Satan (8 page)

So far, he hadn’t been able to stand inside the walled in space for longer than five minutes when both doors were closed. The claustrophobia he’d developed in Afghanistan blossomed into full-blown panic and hysteria after three hundred seconds.

Once Angel was in his presence, he focused on her almost to the point of oblivion. It was impossible not to. He banked on using his obsessive desire for her to overcome the horrific and paralyzing terror that dogged him since Afghanistan.

The sky blues of her eyes darkened, and her face glowed. “How wonderful. I’ve only seen snow on mountains in the Alps. I’ve never actually seen it falling. Do you think it’ll stay on the ground? Maybe we could have a snowball fight tomorrow? Or make snow angels?”

She enchanted him with her total lack of guile and childish glee about snow. He smiled. “Angel making snow angels. How apropos. I was hoping you’d agree to the hot soak. I bought you a bathrobe. It’s in the kitchen. Do you want to unpack first?”

He shook the carry-on in his hand.

“Heck no.” She waved at the suitcase. “I can do that later. Just put that anywhere.”

Satan scooped Angel into his embrace, reached for the carry-on, and marched to the kitchen. She felt so perfect in his arms. He’d missed her, which surprised the crap right out of him.

“I’m sorry that I’m so late. You sounded a tich peeved on the phone.” She tangled her fingers in his curls.

“I was. A
tich.”

She beamed at him. “A tich, huh?”

“The meeting went well?” He trapped her gaze with his.

She blinked and avoided his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it. Monkey sex and fun, remember?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “As if I could forget.”

“I love your kitchen. It’s so cozy and lived in.” She scanned the room. “And the view by the table. I can just imagine watching the sun rise over the horizon.”

“Won’t have to. We’ll watch it together tomorrow morning.” He dumped the suitcase next to a chair, slid her down him, cupped her butt, and kissed her until they both had to come up for air.

“God, I love kissing you. You are a master kisser, Lorcan McGuillycuddy aka Satan. Maybe one needs a certain amount of devilish wickedness to be a champion kisser.” She wore such an impish expression that he couldn’t help but grin back at her.

“I’m of the opinion that a kiss is only as good as the people doing the kissing. And by the way, right back atcha. Hmmm. Another to-do just went on my list.”

“Oh no. You’re not torturing me by withholding information. I demand to hear the entire contents of your to-do list.” She poked him in the chest.

“I’m more than happy to do exactly that.” Satan pointed at the freshly laundered bathrobe draped over the back of a chair. “There. Slip into that while I get the antipasti and the wine.”

“Antipasti? Yum. Big fat green olives included, I hope.” She shed her shoes, pulled off her sweater, and wriggled out of her trousers. She threw her clothes on the table.

Satan plucked a gleaming silver tray from the fridge, glanced back to the table, and just about swallowed his tongue. “Jesus. You could give a man a heart attack, Angel. That bra and thong deserve a medal. I had this leisurely screw planned, but that outfit just nixed that notion.”

“I’m glad. I want hard and furious like this morning. Want to unfasten the hooks for me?” She threw him a sensual up-from-under peep and pivoted to give him her back.

Five long strides took him to her side, and he dropped the tray onto the table. Then he pressed hot open-mouthed kisses down her spine while unhooking the delicate bra the exact color of Angel’s long auburn curls. He cupped her breasts in his hands, closed his eyes to better absorb the feel and texture of the undersides, and buried his nose in her hair. “I want to take you from behind. To fuck these beautiful tits. To eat your pussy. To have you sit on my face.”

When she tried to twist to him, he held her in place. “Put on the robe, and go to the hot tub via the cabana bath in front of you. Go now. Because if you don’t, we’ll never make it outside.”

Satan forced himself to release her from his embrace. He swatted her backside. “Go, darlin’. I’ll be with you in five.”

Angel spun around and trailed a finger over his shoulder. She craned her neck to stare at him. “Hurry.”

With that she ducked under his arm and marched to the cabana bath. The sweet sway of her hips and the scarlet strip of her thong did a total number on him. His dick went rigid, and his stones went taut.

He snatched the bathrobe, sprinted to the cabana doorway, and hung the fabric over her shoulders. “Stay hot.”

