Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(75)

“No, I’m not,” Maximus said grimly.

“But you’re just as foolish,” the Devil taunted him. “If you want the last of your mother’s emeralds, I’d suggest searching within your own house.”

Maximus had had enough. He drew his sword and charged.

Old Scratch yanked on the reins and his horse reared, iron-shod hooves flashing in the night. Maximus ducked, trying to edge around the great beast to reach its master, but the highwayman wheeled his horse and gave it spur, galloping down the only alley leading out of the yard.

Maximus whirled and leaped to a corner where two walls met. He jumped and climbed, his fingers hurriedly searching for holds in the dark. He could hear the hoofbeats retreating, the sound fading. If he didn’t make the roof soon, he’d lose the man and horse in the maze of narrow streets that made up St. Giles.

Desperately, he reached for a fingerhold over his head. The brick gave without warning, coming entirely off the wall and with it his hold on the building. He fell backward, scrabbling like a rat, his fingernails scraping against the brick.

He hit the muddy ground with a thump that sent sparks flying across his vision.

And then he lay there, flat on his back in the filthy yard, his hands and back and shoulders aching, with the rain falling coldly in his face.

The moon had disappeared from the midnight sky.

ARTEMIS WOKE TO the feel of strong arms grasping her tight and lifting her from her bed. She should’ve been alarmed, but all she felt was a strange rightness. She looked up as Maximus carried her into the corridor outside her room. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes drawn and old, his mouth flat. He wore his banyan, its silk smooth beneath her cheek. She could hear his heart beating, strong and steady.

She reached up and traced the groove beside his mouth.

His gaze flicked down to hers, and the naked savagery she saw there made her gasp.

He shouldered open his door and strode to his bed, placing her there like a prize of war.

He stood over her and tore the clothes from his body. “Take it off.”

She sat up to pull her chemise over her head.

Only just in time. Naked, he crawled over her, his body hot and hard. “Never sleep anywhere but in my bed.”

She might have protested, but he turned her roughly so that she lay on her stomach, her cheek pressed into his pillow.

He lay on top of her, his upper body braced on his arms but his hips and legs weighing her down. Trapping and holding her.

“You’re mine,” he said, laying his cheek against hers. “Mine and no one else’s.”

“Maximus,” she warned.

“Yield, Diana,” he whispered, parting her legs. She could feel the thick heat of his cock pressed hard on her bottom. “Yield, warrior maiden.”

“I’m not a maiden. You took that.”

“And I would again,” he growled. “I’d steal you away and keep you in a castle far from here. Far from any other man. I’d guard you jealously and every night come to your bed and put my cock into your cunny and f*ck you until dawn.”

The crude words, the near-mad sentiment, should’ve frightened her. Perhaps there was something amiss with her makeup, for they merely made her warm. No, hot. Near burning. It was all she could do to stop herself from squirming beneath him.

“Do you want that, Diana?” he muttered into her ear, his breath humid on her skin. “Do you want to be mine and only mine, away from this cursed world, in a place inhabited by just we two?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice fierce.

He levered himself up. “I’d go a-hunting in the day and kill a fine stag. I’d bring it back to our hidden castle and dress it and cook it over a fire and then I’d sit you on my lap and feed you, morsel by morsel. All your sustenance would be by my hand and mine alone.”

She laughed then, for she knew he didn’t truly want such a biddable doll. She squirmed and turned in a sudden movement so that she lay facing him.

“No, I’d hunt with you by your side,” she said as she reached up to pull his face down to hers. “I am your equal, my lord. Your equal and mate.”

“So you are,” he breathed, and bit her lip.

She tasted rain on his mouth. Rain and wine and something much darker. Something was driving him, and she needed to talk to him—about her future and about releasing Apollo. But right now, in this moment, she wanted none of reality. Reality was a screeching harridan who never could be made happy.

If she couldn’t have happiness, then she could at least have this.

She opened her mouth wide and bit her mate back, digging her nails into the nape of his neck as if to hold him as fiercely as he held her.

His chest rubbed against her nipples, and he felt warm and male. His arms braced on either side of her head, a welcome cage. And between her legs he worked his cock against her, making her slick.

He pulled back. “Like this.”

And he flipped her again.

She growled a protest and he actually laughed.

“Magnificent Diana,” he murmured into her ear, rubbing himself against her like a great tiger. “I’m going to f*ck you now.”

She arched against him, part in protest at being used so cavalierly, part in sheer excitement. She felt his cock sliding into her crevasse, seeking, prodding. One day she wanted to see him—all of him. Wanted to touch and taste and explore this magnificent body, but at the moment, all she wanted was to have him in her.