Demon Bait: Children of the Undying, Book 1 (13 page)

He bent his head and kissed her.

The world stopped.

His lips were warm. Firm. As firm as the fingers locked around her wrists, holding her hands to his face. She’d played out this moment in a thousand girlish daydreams and more than one guilty adult fantasy, and imagination hadn’t provided the little details. The heat of his body, the strength of his grip, the way she melted, like chocolate left in the July sun, and from nothing but that innocent contact.

His lips, on hers. Parting, and oh
God
, he knew how to kiss, like he was hungry, like he loved the taste of her, and Kat became mortally certain that her knees were going to give out if he got his tongue in on the action. Her body throbbed with the rhythm of his mouth moving on hers, until she was one exposed nerve, and she would have begged him to touch her anywhere—everywhere—if she wouldn’t have had to stop kissing him.

When he released her wrists, it was only to grip her hips and lift her, mold her to his body, and she moaned her gratitude. He was harder than he looked, an unforgiving wall of muscle and smooth skin, so distracting and arousing that she didn’t realize they were moving until he stepped over the threshold.

Into the bedroom.

“Open,” he rasped, and lowered her to the bed.

Her back touched the mattress—gentle, so damn gentle—and Andrew stretched out over her, shirtless and beautiful, and her brain fritzed out like a fried circuit board as she obeyed and parted her lips.

He touched them with his tongue, a soft sweep of one lip and then the other, and kissed her again, deeper, one hand winding in her hair. That stirred old memories, brought to life every unacceptable fantasy she’d had of their anger and hurt and longing all coalescing into a dark passion that would satisfy her body even as it cut her heart to pieces.

But there was no darkness in the grip of his hand, just a gentle control, a sweet hint of dominance that barely deserved the description, but thrilled her anyway. The throbbing was back, magnified into an ache that pulsed in time with the stroke of his tongue. Every time she tried to catch a breath it escaped in tiny, helpless noises that would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been burning alive.

He dragged his mouth to her chin and then her throat, nipping lightly when she tilted back her head.

The scrape of his teeth curled her toes, and the sheer insanity of the way her body reacted splintered fear through her.

She fisted both hands in his hair and dragged his head back, panting for breath. “What are we doing? Are we—”

He panted too, his eyes glazed with pleasure and need. “Are we what?” If she let him keep touching her, she’d fly apart before she got her pants off. “We can’t do this without talking about it. Sex with an empath as strong as I am—it’s not that simple. I could hurt you. Hurt
both
of us.”

Andrew’s chest rumbled, as if a growl formed that he didn’t quite voice. Then he rolled away. “I didn’t think.”

Disappointment made her voice shake. “You shouldn’t have to. It wouldn’t be that bad if you were anyone else…but with you I’m—I’ve got—” She covered her face with her hands, and now she was disappointed and embarrassed. “My empathy might as well be hardwired into my sexual responses. Is there a girl version of premature ejaculation?”

He choked on a snort. “I don’t think anyone minds it, usually.” Maybe her violent reactions had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with chemistry.

Maybe wanting Andrew so long had built a tension that would make even innocent touches feel fantastic.

Maybe she was in denial.

Maybe she didn’t care.

The room seemed too warm as she rolled to her knees. Andrew had his hand over his face, which made asking the question a lot easier. “If it gets too overwhelming…can we stop?” He rolled to his side, propped on one elbow, and studied her, his expression intense. “We can stop whenever you want. Whenever you need to.”

Christ, she was a teenager, making rules about where her prom date could touch her while they groped in the back of his car. Except she’d never gone to prom. She’d been sixteen her senior year, struggling with the violent surges in power that made puberty a worse nightmare for a psychic than for the average hormone-riddled teen.

And Andrew—Andrew was
not
a teenage boy. He was six-foot-something of shapeshifter alpha bastard who had to have his share of instinctive needs. “That’s not going to drive you crazy?”