She shot him a come-hither, over-the-shoulder, sex-siren smolder. “I’m boiling and that’s not going to change.”

Frigging fuck on a banana.
He was so prepped and ready to explode.

He watched her sash shay out of the small bathroom. For long seconds, he stood there staring at nothing, amazed at the depths of joy and contentment filling his soul.

Satan shook his head and vaulted into action. He couldn’t afford to stop moving and needed physical activity to face his mental demons. He marched to the counter, grabbed the tray, and made his way to the backdoor. He braced himself to face the elements, threw the heavy wood open, stepped onto the deck, and slammed the door shut.

Welcoming the blast of cold air and the puffy snowflakes that danced chills on his flesh, he walked around the glass enclosure, glanced up at the platform which contained the tub, and hit the switch for the sliding door. He waited for the entrance to widen and entered the glassed-in chamber.

An icy blast of air swept through the open sliding doors. He eyed the entrance, swallowed, and pressed the close switch. A bolt of panic froze him in place. He stared at the enclosed structure and forced his accelerated breathing back to a normal cadence.

He walked around the elevated hot tub, deposited the tray to the right of the steps leading to the bubbling spa, and returned to the kitchen via the deck entrance, pleased that his hysteria remained in control. Taking his time, he shed his clothes, tossed the discarded garments on top of hers, and grabbed the wine he’d opened earlier and two crystal goblets. He used the cabana bath exit to enter the glassed-in area, mounted the five steps to the tub, and stopped dead in his tracks when Angel came into his range of vision.

Glorious curls piled onto the top of her head, her mounded cleavage barely visible through the rippling surface of the water, she slid him a slow, sensuous smile. What he wouldn’t give to come home to this wonderful sight every single day.

The thought arrested him in midstep, and he had to tighten his hold on the bottle not to drop it. He settled the wine and glasses on a ledge near to the tub. Hot, rippling water suffused his feet, ankles, and calves when he stepped into the tub and sat on the stone bench. He ran the back of his hand down Angel’s cheek and murmured, “Be right back.”

He jaunted down the stairs, around the tub, collected the tray, and retraced his footsteps. Not a hint of fear. No physical signs of panic. His heartbeat hadn’t accelerated and not a drop of cold sweat beaded his flesh.

Wearing a wide grin, he set the tray next to the wine and glasses, stepped into the tub, and dropped onto the bench right next to her. He hauled her sideways onto his lap, kissed her neck, and nuzzled her ear.

He closed his eyes to block out the glass walls and concentrated on her, on his Angel—the woman who gave him the courage to confront his terror. He loved holding her, the supple texture of her skin, the way she heated him from the inside.

The Shalimar perfume she wore mingled with the natural smells of her woman’s essence to create her intoxicating fragrance. He sniffed her nape and ran his tongue over the fuzzy hairs revealed by her hair being piled up. Just a hint of salt tangled with her skin’s spice. He cupped a breast and toyed with the nipple.

She keened. “Oh God. I’ve never reacted to a man the way I do to you. One touch and my clit starts pinging.”

“Ditto here.” He rearranged her ass so his erection rode the seam.

“It’s beautiful. This is so perfect.” She snuggled closer to him and tucked her head under his chin.

“It is now.” He noticed her shoulder peeking out of the water and covered her bare skin with his hand. “Thank you for sharing your vacation with me.”

She drew a circle on his chest. “Thank you for helping me get through Christmas.”

“Monkey sex and fun, right?” He brushed a damp wisp of hair off her cheek.

“I think that yesterday and today was probably the longest I’ve gone in forever without having a crying fit. Or being depressed. I’ve been so dreading Christmas.”

“Did your family celebrate the holidays in a big way?”

“Oh definitely. Christmas in Trinidad is simply wonderful. We don’t have a Thanksgiving holiday like Americans and Canadians do. Even though there’s a large Hindu and Muslim population, every Trinidadian worth his salt celebrates Christmas. But then again, the entire Trini population celebrates
all
religious holidays.”

“Tell me about your traditions.” It stunned him that he wanted to know, wanted to be able to duplicate the most sentimental moments of her life.

“We always had a real tree, even though they cost a fortune in Trinidad.”

