The Darkest Kiss (Lords of the Underworld #2)(74)

An eternity passed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You're right. Now isn't the time for talking. Here or Buda?"

Another lick of her pink tongue. Next time that tongue left her mouth, it was going to be inside his own, he decided. No exceptions.

She swallowed. Whispered, "Here" and threw herself into his arms. Her lips meshed against his.

Yes. Gods, yes. Finally. As their tongues dueled, her taste filling his mouth, he felt weightless. Then his feet hit solid ground. He opened his eyes and found himself inside a spacious bedroom. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, dripping teardrops of muted light. The walls were covered in murals of flowers and vines, each a multihued feast to his gaze.

The bed was huge, with black silk sheets he couldn't wait to press Anya against. There were wooden chests and even a tranquil stone waterfall in the far corner. A beautiful place, to be sure, but he was suddenly tempted to flash Anya somewhere else. Somewhere the handsome William had never set foot in.

Anchoring his hands under Anya's ass, Lucien hefted her up. Her legs immediately hooked around his waist, placing the new center of his universe in close proximity to his cock. He rocked against her, the action as necessary as breathing.

Moaning, she bit down on his bottom lip. He felt a shiver move through her. "More," she gasped out.

He did it again.

Again she bit down and shivered.

Lucien gripped the hem of her shirt and jerked it over her head. That incredible hair tumbled down her bare shoulders. She wore a bra of ice-blue glitter, and the sight of it mesmerized him.

The tops of her breasts pushed upward, beckoning. Lovely, so lovely. Yet they weren't what claimed his attention. Knives were strapped to every inch of visible skin. Some were twined with the bra's straps. Some were simply taped. With what, he didn't know. He only knew he liked it. A lot.

Took him a while, but he finally dropped the last to the floor.

He unhooked her legs from him and set her down. She cried out in protest, wobbled. He kissed her neck. Pleasure lit her lovely face as her head fell back, and she palmed her breasts in invitation. He dropped to his knees, snagging his fingers on the waist of her pants.

He had to know if her panties matched her bra.

In seconds, the tight little pants were at her ankles and he saw that knives and throwing stars were strapped to her legs. "I knew you were armed; I just did not know how much." She braced a hand on his shoulder and stepped out of the pants as he disarmed her.

"You like?" she asked when he finished.

The panties were tiny, a barely-there strap of glittery blue material, a perfect match. He gulped. "I like." His voice was hoarse, broken.

"Your turn," she said, a nervous edge to the words.

Nervous? Anya? Slowly he stood. As he peered down at her, he saw a proud, beautiful woman who radiated vulnerability, joy and affection. And yet she had once told him that he didn't matter. He had told her the very same thing. He hadn't meant it, and he was beginning to believe she hadn't, either.

He knew who to blame and vowed Cronus would pay.

Not allowing himself to spoil the moment with those dark thoughts, Lucien pushed them to the back of his mind and caressed a fingertip along the curve of Anya's delicate jaw. I will take care of this woman. I will find a way to steal the All-Key without harming either of us or I will hide her from Cronus. Then I will spend my days making her happy.

"You are so beautiful," he told her.

"Thank you. Strip."

Gods, he wanted to be inside her - had to be inside, soon, now, always - but refused to steal her freedom, forcing her to stay with him. He dropped his arm before his fingers could lengthen into claws. While researching all possible ways to steal the All-Key without adverse side effects, he would have to find a way to break Anya's curse, as well.

"Well?" she prompted.

He reached back, gripped his shirt and pulled it over his head. Before he'd gotten it all the way off, her hands were on his chest, removing his own weapons. "I think you had me out-armed." She tossed them to the floor, metal clinking against metal. When the last knife was gone, her fingers splayed over him, caressing his nipples, his tattoo.

His stomach tightened and his cock jerked. Heat was spreading through him faster than he could flash. He loved when she touched him. Made him feel like a god, all-powerful, unstoppable. Desired.

"You're so strong," she praised. "I love that you suffered and survived. Does that make me a bad girl?"

He cupped her cheeks. "Nothing could make you bad."

"Not even this..." She unfastened his pants and worked them over his hips, tossing his blades aside along the way.

When he was completely bare, Anya stared at his butterfly tattoo, tracing her fingers over the jagged edges, oohing and ahhing. The skin rose under her touch, heating.

She gasped in delight. "Alive?"

"I had not thought so until now. That is where the demon entered me, as you know, but it has never done that before."

"He must like me."

"He does."

"Good boy," she whispered, kissing the butterfly. Once again, it rose to meet her, tingling where she touched.

Lucien wasn't sure why the gods had chosen butterflies as the external mark of the demon. The Butterfly Effect, perhaps. A reminder that the single flap of a wing - or in the warriors' case, a single foolish decision - could alter the entire fabric of reality. Whatever the rationale, he'd always hated the brand. Why not a weapon or a demon horn? Something that said, well, I Am Man.