Demon's Hunger (12 page)

"I'll die if I don't have you." She jerked in shock as she said the words, realizing in that instant that she believed them. The need to touch him, to taste him, to feel him pumping deep inside her, was a living torment coiling through her. "Is that what you meant about dark magic? That these feelings are outside my control?"

His mouth thinned, and she saw speculation and wariness and concern in his gaze. "No. The vestige of demon magic isn't strong enough to follow us out here. Which means that whatever the hell you're feeling, whatever the hell I'm feeling, is real. And it's ours. Something between us. No dark magic involved."

He was stunned by that, shocked that he wanted her as she wanted him, that, somehow, she'd made a little crack in his wall.

"If it's any consolation," she said, "I'm as freaked out as you are."

"No." He made a hushed laugh, low and incredibly sexy. "It's no consolation."

She could hear the sound of her own harsh gasps.

"Then let me have you," she whispered.

His head snapped back as he sucked in a breath; then his gaze raked her slowly, lingering, his eyes going black as his pupils dilated.

"Fuck," he said. One word, rasped in his smoky voice, hard-edged with lust.

Touch me. Oh, God, please touch me.

With a low growl, he hauled her up against him.

For an instant, Dain just held Vivien, his heart pounding in time with hers, his chin resting against the crown of her head, rubbing lightly over the spiky wisps of her hair.

The taut lines of his muscles were flush with hers, rigid testament to his hard-won control. She wanted none of his restraint and all of his fervor. She craved him, a dark forbidden need.

"This is not a good idea," he rasped, but still he held her close, the faintly citrus scent of his skin beguiling her, making her want to lean close and breathe him in until she was filled.

Deliberately, she shifted her hips against his.

Catching her wrists, he dragged her hands up above her head and pinned her with the weight of his body against the frigid brick wall. He was wire-tight, in control, and she wanted to break down that wall, free the power she felt pulsing just beneath the surface.

He looked down at her, unblinking, his features hard and beautiful, shadowed by the night.

"Please," she whispered.

A myriad of emotions chased across his features. Speculation. Bewilderment. Wariness. Lust.

He still held her wrists in his grasp, and she liked that, liked the feeling of him holding her, while at the same time she ached to drag her hands free, to shove them under his shirt, touch the heat of his skin.

Letting his weight come fully against her, he moved his free hand to her nape, tipping her face to his, and he kissed her. Rough. Urgent. His lips hard on her own.

She moaned, heat scorching through her, a fever, a blazing desert sun. There was no cold brick wall, no bitter wind, only Dain, the heat of him, the press of his body, a delicious, heavy weight.

Hard, demanding, his mouth moved on hers, his tongue tasting her, licking her lips, her teeth, twining with her tongue until she thought of nothing but the lush taste of him.

The scrape of his teeth over her lower lip made her moan. Luscious, urgent pleasure. She'd never felt this way. Never wanted anything, anyone, the way she wanted Dain Hawkins, like she had a killing thirst that only he could slake.

She loved the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the crushing sensation of his body pressed to hers.

Yanking her hands free of his grasp, she shoved them under his shirt, drew her nails along his skin. Hot. Smooth. The ridges of his abdomen—layers of lean muscle—twitched at her touch, his response making the burning current of her desire coil through her veins, setting her on fire.

She tore her mouth from his and licked the base of his throat, tasting a faint hint of salt. With a sultry laugh, she closed her teeth on skin and muscle, and was rewarded by a hiss of pleasure.

Longing twisted in her gut, so keen, so deep.

He groaned and slid his hands down her back to her buttocks, dragging her tighter against him, dragging his teeth along her neck. Then he took her mouth with his, claiming her, wet and rough.

Aggressive.

She hadn't known she would like that. But she did. Oh, God, she did.

The taste of him was like wine, like chocolate, like whipped cream, decadent and wicked. With a moan, she thrust her tongue into his mouth, feeling the smooth edge of his teeth.

Her hunger swelled and thrashed and grew.

