Satan (17 page)

He shrugged off his sweater, tossed the garment onto the couch, and unbuckled his belt all the while wearing a Cheshire-cat grin.

She held her breath in anticipation when he rolled the pants down over his lean hips and heaved a huge sigh when his magnificent penis sprang free of the material. She loved that he wasn’t circumcised. Loved the way the shiny red glans poked through his foreskin. Saliva coated her tongue. What would his precum taste like?

When he shoved the denim down his legs, footed the jeans off, and chucked the trousers next to his sweater, her nipples budded. He moved with both precision and grace, and slipped his arms into the bathrobe. She held her breath, too enraptured by the vision before her to bother with such trivia as oxygen filling her lungs.

He was the image of his moniker. The archetype of the menacing Satanic male beauty artists struggled to describe and recreate. Black suited him. The edges of the robe caressed his olive skin enhancing the golden tones. His erection jutted and twitched, the shiny cockhead catching on the fabric every so often.

“Do you always go commando?” She couldn’t force her focus away from his humungous erection.

“When I’m at home.” His graveled, clipped reply spoke of passion barely in check. Her pussy quivered at the desire revealed in his growled declaration.

The play of his quads when he stalked in her direction, the odd glimpse of his testicles swaying against his inner thighs fascinated her. A breathless desire raced through her, and she drenched the thong she wore—the black one he’d given her not a couple of hours ago.

He walked past her. She frowned. He halted on the sheepskin carpet.

“Come.” He crooked a finger.

Only too happy to oblige, she exaggerated the sway of her hips and ambled over to stand in front of him. He captured her wrists and set one palm to cover his flat male nipple.

“What do you want me to do?” She stared at him, trying to penetrate the blackness of his eyes.

His gaze trapped hers, and he licked the center of her other palm. “To enjoy, Angel.”

She trembled when he finger-traced the square neckline of her gown. The slight grazing caress sparked her skin. Still staring right into her eyes, he bent his head, and brushed his lips across hers.

When his features blurred, she let her lids fall, and surrendered to sensation. The gentle, lazy way he sipped her mouth, pausing on every sweet suck to nip and then tickle-sooth the spot dizzied her. He traced a slow path across the seam, and she opened for him. He licked a lingering trail on the first four of her lower front teeth and her knees buckled.

Immediately, he firmed his arm around her waist. “I have you, Angel. I have you.”

His lips grazed hers when he whispered his assurance and his hot, orange-scented breath tickled her damp lips. Mesmerized by his languid kisses, entranced by the aura of cherish inherent in his sensual exploration, she gave over to him. Aware of nothing but him, his mouth and his clever tongue, and the safety of his embrace, she wallowed in the shroud of desire ensnaring them.

Passion yes, but laced with a tenderness so poignant she yearned to draw out their beguiling mutual explorations. He feathered kisses along first the line of one brow, then the other. His fingers slipped over her ribs, a meticulous outlining of each curved bone as if he intended to learn every centimeter of her body.

He combed her hair behind one ear. “I want to unwrap you now. I want to indulge in you. To memorize you standing here. Will you be comfortable if I simply look at you all unwrapped for a few minutes?”

A fierce craving to please him, to grant his every wish, hurtled through her. She looked up at him, read the tenderness in his gaze, and reached up to stroke his cheek. “Yes, yes, yes.”

He kissed her again, hot, moist kisses. Starting with the hollow in the center of her throat, he inched his way along her collarbone and suckled that sweet point where neck and shoulder met.

The spot drove her wild. She moaned his name. When he made his way up to her ear, strangled noises erupted from her lips. How could desire be frenetic and languid at the same time? She hungered to have his cock pounding into her right there and then, yet simultaneously craved the continuation of his wicked, indolent pacing.

“Ready?” He sucked on her lower lip before drawing back to look at her.

She smoothed her hand over his chest, smiled, and nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around the bow’s dangling ends, captured her gaze, and with infinitesimal slowness tugged the fabric. When the bow unraveled, he spread his arms wide apart gripping the ends with his fingers to hold the dress in place, and murmured, “I claim my Angel gift.”

She was
so
ready to be claimed.

He released the ends.

