The Darkest Kiss (Lords of the Underworld #2)(75)

Lucien had enough insecurities.

Anya dropped to her knees and pressed a soft kiss to his naval, right at the bottom tip of a wing. Then her hot tongue flicked out, tracing the edge. Electric jolts speared his veins, his organs, even his bones.

Rumbling grunts of satisfaction, he let his head fall back. He was stroking the top of her head, urging her on, when he should have been pulling her to her feet.

"How many women have worshiped this magnificent body?" she whispered. A second later, her nails scored his thigh.

They didn't retract, either.

"Not many," he admitted. Mariah had been fascinated by him, but she'd also been terrified.

He hadn't blamed her for that terror. He had met her only a century or two after his possession, when he'd only just gained control over the demon; he'd still been a bit feral. Yet he'd also been a handsome man, well able to provide a woman pleasure.

She'd taken one look at him and decided he was "the one." He had done the same, for she had represented the gentle nurturing he had always craved. They had fallen into bed right away; she had been a widow and happy to have a warrior to attend her needs and protect her.

But even while she craved his protection - looters, mercenaries and plague had been rampant back then - she had feared that very aspect of him, afraid he would use his strength against her. He'd always been on guard, careful of his every action and word. With Anya, there was freedom to simply let go, for she seemed to bask in his might and revel in his underlying violence.

"I'm going to pretend I'm the first," she said. Her gaze lifted and met his in a heated clash. "Okay?"

"You are in every way that matters."

She smiled with wicked pleasure. "How long has it been for you, Lucien? Since you were last with a woman?"

"Thousands of years," he admitted without shame.

Now her eyes widened. "Surely you jest."

He shook his head. "No, no jest."

"But...why did you willingly deny yourself? You aren't cursed in that way. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I think I like you even more, knowing you have been without, just as I have."

"I like that, too."

"Why, though, did you deny your body's needs?"

"I am Death, Anya. A better question is why allow myself to make love to a woman when I will, perhaps, be called to take her soul one day?"

"Why make love to me, then?" she asked softly.

He tangled his fingers into her hair, marveling that each strand was like a ribbon of silk. "You, I cannot resist."

She leaned into his touch and kissed his palm. "I can't resist you, either, and I'm glad."

"As am I," he said. Anya had been worth the wait. No other woman equaled her in any way.

"I think we're both done waiting." Never pulling her gaze from him, she rose like the moon in the sky and backed up to the bed. When her legs hit the edge of the mattress, she eased down. She scooted back, sexy bra and panties glistening in the muted light.

Once in the center of the bed, she stopped and braced her weight on her elbows.

Her legs parted...parted...parted...revealing the very heart of her. His heart stopped before slamming into a hard, erratic beat as he drank in her beauty. She was perfect sun-and-cream with a navel he wanted to tongue. Her stomach was flat, her thighs lithe.

Trembling, Lucien approached the bed. He hadn't - He stilled abruptly, frowned. Cursed. Death screamed.

"What's wrong?" Anya asked, frowning, too.

"Souls. I hate that this keeps happening at such moments." He had trouble speaking past the demon's ranting inside his head.

"Lucien - "

"Do not move. Please." He disappeared, letting his spirit be pulled in whatever direction was needed. There were two souls in China in need of transport, their bodies destroyed by poison.

One was bound for heaven, one for hell. One, of course, was happy to go with him. The other fought and screamed. Lucien hated leaving Anya and nearly beat the uncooperative spirit to an ethereal pulp. Death raged all the while. Finally, job done, they were able to return.

Seeing Anya, Lucien sighed contentedly. Death calmed.

She wasn't fingering herself this time, but had waited for him. Through the bra, he could see that her nipples were beaded. Her legs were still parted, and he could see the moisture dampening the panties.

When she spotted him, she grinned slowly. "I didn't want to finish without you."

"I am glad." He crawled onto the bed.

Anya stopped him with a foot on his stomach before he could lie on top of her. "I think we need to set a few ground rules."

"No rules." He lifted her foot and kissed the arch.

She fell backward, gasping. "Keep that up, and I'll happily look at my feet."

He licked.

"One. One rule, then." His tongue flicked out again, darting over her big toe. Goose bumps broke over her skin. "Oh, gods," she cried. "No one has ever done that. Who would have thought such a thing would be pleasurable? Oh, yes."

A wave of possessiveness swam through him. The passion on her face would haunt him for the rest of his days, for it was pure and undiluted, uninhibited. "What rule? I have already agreed not to penetrate you."

"Not that," she said, hips arching. "Lick again."