And she opened her mouth over him. She’d never done this—although she’d wanted to before. She’d always been too shy, too worried that he’d think her sluttish or not like what she did.
But here, now, she simply didn’t care anymore.
She trailed a line of kisses down his length, marveling at the pulsing warmth within him, then licked up the strong tendon on the underside.
He muttered something and his hips jerked under her arms, half lifting her.
She wanted to tell him to never go back to St. Giles. That she’d find Roger’s killer herself. That she couldn’t bear anymore to see him hurt. But she’d already told him that before and it hadn’t changed his mind. She couldn’t change his mind. He wouldn’t allow her that far in.
But he would allow this.
She mouthed around the thick head of his cock, tasting the tang of his skin. She pulled back to stare at him as he’d stared at her once. The tiny slit at the top of his penis was leaking, and she drew her thumb through the clear liquid, smearing it about the soft skin.
The strong length in her hands jumped.
She smiled when she felt that and leaned down to kiss the very tip, the warm wetness smearing across her lips. She looked up and saw that the color was high across his cheekbones and his eyelids half shielded his glittering gray eyes. Still watching, she took the head of his cock into her mouth and suckled.
His nostrils flared and he bit his lip, but he did no more, staring back at her as she opened her mouth and licked slowly around the head. Later she would be embarrassed by her boldness.
Right now she reveled in the freedom he gave her.
But when she lightly scraped her teeth around the rim, he moved.
“Megs,” he growled, and reached for her.
She didn’t like that—she wasn’t done playing. She half rose and scrambled backward, trying to dodge his hands, her anger rising again.
“Damn it, Megs!”
He lunged and she reacted instinctively, a thrill of alarm shooting through her. She got to her feet and made two abortive strides.
It wasn’t fair of her—he was wounded. She should’ve been able to get away.
He slammed her against the bed, using his greater weight and height to hold her there.
She was wedged between him and the bed, panting, though their struggle had only been a matter of seconds. He was behind her, his body pressed against her back, his erection imprinted on her buttocks, his arms braced on either side of her.
She could feel his breath puffing against her ear. She waited, expecting him to turn her around to face him.
Instead he began gathering her wrapper and chemise.
She caught her breath.
He whispered a kiss behind her ear. “Hold still.”
Her bottom was bare now, her skin cooling in the air, and she felt the hot slide of his cock across her hip.
He placed his hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her gently but firmly down, until her upper half lay across the bed and her lower half was canted up, waiting for his pleasure.
She felt him nudge her legs apart, and then his palm was on her hip and she felt it: the nudge of his cock against her entrance. He seemed somehow larger in this position and she heard him grunt as he began squeezing his way in. She was wet, but she felt each ridge of his penis as he pushed himself slowly into her.
Her hands clutched at the bedclothes.
He seemed to take forever, widening her, burrowing into her swollen tissues. Then he made a final shove and she felt the fabric of his leggings brush firmly against her bottom.
He held himself there and she could hear the sound of his rough breathing in the quiet of the room. She bit her lip, mirroring his earlier grimace. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath—and he hadn’t even started to move.
And then he did, a slick, hard slide that rubbed against something wonderful inside of her. She couldn’t help the squeaking cry she gave, and as if her hips moved of their own accord, she began bumping back against him.
He huffed a rough laugh. “So impatient.”
She turned her head to scowl at him—or at least she meant to, but he chose that moment to reverse his glide, thrusting back into her.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. “Oh.”
“You like that?” he whispered.
She nodded, unable to speak. He was embedding himself into her over and over, his cock rubbing against her deliciously, and she couldn’t help but tilt her bottom up in submissive invitation. She burrowed one hand underneath and found her nub as he filled her again and again, his hardness sliding against her wet fingers.
His breath caught and he swiveled his hips, grinding against her, leaning close over her, whispering low in her ear. “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you?”
She swallowed, closing her eyes in bliss. “Y-yes.”
“God,” he muttered, and she wondered if he’d finally lost the power of speech.
Perhaps he had, for he suddenly planted one hand over her shoulder and shoved hard into her, pressing her into the mattress. He was pushing her body up the bed with quick, forceful jabs that spread her apart, made her see a starburst behind her closed lids.
A spike of near-painful pleasure bloomed between her legs, flowing and expanding through her, a river of sweet completion. She moaned, loud and low.
He stiffened behind her, his hips still working, even as his hot seed filled her, as if he didn’t want to stop. And then he fell against her, his heat surrounding and cradling her. She felt his chest pressing into her back as he fought to catch his breath.
She should feel squashed beneath him, but instead she felt protected and oddly cherished.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as he moved his right arm—the one with the white bandage—and twined his fingers with hers, squeezing gently.
Were it up to her, they would stay this way forever.
Chapter Seventeen
“Do you see these things trapped in the sand of the Plain of Madness?” Loss hissed at Faith. He’d seen the fate of his imp comrades, so he was cautious of Faith, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to wallow in her horror.
“What are they?” Faith whispered, filled with dread. “They are the souls of those who died insane,” Loss said with glee. “They meander aimlessly now, flowing with the shifting dust, and will remain so until men no longer walk the earth.” …
—From The Legend of the Hellequin
If Hell existed on earth, Artemis Greaves was walking into it. Her shoes crunched on fine gravel in a huge, nearly empty courtyard. Behind her were the tall iron gates. Before her, the baroque façade of a magnificent, beautiful building. White Corinthian columns marched in paired rows along the front, crowned by a central dome with a clock, the Roman numerals picked out in gold. The gilding was repeated on the top of the dome, a spinet with the figure of a veiled woman.