Archangel's Blade (35 page)

“Yes.” Her chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm. “They're red with a black bow.”

“Witch.”

She laughed, confirming his supposition that she was teasing him again. No one had done that for an eon. “Take off this shirt, Dmitri”—a nibbling kiss on the sensitive curve of his earlobe—“or I'll tear it to pieces.”

Hissing at the caress, he made quick work of the shirt, throwing it to the side and shoving his hands between their bodies to rid himself of his belt at the same time. His cock was a steel rod in his pants, pressing in urgent demand against the fabric—he undid the top button for relief, but resisted the urge to release his turgid flesh. If he did, this would end far too fast.

And he wanted to savor.

The thought whispering out of reach before he truly heard it, he traced the strap of Honor's bra to the cup, nudged it down to bare the swollen pout of her nipple. Leaving the lace tucked just under it, he repeated the process with her other breast. Then he leaned back and drank in the sight of her displayed for him like an erotic feast.

Her breath, already ragged, turned fast and shallow, her
hands dropping to her thighs. Then she did something unexpected. Pushing in with her upper arms, she plumped up her breasts for him, serving up the feast. He groaned, dipped his head to suck one tightly furled nipple into his mouth while he rolled the other between his fingertips.

Luxuriating in the taste of her, he alternated between one luscious breast and the other, until she pulled at his hair. “What?” He heard the arrogance, decided she was strong enough to deal.

“I can't breathe.” Face flushed, heartbeat erratic, hair tumbled, and nipples hot and wet from his caresses, she was a sexual fantasy come to life.

“You aren't planning to rush me, are you, Honor?” He flicked his thumb over one nipple before reaching back to unhook her bra and peel it off, revealing the full beauty of her breasts. The honey gold of her skin was creamier here, more delicate, until he knew his fangs would leave two perfect tiny bruises on her flesh—he could heal a bite completely, but as he'd already proven, he wasn't exactly a civilized sophisticate when it came to Honor. He wanted her to bear the intimate brand.

But not until she was ready. However, there were other ways to mark a woman. “Lean back with your elbows on the table.” Another command.

One she obeyed.

The position not only left her at his mercy, it pushed up her breasts for his pleasure. “I want to feed from you,” he said, and saw the immediate terror in her eyes, “but I won't. Not until you give me an unmistakable verbal invitation, so push that fear out of your mind.” He held the deep green of her gaze until the terror was washed away by relief . . . and a smoldering sensuality that told him this was a woman who'd match him in bed stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss.

“Honor?”

“Yes.”

“I'm going to do things to you now that a good girl
definitely
shouldn't let a man do to her.”

The words made Honor's body turn liquid.

Then Dmitri put that sinful, dangerous mouth on her breast, sucking hard enough to leave a love-bruise, before dipping his head to suckle her nipple with strong tugs that made her womb clench. If his earlier caresses had been painfully tender, this was pure, raw sex. Nothing in his touch said he considered her fractured, considered her damaged goods, and that gave her a freedom she wouldn't have believed possible.

Pushing upward into the merciless knowledge of that mouth, she was rewarded with his tongue swirling around her nipple, doing things to her that she hadn't known were possible. Squeezing her thighs around his powerful body, she watched him lift his head. Lick his lips. And move to her neglected breast.

A kiss of teeth.

Chanting that promise in her mind, she rode out the spike of fear to drown in the rush of pleasure. “Don't stop,” she said when he raised his head.

He leaned forward to press a kiss just below the hollow of her throat in answer, eyes of sin and darkness holding a look of satisfaction he made no attempt to hide. “Can you reach the honey?”

Twisting slightly, she grabbed the squeeze bottle of honey he'd put out with the fruit and handed it to him, knowing full well she was giving him a weapon with which to torment her further.

He flicked open the cap and, continuing to maintain the intimate eye contact, leaned forward to lick her nipple—just once, just enough to tantalize, to have her sucking in a breath—before upending the bottle and squeezing the sticky liquid not onto her body as she'd expected, but into his hand. He flicked the top closed after he was done, and gave it to her.

She managed to put it somewhere on the table without ever taking her eyes from him.

Dipping a single finger into the thick golden liquid, he lifted it to her lips to trace her with honey sweetness. She sucked his finger into her mouth, swirled her tongue around it as she'd done to his cock in the car. Those sexy eyes told her exactly what he wanted to do to her, but the heat was a slow-burning ember, Dmitri's fuse apparently very long.

Lucky her.

“Keep doing that,” he murmured in a voice that was the most opulent fur over her skin, “and I'll have you kneeling between my legs sucking on something much harder.”

She caught his finger between her teeth, a sensual punishment for words that might as well have come from some uncivilized barbarian. “Floor would be tough on the knees,” she said after releasing him, feeling hotly, gloriously female. “Next time I suck you, I want to be kneeling on a nice comfy sofa.”

“I live to grant your wishes.” Finger glistening from her mouth, he dipped it back in the honey and painted both her nipples with a precise, near-delicate touch, before beginning to create an intricate curving pattern on the slopes of her breasts. “Don't move.”

It was pure torture to sit motionless as he caressed her with long, slow, sticky motions of his finger, his body big and hard and aroused beneath her, his erection so very close that she had fantasies of ripping off his pants and mounting him, his thick flesh pushing into her in rigid demand.

Dmitri's eyes glittered as they met hers and she wondered what he saw. But all he said was, “Be a good girl, Honor, or I'll have to punish you.”

She shuddered as the fantasy formed full-blown in her mind. “Maybe I”—she swallowed as he painted a line down to her navel, drawing a curving design a half inch above the low waistband of her jeans—“would enjoy your version of punishment.”