Angel stiffened her spine. She focused on a tubby Santa ornament and didn’t flinch when the stretchy garment slipped in excruciating increments away from her breasts. Her nipples, already taut and throbbing, burned when the cool air swirled over them. The garment continued its sluggish descent and trailed past her waist. An unexpected rush of heat undulated over her navel and hipbones when the silk fluttered down her belly.

Her pussy walls vibrated with tensed excitement. She lost her concentration and became aware of Satan’s searing scrutiny. She struggled to regain her vague deliberation, but time seemed to inch by in an agonizing slow-motion. Angel tried to reach the space she went to when doing her opening monologue in front of a live TV audience, but couldn’t. Her inhales and exhales spiked. If he touched her right then, she would shatter.

The dress skidded down her legs and pooled at her feet.

A pang of doubt hit her, and she hesitated, sucked in her stomach, and leveled her chin before checking his expression. He had retreated during her semi-trance and now stood five feet directly away from her. His focus was on her feet. She flexed her toes.

The corners of his mouth crooked.

His predatory gaze crawled over her ankles, roved to her shins, and tarried on her knees for long seconds.

Only by stiffening her spine did she curb the urge to cover her breasts and mound in the age-old female defensive pose.

Pin-dropping quiet, broken only by her rasped breathing, shrouded the room. His glance roamed over her thighs, lingered on her black thong for what felt like an eternity, dwelled on her breasts for protracted breath-stealing moments, and loitered on her mouth before he looked right into her eyes.

Flames licked her from within. She trembled all over. Her skin felt too tight for her body. She was no longer composed of muscle and organs, but of an incendiary desire that threatened to erupt at any moment.

“Please.”

Unaware the fervent plea came from her lips, she waited, unable to draw in enough oxygen to stop her lungs from burning. He loped, ever so slowly, in her direction and shed his robe half-way to her. She raked her stare over the length of him, her pussy clenching and jerking faster and faster the nearer he got.

He scooped her off her feet, kneeled, arranged her on the furry rug, and fanned out her hair. The slight tugs on her scalp ratcheted her ready-to-implode sexual hunger. She quivered with need. Her breasts felt heavy and achy. Her nipples were aflame. Her clit throbbed, and her pussy walls quaked incessantly.

She closed her eyes in ecstasy when he finally covered her body with his. The weight of him, the skin-to-skin tingling made her giddy. She lifted her lids to find him studying her, his lips wearing an ever-so-slight smile.

“Merry Christmas, Angel.” He nuzzled her throat and nudged her knees apart.

“Merry Christmas, Satan.” She spread her legs wide in open invitation.

He settled between her thighs and placed a forearm on either side of her.

They looked into each other’s eyes.

His cock teased at her sex.

The intrinsic intimacy of his cock filling her while they stared at each other proved intoxicating. He inched into her, stretching her clamping sheath. Cognizant of the heat and girth of him as he invaded her pussy, she was alert to the slight nuances of his every reaction. He grunted when her muscles fisted him. He grasped her hips and drove to the hilt.

She keened when the orgasm roared through her and curled her hands around his back. He froze. Kissed her forehead, her brow, the tip of her nose.

A while later, as her tempestuous orgasm waned, she blinked him back into focus.

“I love watching you come.”

“I want to come with you. Us at the same time. It’s magic.”

“Magic. Yes.” He nipped his way along the bridge of her shoulder.

She scraped her nails lightly up and down either side of his spine.

He slowly withdrew from her pussy, sucked her lobe, and nipped the tip.

She clamped her legs around his waist and moaned when he nudged his cock back into her. “Faster. Harder.”

“Yes, my Angel” He nuzzled the valley between her breasts, and slowly retreated.

She arched to meet his powerful drive.

He planted his lips over hers and his tongue plundered her mouth.

She locked her ankles together and clung to him as he hammered into her.

The pace of his tongue and cock fucking doubled.

She lifted to his every thrust.

The smacking of flesh against sweaty flesh echoed in her head. That first electrical sparking began, she bit her lip to stem her impending climax. Knew she couldn’t hold back much longer and panted, “Please. Please. Now.”

“Now, darlin’ now,” he growled.

Freed by his order, she rode the tsunami-orgasm, spiraling with the turbulence until a wave of torpid satiation coated every limb, every slackened muscle.