“Because they have to be imported?” Pine trees of the Christmas kind didn’t grow in the tropics, he knew that.

“Uh-huh. My grandmother hand made all the ornaments for the tree, and we always decorated it as a family.”

“Sounds as if you were very close.”

“It does, doesn’t it? But we weren’t. My mother came from a poor Boston family. I’m pretty sure she got pregnant to trap my father into marriage. My father’s family is descended from nobility, and he was very wealthy. My mother was consumed with status and her standing in the very class-conscious Trinidadian community. She was very ‘social.’ Sat on a ton of charity boards, went to all the embassy parties, that sort of thing. Children were supposed to be seen not heard. I was raised by my nanna—my father’s mother who came to live with us just before I was born.”

“What about your brother? Were you close to him?”

“He’s—he
was
six years older than me and was sent to an English boarding school at the age of seven. When I was a little girl I adored him, but never really knew him, as he was only home on school vacations, three times a year. Then he came home to go into the family business, and I went off to college. By the time I moved back to Trinidad, we’d drifted apart. After, after our parents were murdered, we got to know each other better, but then he started getting strange and hanging out with these Muslim fundamentalists.” She shook her head. “Damn it. I decided I didn’t want to go down this road tonight.”

“Then we won’t. How about some wine and a bite?” Satan plucked a blue-cheese stuffed olive and a prosciutto-wrapped artichoke from the tray.

She straddled his thighs and centered her pussy on his erection. “I have a better idea. How about I ride you for a while?”

“An offer impossible to refuse.” He replaced the olive and artichoke, grasped her by the waist, and lifted her. “Put my cock inside you.”

She curled her fingers around his dick, focused on the crown, and guided him to her sex. She closed her eyes and drove down the length of him.

His balls tightened.

She opened her eyes and sent him a half-shuttered glazed glance. “I love that first moment you penetrate me. I love that your cock feels so enormous that it almost hurts.”

“Ride, woman.” He lifted her off his dick and then rammed home.

She took control by jamming her hands onto the rounded edge of the tub and pushing up until his cock’s head just rimmed her sex, then slamming back down. He helped her maintain a consistent rhythm by thrusting up when she shoved back down.

Her nipple brushed his mouth, and he latched onto the taught bud and drew hard using his tongue and teeth. He fumbled for her other breast and growled when he closed his thumb and forefinger around the stiffened peak. He reached between their bodies to find her clit and pinched. She exploded around him. Her pussy squeezed and released him violently.

He curved his hand around her back, lifted off the bench, and pounded into her. His toes curled. The orgasm crashed through him. His stones contracted, his cock burned and engorged, his entire groin tightened, and his semen erupted into her. On his final emission, he jerked into her pussy, and bit the cusp of her shoulder.

She climaxed again.

Her internal muscles milked more semen from him with each ferocious clamping. She collapsed onto his chest. He hugged her closer, stumbled back, and collapsed onto the bench. They lay together sated and replete. He brushed his hand along the curve of her spine and kissed the top of her head when his cock went flaccid, and he slipped out of her heat.

Hot water swirled around them creating a foamy cradle of relaxation. He liked the way she sank into him, all limp and boneless. She peeked up at him. “Monkey sex and fun. Shooting stars too.”

Satan threw back his head and laughed so hard his ribs ached.

Angel joined in after swatting him a couple of times.

When their chortle fit subsided, she tilted her head to one side and flashed him a saucy grin. “Food and wine?”

“Food, wine, Christmas carols, and tree decorating.” He liked surprising her, liked when her fantastic eyes went wide and startled, and she gave him that bright joy-filled smile.

“Tree decorating? Really? The tree’s enough. I don’t want you to do something you don’t want. You know—the hate Christmas thingy.” She touched a fingertip to his collarbone.

“I hated the way Christmas was celebrated by my parents. Because it really wasn’t. Celebrated that is. My mother and father didn’t encourage spontaneous shows of emotion. Correction, they didn’t encourage any slight sign of emotion. Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She did as he ordered and Satan stood. Water sluiced off their bodies when he climbed onto the ledge and walked around to the towel warmer. He snapped open the lid, retrieved a plush white bath towel, helped Angel to stand, and wrapped the warm terry around her.