Red Demon (51 page)

“I found a way to indulge them permanently,” he said languidly, leaning in to kiss her on the mouth. “A permanent, gonna-live-forever way.”

“Do you really believe that’s true?” she asked, suddenly unsure. “Do you think that’s what Eros meant?”

He cupped the back of her head, kissing her again for a long, thrilling moment. Finally he broke it and brushed his lips against her ear. “I know so. I asked the Oracle after. You’re here to stay. Forever. You and me, baby.”

She leaned into him, resting her cheek against his broad chest. “Baby. I like that notion.” She hoped he’d catch her intention—or, to use his word,
subtext
.

“I want lots of babies with you,” he said, kissing her ear, then trailing his mouth down her throat.

The display was so forward and open, she started blushing. “Aristos,” she complained, “we are on a public street.”

He lifted both arms up high, leaned in for an even deeper kiss, and growled, “Not anymore.”

Then, reaching in the pocket of his leather duster, he produced one of his ebony wing feathers, and with a long, sensual stroke, caressed her cheek. “Want to play Eros and Psyche?” he asked innocently.

She took the feather from him and whispered, “Funny you should ask. I’ve got some ideas about that.”

She began walking again, and he kept pace. “I meant right now.”

“That’s not exactly part of what I’m picturing,” she said, and tucked his feather inside the front of her blouse.

“You’re gonna keep my feather . . . inside your bra?” he asked incredulously.

“Why not?”

“Because I . . .
I
want to be inside your bra! Not have my damned feather there!” he sputtered.

“It’s a corset, actually,” she whispered, even though she knew he had made them invisible to the mortals on the busy street. “From that dress shop.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The black one or the ivory-colored corset?” he asked in a thick voice.

She gave him a coquettish smile. “One you haven’t
seen
yet, darling,” she said, then lowered her voice. “The girls and I went back yesterday . . . and bought many, many items with your American Express. So you can unwrap me over and over and over.”

“Hell, woman, how’s a man supposed to wait with a come-on like that?”

He reached for her blouse, but she swatted him away. “No cheating, sir! Where would be the surprise in that?”

“Maybe we should just do it right here on the street,” he suggested, making a big show of glancing all around them. “Nobody can see us, anyway.”

“Maybe
you
should display a bit of patience. Besides, I’m to meet Shay in a few minutes. She’s giving me lessons with the Jeep. I’m going to learn how to operate it, and even get a license, so that I can drive to the shop every day.”

“The shop?” His dark eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “Which shop?”

“I’m going to work at the Angels’ store. Shay wanted me to help run the place, maybe find ways to generate more customers. She mentioned something called . . . Facebook? I think that was it. And also that Tweeter you spoke of.”

“Twitter,” he corrected, looking at her with undisguised admiration. “You’re already in your groove, aren’t you? I should’ve known it would take you no time at all. Next thing I know, you’ll be kicking my ass on Dance Dance Revolution.”

“That’s for the Wii, right?” she asked, pretty sure that Emma had pointed out the mat for it the night before.

“See? See what I mean?” He pulled her close against his chest. “I can feel my feather through your shirt. Isn’t it tickling you?”

“I like feeling you intimately. And I like that it’s fine for me to do so. Yes,” she declared, stopping and staring at the river again, “I like this twenty-first century of yours, Ari.”

“Of ours,” he corrected, sliding a muscular arm about her shoulder. As always, his physicality and strength made her feel secure. At peace for the first time since her drowning.

“Aristos, I want you to promise me something,” she said softly, and he held her even closer.

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“That you’ll . . . be careful. About Caesar Vaella. Now that we know he’s still alive.”

Ari said nothing for a moment, then said, “Jules, my line of work . . . The cadre and I, we’re always in danger. You know that. But we’re immortal and kick serious ass. So don’t worry.”

“Perhaps he remains a threat, though?” She studied his handsome profile in concern.

“I’m gonna start looking for him again. Make him pay for what he did to you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to do that. He’s dangerous, Aristos.”

