Demon from the Dark (Immortals After Dark #10)(41)

Demon males were notoriously hung and customarily pierced down south, and this demon was no different. Aside from being almost uncomfortably large, he had four piercings—a sexy foursome of barbells climbing up his thick shaft. The metal gleamed in the low light, making her want to sigh.

But his size. Avoiding intercourse with him had been wise. “Am thinking your file is too big for my computer to access, big guy,” she absently muttered.

That tattoo on his side snaked down his hip, all the way to his inner thigh, the design and placement intimate. Someone had lovingly inked him.

She felt an unexpected flare of jealousy for the women who’d seen his tattoo. Had they traced it with tremulous fingers?

Carrow wanted to follow it with her tongue.

This sinfully gorgeous body and face had been hidden from the world. Malkom Slaine might be a demon non grata, but he was also a diamond in the rough, one that she couldn’t wait to feel in her hands. She grew covetous of him, as if she’d just gone speculating in this mine and had hit the mother lode.

When she could tear her gaze upward, she found his eyes were flickering over her face, observing her again, discerning her reaction. He was doing that “listening” thing, likely understanding her better than men who spoke her language.

Once more, he swallowed. How she perceived him was obviously important to Slaine. Was he uncomfortable with his nudity around her? Demon cultures could be such a mix, masters and slaves all driven by sex, yet conservative with it. But she didn’t want him uncomfortable.

She cast him an admiring look. “Malkom . . . fortis,” she said in a throaty voice. His erection pulsed, and the grim line of his lips eased somewhat.

She played a dangerous game. “No sex?” He’d lose control when they had sex—she knew it. Or rather, if they had sex. And the likelihood of him going demonic, vampiric crazy—while brandishing the biggest D she’d ever seen—made her want to cross her legs tight.

He growled, but eventually he nodded.

Deciding to leave her thong on for any additional bargaining power she might need, she unclasped her bra and tossed it on the retaining wall. “Then come—”

He was already on his way.





17




Do not look at the water; keep your eyes on her. Malkom gritted his teeth, refusing to think about the liquid wrapping around his legs, about how unnatural it felt. No, just look at those beautiful breasts.

Gods, they were so pale and full, tipped with dusky pink nipples that were stiffening right before his eyes. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he thought about cupping those breasts, squeezing them . . . .

His cock bobbed painfully as he strode toward her. Once he stood before her, he dragged his gaze up to meet hers. Her sultry eyes were heavy-lidded, the irises like starbursts.

She was desirous. Which meant she would have expectations of him that he doubted he could fulfill.

Seduction. I do not know how to do this. Would she want to be kissed? ’Twas taboo among the Trothan demons.

She probably thought he’d been with hundreds of females, as most demons his age would have been. She likely believed he was skilled at drawing pleasure from females.

I have no skill and nearly as little knowledge about her body. Yet when a large drop of water coursed from her chest down one of her proud breasts, his apprehensions grew dim. Have to touch them . . .

But as he reached for her, she eased away, shaking her head. No, he wanted to touch—

“Malkom, please.”

He hesitated. She wanted something of him now. You have had your turn—now it is hers. At length, he gave a nod, allowing her to lead him beside a fall of water. He even knelt when she did, though that put the water as high as his navel.

He remained tense when she moved behind him, running the cloth over his back and neck with deliberate strokes. His arms were next as she worked all the way down to his fingers and claws.

When she grazed her fingertips over the scars on his wrists, he recalled her reaction as she’d stripped him of his cuffs. Oh, yes, she’d known what those scars meant. He’d seen the pity in her expressive eyes. Which had shamed him. And those scars marked the least demeaning way he’d been used.

How would she react to learning the rest?

As she ran that soapy cloth over any part of him that she could reach, he decided that this bath was markedly different from what he’d remembered. There was no pain or strangling panic. He was still on edge, but his mind was filled with thoughts of her, wondering where she would touch him next, in what way she would touch him.

When she looped her arms around him to wash his chest, her bared breasts slipped across his back, rendering him dizzy with pleasure. The feel of those pink tips against him made his cock throb so intensely, he was tempted to begin masturbating under the water to assuage it—

The pad of her forefinger rubbed his pierced nipple. “Ah, Carrow . . .” Just when he was about to snatch her into his arms, she stood and began washing his hair, running her nails along his scalp.

For some reason this relaxed him, weakening him until he could barely keep his head lifted. Yet when she all but polished his horns, his shaft pulsed impossibly harder.

How much longer could he endure the building pressure? Had he not come earlier, there’d have been no withstanding this.

But if he touched her, he could hurt her, justifying her fears about his claiming. If he hurt her, then he’d never have this again—attention, care, interest.