing she had wooden floors. Alabama red clay was hell on carpets.

Selecting a bar of Evie’s jasmine-scented goat’s milk soap, she sank into the bath. The oversized, freestanding oval tub had been her one splurge in the bathroom. The tiny apartment she’d grown up in had boasted a cramped tub/shower combination. At five-feet-nine, she’d outgrown the small bathtub by the time she was eleven. By necessity, it had been showers from then on.

She still opted for a shower most days for speed and convenience, but she adored an occasional soak in the tub. She’d special-ordered the composite stone bath from a shop in Mobile, selecting the largest one she could find to accommodate her long legs. Toby would croak if he knew how much the thing cost, but it was worth every penny.

She washed her hair and body, using the handheld attachment on the side of the tub. The water felt wonderful, and she took her time. She was sore all over. Even
there,
she thought with a smile, remembering Conall’s passionate possession.

Being with Conall had been the hottest, most explosive, most deliciously glorious sex of her life. Not that she’d had much experience. She’d spent pretty much her whole life in the bar, and there wasn’t much to choose from around here, unless you counted Earl Skinner and his circus dick.

Which she most certainly did
not.

She couldn’t wait to be with Conall again. She sat up in the water. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he was already bored with her? He’d probably been with scads of women, beautiful,
sophisticated
women. The thought shouldn’t bother her. It wasn’t like she and Conall were in a relationship. But it did bother her. A lot.

Conall entered the room carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea and a plate of fruit and cheese. He was still shirtless and his jeans rode his lean hips, exposing his broad chest, muscled arms, and washboard stomach. Lord a-mercy, he was a fine specimen. Looking at him made her brain short-circuit and sent the rest of her into full-blown lust.

He set the platter down on the counter. “Why are you scowling?”

Beck sank deeper into the water. “I’m not scowling. See?” She pinned him with a bright smile. “Um, look . . . It’s been nice and all, but don’t feel like you’ve got to stay. I mean, if you’ve got someplace else to be.”

“Where else would I be?”

Hooking the vanity stool with one foot, he dragged it over to the tub and sat down. He’d taken off his shoes and was barefoot. Even his feet were beautiful, lean and strong and bronzed, like the rest of him.

Oh, jeez, now she was fixating on the guy’s
feet.
What the hell was the matter with her?

She cleared her throat. “I dunno, wherever it is you go when you’re not
here.
I . . . uh . . . don’t want you to think you have to hang around because we had sex.” She tucked her legs close to her body and studied her kneecaps like they were the most interesting things in the world. “I mean, I’m totally cool with it if you need to leave.”

What? She had no claim on him and vice versa. This was a fling. Fun and exhilarating, but it wouldn’t last.

Thoughts of vibrators disintegrated as Conall leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. Beck’s mouth went dry. It was a slight, ordinary movement performed by ordinary mortals throughout the world on any given day. All the guy did was rest his elbows on his knees, for God’s sake. But he raised it to an art form, a miniature ballet of muscle and sinew that was captivating. She could not look away. His lean belly rippled, creating a fascinating, deep ridge down the middle of his abs. God, he was beautiful. She wanted to lick that hard cleft. She wanted to drink champagne out of it. She wanted to—

“And if I stay?” he said, interrupting her lusty thoughts. “Is that a matter of indifference to you as well?”