The Darkest Kiss (Lords of the Underworld #2)(63)

He'd been in love? Anya hated the thought, but she liked the thought of his suffering even less. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He nodded in acknowledgment. "When I realized that I would live, I prayed for the scars to remain. Someone must have answered that prayer - who it could have been, I do not know - because they finally stopped healing."

Sounded like the kind of prayer her mother might answer, since physical imperfection defied the natural order of immortality. "Why would you pray for such a thing? I'm not complaining, I'm just curious."

"I wanted them to remain so that women would turn away from me and I would never again be in danger of falling in love. I wanted them so that I would always remember to do my job, never falter."

"I didn't turn away from you."

"No, you didn't."

"You faltered."

"Yes. I am glad."

So was she. Anya returned to her studies. His erection was huge. Thick and perfectly tipped, just like before. Mine, she thought.

"Come here," Lucien said, his voice heavy with arousal.

Last chance to resist.

Shaking, she crawled up his body, so hot, so needy. She was bare and wet and slid up his cock. Both of them sucked in a worshipful breath. Amazing! Oh, what other delicious things had she been missing?

"Closer," he said.

She leaned down. When her breasts were smashed against his hard chest, he melded their lips together in a white-hot kiss. He even rolled her over. Again she experienced a moment's panic that he meant to break his word, but he merely kissed a path to her pebbled nipples.

His hot tongue traced a circle around them, making her shiver. Then he blew a cool breath, hardening them further. Then he sucked them into his mouth, one at a time, lancing pleasure straight to her core. It was the most stimulation she'd experienced in...forever.

In minutes, she was writhing, tugging at his hair, arching her hips, needing more. "Lucien," she panted.

"I haven't pleasured a woman in a long, long time," he said, his voice broken. "Tell me if I do something wrong. Something you do not like."

"I like. I like, I swear!"

He trailed kisses down her stomach, getting closer and closer to the juncture between her thighs. "Lucien," she said again. Stop him. No, don't let him stop. More. More! No, no more. "Lucien." She squeezed her knees together.

"No penetration, not even with my tongue. I'm just going to lick you."

Oh, gods. Her legs fell open of their own accord, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. If she didn't come soon, she would die. Erupt into flames. Something, anything to end the torment.

Maybe that was the point of this encounter. Kill her with pleasure. But she couldn't make herself care.

He gripped her knees and spread them farther apart, pushing them up and making her as vulnerable as a woman could be. If he tries to sink a finger inside of you, just flash.

Leaving him might kill her, too, she decided.

Besides, she forgot her own advice the moment his tongue stroked her. The pleasure was so intense, she screamed. So startling, so real, so wondrous, she gripped his head and drew him back when he tried to pull away, most likely to ask if she enjoyed it. Nothing, in all the centuries of her existence, had ever felt so miraculous.

"More?" he asked.

"More. Please."

"You taste so good. So damned good. Can't get enough." He licked and he sucked and he tormented and he teased, and she loved it all. She arched against his face, letting him tongue her until she was sobbing with need.

She would have given Lucien anything he asked just then, but he never asked for anything more than her enjoyment. He gave and gave and gave, his mouth working her with nips and licks, and it was heaven, pure and right and so wondrous she would never be the same.

And then her entire body simply exploded.

Pleasure shot through her with the force of a bullet, grazing parts of her she hadn't known existed. Stars winked behind her eyes, and her spirit might even have left her body to soar through the heavens. How fitting that Death should be the one to spark such a sensation. She alternated between stiffening and relaxing in the most intense orgasm of her life, babbling incoherently, perhaps shouting Lucien's name.

When she collapsed against the mattress, he said, "Not done. Not even close," and then his tongue was expertly riding the waves of another orgasm, taking her over another incredible hurdle in a matter of seconds.

"Lucien, Lucien, Lucien." A benediction. In that moment, he was her savior. She was free. Blessedly free.

When the last of the tremors left her, she was boneless. Sated and resplendent. He could have sunk his fingers inside her, and she couldn't have stopped him. Wouldn't have cared. But he climbed up her body and rolled them over, propping her on top of him, keeping his word.

"Still not done?" she said, panting and gazing down at his glowing eyes. She had to put a stop to this soon, had to figure out what to do with him, for she was softening toward him. Wanting what could never be. Wanting what he could not give her and she could not give him. Yet she couldn't have moved upon threat of death.

"No," he said. "We're not done."

SO MANY THOUGHTS WERE POURING through Lucien's mind. Anya wanted him. Truly wanted him. She'd sucked him, had drunk him dry. And had not seemed the least bit repulsed by his scars. No, she had seemed to glory in him.