“I have two hands, Kat,” he reminded her. “I can take care of things myself.” It was not remotely okay to pause and savor that image, but she couldn’t stop herself. Andrew, stretched out, his face slack with pleasure, the muscles in his arm flexing as he curled his fingers around—

She slapped her hands over her face and actually whimpered. “That was mean.”

“Was it?”

Anything else she said would reveal her newly formed and overwhelming need to watch him and his two hands take care of things. So she leaned down and kissed him again.

He held the back of her head and fit his mouth to hers, slow this time. Easy. A gentle kiss from a controlled man trying to make her feel safe, with no clue that his tender protectiveness turned her inside out.

If her empathy had been at full power, she would have come when he stroked his hand from her hair to her collarbone, and then down to her breast. She moaned, imagining how much hotter his callused fingertips would be against her suddenly tight nipples.

Not that the silly butterfly tank top offered much protection. Kat shuddered and tore her mouth free of his, then shoved at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back. Sliding one leg over his body was reckless, and straddling his stomach was
insane
. “You’re too hot. My brain is going to overheat.” Muscle flexed under her as he shifted slightly and gripped her hips. “Isn’t that the point?” The fine hair on his arms tickled her palms as she touched him, sliding both hands up until they passed his shoulders and she was stretched over him, clutching the blankets on either side of his head. A position of power—if you were fool enough to think an alpha shapeshifter couldn’t dominate a lover from flat on his back.

She might be on top, but the need pulsing through her answered to him. Her body answered to him, held captive by empathy and her growing suspicion that some of the arousal turning her inside-out was coming from him, in spite of her shields.

He held her gaze and thrust up, and suspicions and shields were the last thing on her mind as the hard ridge of his erection rubbed against her. Instinct had her moving before she could stop, grinding down to chase the too-perfect pleasure that couldn’t possibly be twisting inside her already.

But it was. Her elbows gave out, and she sprawled across his bare chest, open mouth pressed to his shoulder. Moaning, she clenched her eyes shut, afraid to move. “I can’t come before you’ve barely touched me.”

He flipped her onto her back and stretched out over her, one knee between her legs. “You can come whenever you damn well please.”

His love could damn her soul…

Far from Heaven

© 2011 Cherrie Lynn

Ashemnon’s demonic hunger for Madeleine Dean’s pure, vibrant soul has tormented him throughout every lifetime she’s lived on earth. Now, thanks to her desperate father, he has a blood-tight contract in hand. Soon, her soul will belong to him.

All her life, Maddie has been haunted by strange occurrences, hallucinations and intense nightmares.

As her ex-boyfriend walks away, she can almost hear the pieces of her life falling around her. And then she quite literally falls into the arms of a stranger who’s the first person to understand her troubled psyche.

Ash meant to collect Maddie’s soul, not sweep her off her feet. Yet the moment they touch, the temptation to seduce her is more than he can resist. Despite the risk, he finds himself succumbing to her charms.

Then Ash learns the reason it’s taken centuries for him to reach her: he’s not the only one with a claim on her soul. The forces of good and evil are in the midst of a tug of war—and Maddie’s the rope. Control wrested from his hands, Ash can only wait for her to make a choice that will either lead them to Heaven, or plunge them into Hell.

Warning: This title contains obsession, soul possession, and hot carnal transgression. Oh, and a few
scares for good measure. You can’t keep this bad demon down—though you’ll want to try.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Far from Heaven: He was out of his damned mind. It was the only explanation for why she still drew breath. At any moment, he could have reaped what was his, and yet something in her pleading blue eyes had stopped him cold in his tracks.

She was miserable…well, yes, that was mostly his own doing, and no doubt simply side effects of his claim on her soul. He’d sensed it the moment he touched her, felt every iota of her torment swirl right through him. Glimpsed the pain her former lover had just caused. For that alone, he’d wanted to rip
that
one’s soul out. Unfortunately, the man wasn’t tainted enough, or the temptation might have been too much to bear.

He’d remained homed in on her, fascinated with the play of emotions across her face, across her thoughts. They were clearer with physical contact, but even from a distance, he’d been able to catch traces of her anger and frustration.