“Remember what Eros promised. He said our love would last forever. That having suffered for our love, now we would taste the joy.”

She relaxed into his embrace and smiled. He was right; there was nothing more to fear from that demon trader . . . at least not for the two of them. She offered a quick prayer to God and asked him to protect all the others in their circle, to keep them safe and out of that evil man’s way.

And then, with a conspiratorial giggle, she retrieved Ari’s feather and ran it down his arm. “So,
Eros
, want to know what plan your Psyche has in mind?”

 

“I suppose you think you’ve bested me?” Eros’s father said in a bored voice. The war god was sprawled on a golden settee, reclining nude as one of his female servants rubbed oil into his shoulders.

Eros fired back, “I suppose you think you’re intimidating me. Lying there, being pleasured while we converse.”

Ares kept his eyes closed. “What was your purpose, truly, in meddling in your own handiwork? You’d set up the perfect gaming board; all the pieces were in play.”

“I would not war against myself. I
am
love.”

“I was proud . . . for those few days,” Ares admitted. “You were my son, and I was truly . . . proud of you.”

Eros had to battle down a swell of pain in his chest. “Father . . .”

“Don’t bother,” Ares said, cutting off the words of devotion and care that Eros had been so ready to declare. “You and I will remain at odds over this act of defiance.”

“Ares, I could make you proud again,” he promised his father. “Understand that I can’t stop my gift of love any more than you can cease making war and bloodshed. It’s in my veins, but I know I can be worthy as your son.”

Ares’ tawny-colored eyes opened wide, and he fixed Eros with a hard gaze. “Love and war do not ever mix. Leave. Now. But know that you will not be welcomed here at my palace again. And I will not relent against the Spartans . . . even the pairs of lovers.”

Eros shook his head. “I’m sorry, father. Because that means you truly will have war from me.”

And with that promise, Eros lifted both hands and removed himself from his father’s presence—and hurtled toward home, where he would consider the best way to guard the Spartans and the mortals in their midst.

I
t had become their favorite game. Aristos following after Jules, furtive, stealthy as he tailed her. And she pretending to be unaware of his presence, strolling along the secluded paths that ran from the Angels’ house down to the river, where the palms and live oaks created such a dark canopy, it felt like a rain forest.

Ari stood poised at the most hidden turn in the sandy path, bow raised, in his full Spartan garb. His cock strained against the leather loin covering, the rough texture making his arousal ache for release.

Jules swung her arms, smiling lightly as she walked innocently in his direction. That was part of the game; she never knew where or when he might swoop upon her as Eros himself. With a rustle of his wing feathers, he took flight and sent his arrow flying. It speared into the path before Jules, his erotic message fluttering in the light breeze.

She gasped, although surely she’d known he had watched her leave the house, a plan forming in his mind. Kneeling, she pulled the arrow from the earth and opened the note he’d written especially for her.

She smiled, folding the love note against her breast, and gasped when from the treetops above, her beautiful winged man came swooping down upon her. She squealed as he seized hold of her, his feet never touching the ground. Off he went, higher above the creek, clutching her close, having captured her most epically.

“My Eros,” she murmured against his cheek, the late-day sun bright in her eyes. “Tell me where you’re taking me. What plan have you devised today?”

A laugh rumbled forth from his bare chest. “You don’t want to get it on up here, halfway to the clouds? Not today, fair Psyche?”

“I thought you said you’d blindfold me this time? That you’d lay me down in the warm grasses by the river, strip me bare, and descend upon me with your god’s wings?”

“Ah,” he whispered against her ear, “my Psyche demands much from her god of love.”

And then he produced a piece of black silk, flashing her an alluring smile. “But you should know that I’d never forget.”

“Except,” she said, tucking the sash inside her bodice. “I think I have a different plan in mind. Once we land.”

 

“Yes.” It was all he said, lips parting. The black satin was tied about his eyes, and he stood there in the woods, feet wide apart. Before blindfolding him, she’d unfastened his loin covering, allowing the cool air to brush across his exposed, heated flesh. His erection had strained even harder then, jutting outward eagerly.