Suddenly, her body, her tissues and cells, were like sand, sifting within her, whirling like a storm. The sensation was frightening, something she'd experienced… when? Oh, God.
This
was her warning every time she blacked out.
This
was the sensation of her body, her grasp on reality, sifting away from her.

There was something to this, something she ought to notice, to understand, but it evaded her, was just beyond her grasp.

Dain stilled, stroking his palm along her back, a soothing caress. Tears pricked her eyes. He'd sensed the change in her, connected on some level though they barely knew each other. How was that possible?

Emotion swelled, not just lust but something else, something that was based on liking him and wanting him and aching just to be close to him.

The scent of him, so lush and male, tantalized her, and she couldn't think, couldn't draw a full breath. His mouth pressed to hers, hard, wet, and hungry; the stubble of his jaw was rough against her skin, an erotic rasp that made her shiver.

Dain stroked his hand up under her T-shirt, along her ribs to the underside of her breast, and stopped there, his fingers warm against her skin. Heat spiraled through her, a flash fire, and she arched her back, aching for his touch. Her fingers curled into the muscle of his shoulder as he shifted his hand to run the pad of his thumb over her nipple.

"Oh, God," she exhaled, the sound turning to a soft cry as he took her nipple between his fingers, rolled it, squeezed it. She cried out, harsh, guttural, her passion so rich she could barely stand.

Pushing his knee between her thighs, he pinned her against the wall, his hard, hard body pressed against hers.

The solid ridge of his erection was thick in his jeans. Reaching down, she traced him through the cloth, the broad head and thick base. The harsh rasp of his breath spoke of arousal, excitement.

Longing cycled through her, higher, tighter. She wanted the solid, smooth length of him in her mouth. She wanted to suck on him, draw on him.

She felt like she needed him as she needed the breath in her lungs.

Fill me. Fill me. Let me take you, let me slake the hunger.

Her nipples ached. Her sex ached.

Wet. Ready. She was so ready.

Dain moved against her, dragging up her T-shirt. She clung to him as his mouth closed around her nipple, a hard suction, his teeth scraping on the sensitive peak. Her legs buckled, and only the press of his body held her upright.

Yes. Yes
. She sifted her fingers through his thick silky hair, holding him against her. The scent of him—male, hot, sensual—teased her, intensely erotic.

Opening her eyes, she saw pale light all around them, shimmering, dancing. They were wrapped in a bright glow.

She blinked.

No. Not wrapped.
Bound
.

And the light fed her hunger.

Dain gritted his teeth. They were both still fully clothed, and yet desire cycled through him, leaving him so aroused he straddled the edge between pain and pleasure. From low in his throat, a dark groan escaped him.

With her nails curled into the skin of his back and her teeth closed against the corded muscle of his neck, Vivien undulated against him. She made him so hard he thought he'd burst.

"Please," she whispered. And all he could think about was getting inside her.

Inside Vivien.

His
Vivien.

Damsel in distress. Warrior vixen.

He wanted to keep her safe, and he wanted her at his back in a fight. She called to him on so many levels, eased through his barriers as if they were smoke. Because she could understand. Vivien could understand about loss and betrayals and walls put up to keep out the pain. Vivien could understand him if he let her.

She'd cooked him dinner, for Christ's sake. When was the last time anyone had done anything like that for him? When was the last time he'd had anyone in his life who'd cared enough to bother? When was the last time he'd wanted to let anyone get that close?

But she was human. Mortal.

Christ. She had him breaking all his rules.

She could never be just one night.

"Hungry. So hungry," she breathed, reaching for him, stroking him through the worn denim of his jeans, making his pulse hammer.

His cock jumped as he rocked against her hand.

Yanking down the zipper of her jeans, he slid his fingers into her underwear, feeling soft skin and silk and lace. Pounding need ramped him up, but there was something else in the mix, a soul-deep attraction.

Even his magic was drawn to her, called up without his conscious will in a glittering halo that crackled about them. Christ, that was new.

He kissed the curve of her breast and the sweet spot at the hollow of her throat. Her breath left her on a sultry little moan.

Everything about Vivien pleased him, drew him, made him want things he hadn't allowed himself to think about for centuries.