Well, he’d done his job, hadn’t he? She’d been sent back to earth time and again for her strength, her goodness and her compassion. He’d broken her down, taken all of that away from her from the time she was an infant. Now she was desperate. She was weak and afraid. He should have been rejoicing over his success, laughing about stealing away and corrupting one of Heaven’s favorites. He might even climb the ranks over this one.

If he’d get off his ass and take her already.

Funny how he was contemplating greatness while he felt like some randy incubus whenever she looked at him with those eyes that were seeking answers for her predicament from somewhere, anywhere.

Little did she know she’d found the only being who could give them to her.

He watched from the shadows of the cavernous structure where her vehicle was parked. As she’d slid inside the car, her dress had slithered up one pale thigh, leaving almost her entire leg bared down to the dainty unshod foot. His mouth had watered. His cock had pulsed. It was doing so now, a pleasurable ache that was directly responsible for the idiotic decision to disable her car’s engine with a quick blast of his dark magic. To keep her here, to probe her mind and heart some more. To test the silvery threads of desire he’d felt within her roiling emotions, to touch her again.

She’d been so soft, and it wasn’t often he felt that particular tactile pleasure. His world was hard and black and scorched, the most forsaken, desolate wasteland anyone could envision. It was home, but a few more brushes of that cool, silken skin and he might grow attached to the topside world. It was a risk he was willing to take.

He approached the side of her boxy yellow car and peered inside. She’d crossed her arms over the steering wheel and was draped over them, her shoulders shuddering. Sobbing. Her hair cascaded over her back and arms, a heavy curtain of silk.

She might tell him to leave her at this point. He might only frighten her. Nonetheless, he lifted one hand and tapped on the window.

Her head jerked up and her eyes met his, widening slightly as their gazes connected through the glass.

She made a quick effort to duck and swipe at her cheeks before popping open the car door. “Um, hi.” Her voice was raw and husky with tears. Despite her efforts, dampness clung to her cheeks, and a stray hair caught in the moisture. He longed to brush it away.

“Are you having some trouble?”

Her laugh was without humor…it was actually one of the most despairing sounds he’d ever heard, and that was saying a lot. “If you only knew what a loaded question that was.” Oh, he did know. “I can help. Maddie.”

She softened at his adding her name to the offer. He saw it. Her eyes closed briefly, then she shook her head. “No. You can’t. No one can. It’s not just that my car won’t start, it’s…it’s everything.” Her lips twisted in bitterness. “Every fucking thing.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”
But aren’t
you
one to talk?

She made a breathless sound as her gaze darted up to his again, those luscious pink lips parting with surprise. “You don’t know anything about me. How can you say that?”

Deciding to risk shattering the fragility of the moment, he lifted his fingers to gently grasp her chin. “I don’t have to know you. I have eyes.” And he let those eyes wander down to where the bodice of her dress cradled her full breasts, to where the skirt dipped between her thighs. Beautiful. Her figure was lush, curvaceous, just beckoning his hands to chart the dips and swells. His thumb stroked her cheek, where the skin looked like porcelain but felt like satin. It couldn’t be his imagination that she was leaning into his touch.

He would have her throughout eternity. But she wouldn’t be as she was now, alive and still vibrant despite all he’d taken from her. He wanted a taste of her now, the sweetness of her flesh, the salt of her tears. He wanted to breathe deep the musky fragrance blooming even now from her sex.

Her lips were trembling. “I…do I know you somehow? Have we met before?” Interesting. She never would have seen him, but she most likely would have sensed him near her. She might recognize his presence, know by instinct that he was familiar to her. He allowed a reassuring smile.

“Maybe we knew each other in another life.”

She wet her lips, staring at his own now. “This is so not me.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know you.”

“I thought we just established that you did, somehow.” That gained him a tiny smile. “You know what I mean.”

“I think I do. You don’t know me, and yet…” His finger slid down the curve of her neck, over the persistent throb of her pulse. Delicate muscles tensed beneath his touch. He could now read every turbulent emotion as clearly as if it were his own. What would that feel like if he were buried to the hilt inside her?