Demon's Fire (15 page)

He’d meant it as a warning. “Yes,” the demon soothed. “I know what you want. I can drink from you here as well.”

Pahndir ran his tongue around the tip of him, and Charles fought a moan. The extremity of his arousal seemed to have made him more sensitive. His skin tingled everywhere his energy rushed out to meet Pahndir’s touch. Against his will, his nails were pricking holes through the silk that draped Pahndir’s broad shoulders.

“I want this too much,” Charles said, trying to be clearer. “I’m afraid I’ll thrust too hard and gag you.”

Pahndir steadied his shaft in one hand, his hold almost unbearably personal. “This is not a concern you need to have. Yama don’t have the same reflexes that humans do.”

Charles groaned even before Pahndir’s mouth surrounded him. He was in an alley in broad daylight, his only protection from discovery a rubbish bin and a few shadows. A demon was going down on him, feeding from him, and that demon happened to be a male. Anyone who saw them would think they were depraved. Twisted creature that Charles was, there wasn’t one part of this scenario he didn’t find exciting—and that was before he discovered how incredibly good at this Pahndir was.

Charles shoved one wrist into his mouth to muffle his helpless cries—or maybe they were mewls, like a kitten being tortured. Pahndir was sucking his penis up and down—tight, strong pulls that threatened to turn him inside out. The Yama’s throat closed on his crest with each downstroke, a strange but piquant caress. Charles almost stumbled when Pahndir shouldered his legs wider for more access. The prince’s hand surrounded Charles’s tightened balls, squeezing and rolling the tender sac with a pressure that flirted on the edge of pain. It hurt, but it felt good as well, helping him to last, helping him to savor every lick and swallow and pull.

Sweat rolled down him in the desert heat. When his nails unintentionally ripped through silk to draw blood, Pahndir made soothing noises against his cock. Charles forced his hands to relax, forced them to fork into Pahndir’s hair and massage his scalp. Pahndir let out a muffled moan. Coupled with the noise of suckling, this almost sent Charles over the top.

“Lord,” he groaned, his body jerking uncontrollably now. “When this is over, I am going to thank you like you won’t believe.”

Pahndir made a noise that sounded like approval. He strengthened and slowed his sucking at the same time. The hand that didn’t cup Charles’s balls was running up the back of his leg, soothing the cramp that threatened to tighten his muscles. Charles’s scalp began to prickle, the ache in his groin rising. Pahndir’s tongue was cushioning the lower side of his shaft, but it was also moving like a snake. Human tongues simply didn’t do that, not so firmly, not so precisely, until the sweet spot beneath his glans felt like it was being hit repeatedly by a soft hammer.

As the orgasm tipped from
almost
to
there
, instincts too strong to fight took over. He shoved into Pahndir’s mouth so hard the man couldn’t help but grunt, no matter what reflexes he did or didn’t have. Undeterred, Pahndir’s tongue went into a rapid flutter as liquid heat exploded in Charles’s loins. Charles let the climax go, let his hips buck and thrust uncontrollably. He wallowed in the waves of pleasure the way Beth said he had in guilt. Pahndir didn’t make a sound, just tightened his hands and pressed his head closer. He was licking him like he tasted good, and those caresses felt so sweet Charles didn’t get a chance to go completely soft.

He panted, sagging limply against the wall as Pahndir rose. When the Yama dragged the back of his hand across his glistening lips, a tiny afterspasm jolted Charles’s cock.

“You bit your wrist,” Pahndir observed, lifting Charles’s arm to examine it.

Charles’s eyelids could have been weighted with lead; it was that hard to keep them up. He looked at Pahndir’s hands where they framed his forearm. Blood welled in the tooth marks, but the pain didn’t register.

Pahndir’s fingers were shaking a tiny bit.

“I was trying to be quiet,” Charles said.

Pahndir’s eyes slanted with amusement. “You honor me.”

Charles touched his cheek, letting his fingers skate slowly down the lean hollow, watching the muted flush that bloomed on the other man’s flawless skin. The flush could have been emotion, or a reaction to Charles’s energy. Either way, Pahndir stilled beneath the caress, his humor gone as if a switch had flipped. In its place was a watchfulness that put a corresponding tightness in Charles’s chest.

The tension in the prince’s body was thick enough to taste. He’d shown more control than his male employee by not spilling along with Charles: a matter of pride as much as class, perhaps.

“That was something,” Charles said softly. “I’m not certain I have the skills to thank you sufficiently.”

Pahndir’s eyes dropped gratifyingly to his mouth. The tip of his tongue came out briefly. “I suspect you’re being modest, but in any case, I’ve always preferred enthusiasm to expertise.”

His faintly suggestive tone encouraged Charles’s
enthusiasm
to take on a renewed stiffness.

“May I walk you home?” he suggested, wanting to return the pleasure in more comfortable surroundings, and wanting just as much to experience more for himself. “We could continue this with more privacy.”

