The Darkest Seduction (Page 95)

The Darkest Seduction (Lords of the Underworld #9)(95)
Author: Gena Showalter

Zacharel vanished, reappearing a second later with Sienna at his side. There was a green tint to her skin, and when she realized solid ground held her up, she hunched over, gagging, trembling uncontrollably.

“You…bastard…” she got out.

“This is the only way to learn.” No emotion layered Zacharel’s voice. Just a whole lot of what’d-I-do-wrong. “This is how we are taught. Besides, you are a soul. Had you made contact with the ground, I doubt you would have burst open like a melon.”

“You doubt!”

“Find your brave core, demon girl. Step back up and we will try again.”

Paris delivered an uppercut of his own. The angel’s head whipped to the side, blood leaking from the gash in his bottom lip, but he merely straightened and blinked in confusion.

“You do anything like that again, and I will end you.” Paris didn’t wait for a reply, but gathered Sienna in his arms and carried her to their room.


“WHY DON’T you take a shower and relax, baby?” Paris said as he set Sienna down on their bed. “I’ll be back in a few.”

She had no idea what he was planning or where he was going, but she nodded. She could use a little alone time. Her heartbeat was currently engaged in a world-record race.

He kissed her forehead and was off, shutting her inside. Shower, yes, that’s what she needed. After all, she had just plunged toward certain death, unable to force her wings to work, and the only reason she had survived was that the angel who’d tried to off her had caught her seconds before the splat.

Punish, Wrath said.

The first time he’d ever wanted to hurt an angel. Either he’d taken the shove personally or his hunger had returned.

On her stumble into the bathroom, she noticed that Viola had come through for her. A ring rested on the nightstand, its only stone a huge amethyst in the center. Good. Yeah. Good. Not heartbreaking.

The warm water relaxed her somewhat, but she had no desire to linger. Just shampooed, soaped up, rinsed off and towel-dried. About five minutes had elapsed. What a day. And yet, despite the near-death experience, she had a feeling that, when she looked back, this would be her favorite day of all time. Paris had said he loved her.

Not saying it back had nearly destroyed her, especially as he’d worked her over, his hands sliding along her wings, caressing yet firm, as he taught her what he knew about flying. But she was leaving him tomorrow, never to return, never to see him again, and well, yeah. Not going there.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore an expression she’d never seen on him before, one of such glowing tenderness her knees almost buckled.

“Come here,” he said.

Dropping the towel, naked and glistening, she obeyed without hesitation, stopping between his spread legs. His big hands settled on her hips, his thumbs lightly rasping over the flare of her waist. She shivered.

“Where did you go?” She tunneled her fingers through his hair, adoring the soft strands as they lifted and fell.

“Just out in the hall. I was going to lose it, and I didn’t want you to see. Punched a few holes in the wall. Now I just want to hold you for a minute. Okay?”

Always. “Yes.”

He tugged her closer, his arms tightening around her, and then he laid his head just over her breast, his warm breath trekking over her skin, his ear pressed into her heartbeat. They stayed like that for a long while, until she was shaking with the need to touch him, to be with him fully.

He must have sensed her desire because he urged her forward, taking more of her weight, more, until he lay flat and she was on top of him. Then he turned both their bodies sideways, rolled her and settled her in front of him, so that he cradled her. His chest to her spine, his erection pressing between her cheeks.

“Let me love you,” he whispered. “I want to fill you and move in you and come in you. I want to be so deep in you, baby. So damn deep.” His hand moved between her br**sts, angled, and kneaded the upper, rubbing against her nipple, creating the most delicious friction.

“Yes,” she repeated. Her brain was fogging, her every thought belonging to him, to what he was doing.

His other hand moved between her legs and found the center of her desire. “All this honey. All mine.” One finger burrowed into the gap her legs created and penetrated her, then another.

She rocked with his inward strokes, arching into him. “I love the way you work me.”

He nibbled on her ear. Slid a third finger home. Moan after moan cut through her throat, booming through the room.

“Get me all wet, baby. I want you all over me, coating me, drenching me.”

She continued to rock…rock against him, losing herself, happy to lose herself, never wanting to be found, desperate to remain here, with him, always, lost, so lost.

“So perfect. More.”

She squeezed her eyelids shut, her ears picking up sounds she’d previously missed. The hard rasp of his breath, coming faster and faster. The shift of his hips against the sheets, the slow grind of flesh against flesh. “Paris.”

“I’m going to do you so good.” His voice was guttural, almost totally animal. “I’m going to be in you, and I’m going to have you down my throat, your taste in my mouth. You’re going to welcome me inside, aren’t you.”

“Oh, yes. Please, yes.”

He removed his fingers, and she cried out, her desperation for him cranking out of control. How he’d get everything he wanted, she didn’t know, but at least she wasn’t empty for long. He clutched her upper knee and parted her legs, and without a pause in the glide of his hips, he slid as deep as he’d promised. She cried out again, this time in relief, stretched and filled and nearly insane with her need for more.

He moved in her, even as he traced her lips with his wet fingers—wet with her—and slid two digits inside her mouth. “Suck them.”

She did, oh, she did, tasting herself, the erotic act new for her, but so damn arousing. She rolled those fingers around, sucked on them as commanded, bit down on them. Then his fingers were gone and he was angling her face, and his mouth was pressing against hers, his tongue darting inside, taking the taste of her into himself. All the while he moved in her, so, so deep, then almost all the way out, then so, sooooo deep.

This was more than sex, some distant instinct told her; this was a bonding, a mating. He was all over her, in her, and she was all over him, in him. This man…oh, this man. She couldn’t get enough, would never get enough.