Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(97)

He makes a face. ‘Ugh… I can’t eat foam. It reminds me of cat sick.’

But it is not the foam, but the raw sea urchins on sweet potato that are sick making. I almost have to spit out the mineral-like concoction Jake slips into my mouth. He laughs at the expression on my face.

When Jake laughs he becomes a different person. He is no longer a hard-assed, cold-eyed criminal. Fancy that—he becomes stunning. I stare at him, surprised at how carefree, handsome, and young he suddenly seems. A voice full of disquiet whispers up my bare arms, tingling and raising the hairs, ‘You will fall for him… You will… You will.’

I shift in my chair, my appetite lost. Unease like a drop of castor oil slides down my throat.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’

It turns out that neither of us has much of an appetite after all. We skip dessert. No coffee. The little chocolate petits fours lie uneaten. Jake pays and we are back in the car. The night air is cool. It ruffles his hair. The music is loud, the beat insistent. I shift restlessly on the fragrant leather seat, my guts warm and tight.

When we get inside the sandstone foyer and into his elegant living room, Jake lights candles. I drape myself on a pristine white rug on the floor.

‘Want a drink?’

‘Nope.’

He walks over to the polished bar filled with downlights and pours himself a good measure of whiskey. He chucks it down his throat and goes to sit on a low white couch. It has claw feet. For a while he lies back and stares at me. I look up at him, unmoving. His eyes are shiny with the flames from the candles. His skin is dark and seems very beautiful, almost as if he is carved from wood. I think of the spicy scent of his cock. Of taking him in my mouth. My thighs part.

‘Come here,’ he orders softly.

I get onto my hands and knees and crawl toward him. Toward his erection, craving it. I rest my chin on the white couch between his spread legs. He releases my hair with gentle fingers and runs his hands through it. His hands move down my naked back and pull the small zipper down. My dress withers away.

‘We gypsies believe in faeries and faerie glamour. Humans are easy prey. Once they cast their glamour on a human he becomes bewitched. He never sees what is right in front of him. He wanders the world dazed in a tangle of lust. Like a junkie.’ He traces my jaw with his thumb. ‘You look like one. Your eyes. Are you faerie, Lily?’

I shake my head slowly, a weight in my heart.

‘It’s been a long night,’ he mutters, as he bends his head to claim my mouth. Our lips touch. His mouth demands total surrender. I accept the velvet hardness with a contented sigh. He’s right, it has been a long night. Too long. As if I am a slippery, limbless fish he puts his hands on the sides of my body and pulls my body up onto his lap. With his lips still attached to mine with allure, heat, and promise, my body is arranged on the couch and divested of its last scrap of covering.


He raises his head, his mouth crimson with my lipstick. ‘We didn’t use any protection last night,’ he observes.

‘I took care of it this morning,’ I whisper, looking deep into his eyes. They are as an ocean in a storm.

‘I haven’t come inside a woman since I was seventeen,’ he admits.

‘Jake?’

One elegant dark eyebrow quirks upward.

‘No man has ever come inside me,’ I tell him.

His skin flushes with the triumphant red of a conqueror, and his eyes roam my body with the deep satisfaction of ownership. His gloriously strong hands cup my breasts possessively. He revels in the extraordinary fact that my body belongs to him. My nipples pebble and my spines arches. I gaze up at him with fascinated eyes.

He is breathing hard, his jaw is clenched, his cock is so hard it is straining against his pants. The memory of his smooth, naked muscles against my skin comes back as does the smell of his arousal—strong, smoky. Between my legs it feels wet and hot. I reach for his zipper. My hands are sure, fast. He is out in an instant. I watch him rise up over me and peel off his shirt, trousers, and underwear. His skin glows in the candlelight.

He bends to retrieve his trousers, his hands searching for the pocket. I know what he is looking for. I hear the crinkle of the condom foil and cover his hand. He looks at me.

‘Are you sure?’

I nod.

The trousers slip from his fingers. His large hand rests a moment on my stomach. I watch his manhood. Beautifully decorated with ink it stands proud and thick. His knees come between my legs. Slowly he tries to nudge the apple head into me, but I must be so sore and swollen from the night before because it feels as if I am being split asunder. I swallow my scream of pain, but my eyes widen and my mouth gapes open in a shocked O.

He freezes.

My flesh feels raw and ripped, but I grab his shoulder. ‘No. Don’t stop,’ I urge.

He retreats gently, but it scorches all the way out.

‘Sweet Lily. I couldn’t hurt you even if you asked,’ he breathes. The burning eases. It is relief but at a price.

He moves lower and puts that hot, wet mouth on my swollen, bruised sex. I sigh with pleasure. He licks gently, with great dedication. It soothes me. I feel bright and shiny again. My fingers dig into the lustrous black hair and pull his mouth harder onto me.

I come quick and hard and gasping, my spread thighs shaking uncontrollably. The pleasure is so intense it is agonizing.