The Darkest Kiss (Lords of the Underworld #2)(56)

What would she taste like between her legs?

"O-okay," she breathed when he pulled away. Her nipples were hard. "Should we get a room?"

He'd trace his tongue around those nipples before sucking on them. He'd have her writhing while he pleasured her with his fingers first, then screaming while he filled her with his cock. He would spend hours enjoying her.

With a groan, he straightened and took her hand. She didn't protest as he helped her to her feet. He tossed several bills on the table.

"This way," he said.

They held hands as they raced down the walkway, and Paris again wished he could flash like Lucien. He wasn't sure how much longer he could wait to have this woman. Of course, when the passion was over, she'd lose her appeal. But until then...

"Wait," she suddenly said.

He was panting, he realized, and almost shouted, "No." He tugged her into an alleyway. Desperate, so desperate. The area was filled with sunlight, but at least they'd have a modicum of privacy.

"Yes," he said, pushing her up against the wall. Her navy shirt had a slit up each side, each revealing a tiny patch of smooth skin.

"I don't even know your name." She didn't shove him away as he'd feared, but gaped at him with white-hot need in those hazel eyes as she wound her arms around his neck.

I'm back, he thought, muttering, "Paris. My name is Paris." Then he kissed the breath right out of her.

She moaned, and he swallowed the sound. Her legs parted. His erection pressed into the sweetest part of her, rubbing, mimicking sex. He moaned this time.

Perfection.

She kneaded his back, her nails scoring past the material of his shirt. All the while their tongues dueled. When he palmed her breast, the kiss deepened, spinning into a tide of wildness.

Need skin to skin contact. He tunneled a hand under her shirt - smooth skin, ah, so good - up the flatness of her stomach - she quivered - and palmed her breast again.

She wasn't wearing a bra, and he got a taste of the skin he craved. Sweet merciful heavens. Her breasts were small, but perfectly tipped. He gently pinched one nipple, rolling it between his greedy fingers, loving the feel. She arched her hips, stroking his cock.

"So sweet," he growled.

"Paris," she panted.

"I need to be inside you."

"I - I - I'm sorry."

He kissed a path down her cheek, along her jaw. She wouldn't regret giving herself to him. He'd take such good care of her. She'd remember him with a smile for the rest of her life. "Why?"

"For this," she said. She no longer sounded breathless or aroused. She sounded determined.

A sharp needlelike pain stabbed at his neck. He pulled back from her in confusion. Staggered. Felt a strange lethargy work through him, causing his knees to tremble. "What...why..." His voice was weak. Wrong.

Her face swam in front of him, but he could see that she wore an emotionless mask. Her freckles blurred together. He watched as she closed the top of her opal ring, shielding the sharp point inside.

"Evil has to be stamped out," she said flatly.

Bait after all, he thought, and then his world went black.

REYES SAT IN THE SHADOWED corner of an Italian strip club thinking that one bar was the same as any other, no matter the country. He'd come to Rome to search for Pandora's box, but he was having trouble concentrating and had succeeded only in pissing off his team, rather than helping them.

They'd finally told him to leave, to calm himself down before coming back to the ruins of the Unspoken Ones.

So here he sat, cutting his arm under the table so no one could see what he was doing. Possessed by the spirit of Pain, he needed to feel the sharp sting of agony on a daily basis. Nothing else soothed him.

Especially now, when all he could think about was Danika.

Where was she? Was she okay? Did she hate him or did she spend her nights dreaming of him as he dreamed of her?

Her image flashed through his mind. Blond, tiny, angelic. Sensual, courageous, passionate. Well, he imagined she would be passionate. He hadn't even kissed her yet, much less touched her or stripped her.

But he wanted to. Gods, he wanted to.

He had to get her out of his mind - which was the reason he'd come here. But the four naked women on stage, beautiful as they were, did nothing for him. He wasn't even hard. Couldn't get hard anymore without thinking of Danika.

So badly he wanted to track her down, guard her...love her. He couldn't. Despite his temporary restraints, Aeron would kill her one day soon, fulfilling the Titans' command. And Reyes didn't want to become involved with her, knowing he'd lose her. For there would be no stopping Aeron - to stop him, Reyes would have to kill him or condemn his friend to a lifetime of torment.

Unfortunately, Reyes was not that selfish. Aeron was his brother in all but blood. A warrior who had stood by Reyes's side and at his back, slaying Hunters. They'd bled together. They'd saved each other. To forget that for a woman, a momentary pleasure...he bit the inside of his cheek.

The knife dug deep into his wrist, nicking a vein. He felt the warm rush of blood down his arm. The wound healed immediately, however, the tissues quickly weaving back together.

He sliced another groove, grimaced. Sighed in sweet relief.

"Lap dance?" one of the dancers asked him in Italian.

"No," he replied, harsher than he'd intended. Another sigh escaped him, this one devoid of any hint of relief. He wasn't doing himself any good, staying here. He wasn't calming down, but was growing even moodier.