“Hmm.” He ran his finger back up. “It wouldn't be punishment then, would it?” A sensual threat from a dangerous creature who knew how to play every facet of a woman's body. “Now, come here.” Curving his hand around her body, he pressed his palm onto her back.

She gasped as the honey met her skin. “I'm all sticky.”

“Come make me sticky.”

Having no objection to pasting herself against his body, she crushed her breasts to his chest. “We're going to make an awful mess.” She couldn't help but claim his mouth, that beautiful, sexy mouth that was becoming her most sinful indulgence.

He let her take him, let her suck on his tongue and ride her body against his cock, but the material of her jeans was thick and she couldn't feel him like she wanted. When his hands clenched on her thighs, it was a silent demand. Breaking the kiss, she separated their honey-coated bodies with a husky moan and rose to her feet to undo her belt, throw it to the side.

Then, as Dmitri watched, she flicked open the button at the waistband of her jeans and pushed down the zipper to reveal the front of her red panties. Urging her forward with his hands on her hips, Dmitri reached in to trace the tiny black bow, the intimate touch making her want to beg him to move that hand lower, rub harder. Except—“What if I—”

He kissed her navel, right above her panties, the kiss hot and wet.

Her toes curled, and the only reason she remained upright was because of his hold.

“Then,” he said, answering the question he hadn't let her complete, “we try again. We try all night because I have every intention of taking what's mine.”

She ran her fingers through the heavy black silk of his hair. “Possessive much?”

The smile he gave her was lethal in its impact. She'd known from the start that she was perilously vulnerable to him, but it was at that moment that she realized she could deny him nothing. It was a terrible weakness, but one that was fused so very deep into her psyche, she knew there was no fighting it, no ignoring it.

Stepping back, she shimmied out of her jeans and threw them aside. But when she would've straddled him again, he shook his head, nudged her toward the table. A blush crept up her body as she perched on the smooth pine, her knees demurely closed. Shifting his chair closer, he slid his hands down her thighs to cup the backs of her knees, her calves, and it was a tormenting pleasure. She allowed those knowing hands to caress her, to part her knees and spread her thighs as he directed her to put her feet on the chair on either side of his body.

She felt exposed, naked, though she still wore her panties. “Dmitri.” Stroking up honey from her body, she shaped his lips with her fingertip. His jaw was hard under her hand as she cupped his face and kissed him, slow and sweet and a little bit wicked, biting down on that slightly full lower lip.

He moved his hands over her thighs, squeezed. And then he nipped back.

It zinged a ripple of pleasure right through her. Eyes wide, she stared at him, this gorgeous creature more dangerous than any vampire she'd ever before known. She'd thought any hint of a bite would make her freak out. Swallowing, she looked down at his hands. “My thigh,” she whispered. “Do it.”

Not saying a word, he wiped up honey from his chest and ran a line down the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. It made her tremble, but the tremor wasn't caused by fear. Not yet. However, the instant he bent his head to her flesh, she froze. Not stopping, he closed his teeth on her. The bite was more a tease than anything, with not even a hint of fang. Trembling, she said, “Do it again.”

He gave her another teasing kiss. Another.

Until her body couldn't hold the tension any longer and she shuddered, melting into his touch, his seduction. Long, slow licks, small, playful bites, hard sucks, he gave her all of them. But he didn't sink his fangs into her flesh, didn't draw up her blood. “When I feed from you,” he murmured, “it won't be a rushed thing. I plan to savor every hot second of it.” He tugged her forward, reaching up to play with the thin black ribbons on the sides of her panties, his lips a little swollen from her kisses, his bones sharply defined against that warm, beautiful skin. “Lie back.”

Shivering at the dark seduction of him, she took a deep breath and bent over to lie on the table, laughing when her back met the warmth of the wood. “Sticky.”

Lifting up her legs until her knees were hooked up over his shoulders, he ran a finger down the very center of her panties. “Hmm, yes.”

Her brain couldn't quite process his statement, her nerves short-circuited by that single touch. Again, she waited for the fear. Again, it didn't come. That was when she made the connection. This, with Dmitri, it was about pleasure.

Never again would he unleash the honed blade of cruelty on her. She knew that to the depths of her soul, had heard it in the cadence of his voice, felt it in that moment when he knelt before her, this man of power and pride, the moment that had been the dividing line between the past and the future.

So this was about pleasure.

The assault had been about pain.

“Are you ready, Honor?”

Yes.
But she didn't have the chance to answer, because that was when he put his mouth on her through the damp fabric of her panties.
“Dmitri.”

 

Half of Dmitri wanted to tear off the last flimsy scrap of
Honor's clothing and plow into her in a single deep thrust, claiming her in that most elemental of ways. The other half of him wanted to use every bit of the sensual skill he'd gained over the centuries to make her his slave.

Her panties stuck to the plump, flushed curves of her intimate flesh when he drew back, slid his hands under those silly little ribbons that made him insane, and tugged. She lifted up her body and he was peeling that scrap of nothing down her thighs an instant later. He stood to get them completely off, and when he looked up at her, he knew he'd reached the limit of his patience. Leaning down, he licked at the honey over her breasts.

“So now I'm your serving dish,” she said with a smile that kicked him right in the heart. “I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

Laughing—and when had he last done that with a lover?—he kissed his way down her body, to the damp curls between her thighs. And found he had a little more patience after all. Enough to retake his seat, part her, and kiss her, hot and slow and with exquisite care, laving his tongue against the hard nub at the apex of her thighs.

Her back arched, her fingernails scrabbling on the wood. “Dmitri.” Her breath escaped her in a choked-off scream that made him tuck his thumb against the slick entrance to her body and push inside a mere fraction as he covered her with his mouth once more. It was enough. She came apart for him, a sweet burst of feminine spice against his senses.