Beneath his touch, her skin was smooth, hot, and he pushed his hand lower, right between her thighs.

He meant to go nice and slow, to ease his fingers inside her. She was so wet, tight, so smooth and hot.

She was so sexy, so beautiful.

Fuck, he wanted to be inside her.

With a slick thrust, his fingers slid deep, the heel of his palm gliding tight against her clitoris. She was so fucking sweet.

The breath hissed from between her teeth, and she did a luscious grind, her hips driving into his hand. He pulled back, pushed his fingers in again.

"Dain!" She screamed his name, high and short. The sound cut off as she sank her teeth into the muscle of his chest through the linen of his shirt, her body jerking in his embrace, her legs taut and squeezed tightly together.

It took him about three seconds to figure out that his Vivien had just gone off like a firecracker. Christ. He'd barely touched her.

A surge of lust spilled through him.

He held her tight against him, his breath rasping and shallow. Emotion and, yeah, pride, filled him, primitive, satisfied, even though his cock was rock hard and screaming for release.

He'd done that, taken her over the edge, fast and hard.

Shaking, she buried her face against his neck.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry. I've never… I've never… that was so… fast."

Yeah. She was so damned hot for him. He couldn't think of a bigger turn-on.

She shivered, burrowed against him, and it suddenly hit him where they were. Outside in the winter wind, under the night sky and stars, rammed up against the frigid wall on his terrace.

He was so cranked, so into her, he'd lost all reason.

"Shhh." He kissed her temple. "Don't be sorry. Christ, Vivien… it's a turn-on for me." He'd barely touched her and she'd come unraveled. Talk about a gift to his male ego.

Just thinking about it was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to rip her pants off and sink inside her so deep and fierce that he got lost.

She gave a short little huff against his throat, rubbed herself against him in a sinuous glide.

He wanted to fall into her. Feel her writhing underneath him. And he wanted to come deep inside her. Again and again, all night long.

Skimming his hand along her waist, he figured he'd get them inside where it was warm, rev her up again. Hell, they had all night, and he wanted her to come for him again. Wanted her to scream his name and give that sexy moan.

He eased his weight off her, gave her a second to catch her breath.

And then he froze. Jerking his head up, he looked around at the open door to his loft, the shadowed terrace, the lights of the city.

With one arm tightly around her, holding her close, he scanned the vicinity, tension coiling through him, overriding the heat of passion.

Demon aura spilled through the night air. But it was different than anything he'd ever encountered, overshadowingeven the residue of the demon bone that he'd been carrying around for days, a residue that leached through the vault it was locked in.

A full-blooded demon. Here? In his loft?

Impossible. The place was warded and spelled, and nothing from the demon realm could pass uninvited. But the thing was close. Very close.

Not
in
the penthouse. Outside. Here.

Strange aura. Maybe demon, but not… dark. Something else entirely. Where the hell was it coming from?

Beneath him, Vivien wriggled until she got free of him, and he realized that she, too, was looking around uneasily. Probably picking up on his weird case of nerves, because it was impossible for her to sense demons as he did.

But she had a kernel of magic somewhere inside. He sensed it now and recalled that Ciarran had as well. Some humans had that. Psychics. Healers. But that wasn't enough to let her sense demons.

Maybe that bit of magic in her soul was the spark that had ignited his power. He'd have to think on that later, because right now, he had a demon to hunt.

"Vivien," he said, the word coming out heavy and harsh.

Christ. He didn't want to leave her. Not for a second.

But the strange aura was all around them, blending with his light magic, spiralling up to the sky. The thing was damned close. If he didn't know better, he'd say it was standing right next to him on the terrace. Power and magic and strength, but not like any demon he knew of, and definitely not light sorcerer.

So what was it? And where?

He was all for riddles, so long as he was the one posing them. This puzzle he didn't like—at all.

He jerked back, looked up at the roof. Yeah, the roof. Must be.

Casting a quick glance at Vivien, he felt like he'd been slammed in the gut. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her hair mussed, her eyes hazed with passion.