That was when she’d taken that silky scarf and caressed his length with it, back and forth for one long moment. His balls had seized tight, and he’d been halfway to release as she caressed him.

“Not yet, my love,” she’d murmured. Then, stepping onto her tiptoes, she fastened the sash about his eyes.

“It was Psyche who wasn’t supposed to look at Eros, don’t forget.”

“I get to change the rules because it’s our game.”

He smiled, pushing his pants farther down his hips, so ready. Unable to hold back from her. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

Her lips brushed against his cheek, the feel of them warm and as soft as velvet. “You’re to
feel
everything. Focus on the sensation of my touch.”

With that declaration, she stepped away from him, but not before she brushed her mouth against the column of his throat.

“Come back to me,” he begged. With a single step, he parted his legs and rubbed himself. “Here. Hungry for you.”

She moved closer, sliding a hand along his buttocks; he shivered, liking that, it was always such a sensitive, reactive portion of his body. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.” His voice was tight, urgent. “Desperately.”

“Good,” she said. “Then, my Eros, my beautiful winged hero, you won’t mind me doing
this
.”

Ari’s cock went rigid, so tight and hard, he’d have sworn he might come there and then, standing blindfolded in the woods. “Jules!” He groaned out her name like the most frantic kind of plea.
“Juliana.”
He grunted long and hard, as he urged his hips forward. Eager for more, he tried to reach for her hand. She retreated, causing his whole body to shiver with need.

“Does it feel pleasurable?”

Her voice was tinkling like chimes, and she was fully fucking aware of how hot he was.

“I . . . Please,” he beseeched helplessly. “Again. Do it again.”

His groin tightened up, his balls clenched, and he knew he was about to let loose like a cannon if he didn’t rein himself in.

He tried latching onto every possible image that might keep him from ejaculating this soon but pulled a fat zero. So he pulled off the blindfold, gasping hard.

“That’s cheating.”

“I’m gonna . . . Jules, I don’t wanna lose it so fast.” He panted, intensely. “It’s too much sensation otherwise.”

His balls tightened up harder, and he stared upward at the palm trees. But seeing the fronds only made him think of feathers—which brought him back to
what
Jules was doing to him.

She had his full erection in her palm, and the witch was trailing his feather—the one she’d taken to keeping in her bodice—gently across his cock. Teasing a cool sensation over his aching flesh, starting with the blunt head, then swiping back down to his base. It was excruciatingly light, the bristling texture unlocking every sensation in that oh-so-sensitive part of his flesh. Back and forth, back and forth she swept that feather, her eyes locked on him with a threatening, daring heat. She was clearly pleasuring herself just as much as him, if that dreamy, half-shut look in her eyes was any indication.

“Again?” she asked, inspecting him like some haughty headmistress. He pictured her with a whip in her hand, wearing nothing but a black leather bustier and thong.

He had a sudden image of her swatting his hard-on with that feather, and that was it; he just came in thick, pulsing jets right into her hand.

“Oh, fucking . . . fuck . . . oh, oh!” he couldn’t stop crying out, his hips surging and pumping as Jules rubbed a thumb to his base, bringing him all the way through.

When his body had finally settled, he was soft in her hand, and damp, and he had no freaking idea how to clean himself up, not out here on the trail. But she didn’t seem to mind, because she wrapped her arms about his neck and tugged him down onto the ground with her.

“Now,” she said, drawing him into her arms, “let’s see how Eros’s feather might pleasure me.”

As they rolled together, wrapped in each other’s arms, he’d have sworn, absolutely sworn, that he heard Eros’s laughter ringing through the treetops overhead.

Turn the page for a glimpse of the next thrilling romance in the Gods of Midnight series,

Coming April 2011 from Signet Eclipse

“
I
was thirty-five at the Hot Gates. How do you reckon my years now? Forty- five? Perhaps fifty?” Leo strode toward her, favoring his right knee more than she’d ever toward her, favoring his right knee more than she’d ever seen him do before. “I suppose we could call the bet at forty-eight.”