Before her senses began to return, he rolled them over, arranged her so she straddled his hips, and covered her with a throw.

Too lust drunk to garner a single word far less a thought, she drifted on a current of unadulterated happiness and contentment for a long time before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Angel awoke with a start, both disoriented and discombobulated. She knuckled her eyes, sat up, and swept a glance around—the master bedroom. Vague memories of him carrying her upstairs surfaced.

“Sleeping beauty’s finally awake.” Satan, wearing jeans, a silver-buckled belt, and red plaid shirt covered by his usual black sweater, marched into the room. He carried a bunch of garments under one arm and his mischievous grin prompted an echoing one from her.

The memory of their astounding love-making in the library flooded her mind. She crinkled her nose and her mouth dropped open when she glanced at the clock to the right of the dresser. “It’s noon. I slept during the day? I can never sleep in daylight unless I’m sick. Shoot. I barely even remember us leaving the library.”

He dropped the clothes at the bottom of the bed, hitched his way to her, and sat on the mattress. “You conked out and I carried you here.”

A lick of heat washed her throat and face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Angel. Never apologize when our love making makes you pass out. It’s a studly compliment.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek. “You need to get dressed—fast. Our sleigh ride’s awaiting.”

All her sleep-fuzziness vanished. She sat up clutching the sheets over her naked breasts. “Sleigh ride? Really?”

“Yep. A horse-drawn sleigh ride.”

“Omigod! Satan—how on earth did you manage that?” She actually squealed the words, her elation too overflowing to contain her honest delight.

He tweaked her nose. “Your reaction’s worth any price. I called in a couple of favors. Get moving, missy. I brought up your dress and shoes for later. I’ve a mind to unwrap my present one more time before midnight strikes. Dress warm. It’s snowing again, and the wind’s picked up. How long will you need?”

“Five minutes. I’m so excited. My very first sleigh ride. You, Satan aka Lorcan McGuillycuddy, are the best!” She threw her arms around his neck and peppered kisses all over his face.

“Wench.” He captured her hands, brushed his lips to the underside of each wrist. “I’m leaving because if I stay you’ll be on your back and I’ll be inside you in a heartbeat. Get dressed fast and come downstairs. The sleigh’s in the backyard.”

“Okay.” She waited until he left the room, then bounded out of the bed, rummaged in her carry-on, dressed, and checked her image in the mirror above the dresser. Black cashmere turtleneck, woolen tights tucked into knee-length boots, and a red tunic vest. The outfit would definitely keep her warm, but something was missing. She smiled at herself and pulled her angel pendant from beneath the sweater. The crystal pendant proved the perfect foil accessory.

Pleased with her cleverness, she just about ran out of the room and down the stairs. Her coat and mitts were draped over the bannister. She slipped both garments on, skipped her way to the backdoor, and slammed out of the house.

Satan stood in the middle of the snow-carpeted backyard next to an enormous old-fashioned wooden sleigh harnessed to two snorting and stamping Clydesdales, the reins gripped in his un-gloved fingers.

Unable to contain her elation, she sprinted to him.

“Milady.” He offered her his hand.

Too giddied by exhilaration to control her reflexive reaction, she dipped a low curtsey. “My lord.”

He lifted her into the sleigh, tucked a thick blanket around her waist and legs, walked to the driver’s side, and seated himself next to her.

Angel glanced up at him and all the emotion she’d tried so hard to repress crashed through her. “I love you, Satan, Lorcan McGuillycuddy.”

Angel’s fervent declaration stun-gunned him. He froze. Could do nothing but drown in her baby-blues. The connection between his vocal chords and his brain broke. He palmed her cheeks. Struggled to contain the wild jubilation coursing through his veins and lost the battle before it even began. “Back atcha, Angelica O’Malley. I love you, too.”

Her face fell. She hung her head and stared at his booted feet. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He tipped her jaw and trapped her gaze. “I understand. It’s been a collision relationship so far and I, for one, certainly never expected—believed—in love at first sight. But it happened. Why don’t we just go with the flow? We’ve said the words. Let’s leave them on the table and go by our monkey sex and fun rules. For now.”