Pahndir drew in a breath. He took so long to answer, Charles began to think he’d said something wrong. But he couldn’t have mistaken how much Pahndir wanted this. The man’s robes were standing out over his erection, which was larger than any he’d ever seen. Now that he had seen it, Charles could hardly tear his gaze from the way the thin material was vibrating.

He suspected he’d enjoy the challenge of accommodating it.

Sadly, Pahndir seemed to find his needs easier to ignore.

“Not today,” he said at last. “Though I hope you’ll ask again when the timing is better.”

“The timing?”

Pahndir shook his head. “It’s a personal matter, a royal quirk I’m not yet ready to put to the test.”

“You can trust me,” Charles said.

Pahndir kissed him gently on the mouth, his breath rushing out the slightest, flattering bit. “It isn’t you I distrust, Charles. It’s the cruel mistress both our races call Fate.”

Beth struggled to pull the buttons of her blouse together, but to no avail.

Bloody poori and batata nu shak,
she cursed, these being her favorite Bhamjrishi foods. Her clothes had gotten tighter recently, but this was ridiculous. Beth was not a person who gained weight, no matter what she ate. Her three older sisters had been bemoaning that fact for years.

Well, so what?
she told her half-dressed reflection in the bedroom mirror. She didn’t look bad, even if her long brown skirt was too snug to qualify as ladylike.

She shoved the offending garment down her legs and twisted from side to side. Without the waistband digging into her, she was no longer bulging but curvaceous—an adjective she’d long ago lost hope of ever applying to herself. Yes, it was strange that she’d turned curvaceous overnight, but who knew what effect Southern food could have? Deep-fried puff bread and spiced potatoes might be more powerful than people realized.

An image rose in her mind of Queen Tou’s very queenly figure striding down the corridor to her harem. Tou had been strong, but she’d also been a shapely woman, the sort men couldn’t help drooling over, the sort who made them think of fathering children. Hadn’t Tou noticed changes in her body after emerging from the black chamber? Wasn’t it likelier that Beth’s own venture into the room was affecting her?

“No,” she said aloud, the sharpness of the denial echoing through her suite. She hadn’t heard a peep from anyone about a secret chamber being discovered. It was still just possible that she’d imagined her experience there. Women’s figures evolved as they grew older. That could be all this was.

She squeezed her breasts’ new fullness between her hands. They’d evolved all right. Her nipples were deeply flushed, almost red, and they drew tight in the morning breeze. Their sensitivity reminded her of other changes she’d noticed. Swallowing back a knot of fear, she focused on the issue at hand. If her bosom got any bigger, she’d have to start wearing those newfangled Jeruvian brassieres.

“Then you will,” she told herself. And while she was at it, why not get a whole new wardrobe? One that suited her tastes and comfort better than the clothes she’d come here with? Herrington paid her well enough to afford it. She was a grown woman—captain of her ship, and all that. Her parents’ opinions didn’t matter. Beth had slept with a man. The experience might not have ended ideally, but she wasn’t a child anymore.

Surprised to find herself smiling (because, really, she ought to have been ashamed) she dug Charles’s shirt out of the cupboard where she’d hidden it. She was glad she’d folded it neatly. It was big enough to wear, and it would cover up her skirt’s poor fit. Fortunately, this was the weekend. Both Charles and Herrington would sleep in. She had plenty of time to do what she wanted before the men in her life figured out how to stop her.

Pahndir didn’t remember if he’d dreamed of Beth or Charles, but when he woke he was grinding his hips against the mattress, so close to climax he truly couldn’t stop himself until he came.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the dry peak slicing through him in a hard, bright arc.

He only softened slightly when it was done—not unlike Charles when Pahndir had licked him clean.

He cursed again and flopped onto his back. The light that slitted through his heavy drapes implied that it was early morning. He doubted he’d slept three hours since locking up for the night. His body was exhausted, his lingering erection raw—which suggested the climax he’d woken to hadn’t been his first.

He had five days left to his cycle’s peak, five whole days before his royal hormones strangled him. Then even the questionable relief of masturbation would be denied. At that point, any easing of arousal could only come through a mate. No matter how many orgasms he gave himself, his excitement would rise but not recede, not for the five forsaken days it took heat madness to pass.

Pahndir shook his head at himself. He felt all too close to that state already. As much as he’d enjoyed being with Charles, he’d only succeeded in teasing himself.

“Shower,” he told himself. “Shower and dress.”

From the way his cock perked up at the prospect of being soaped, he’d been right to surrender any hope of going back to sleep.

A city like Bhamjran did business everyday, but on the weekend it did it slowly. Pahndir felt slow himself as he ambled into the commercial quarter near his home. The day was bright, as always, the sun lending a sharpness to the humble beauty of the streets and shops. He didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t care. He wanted to lose himself in human distractions, to forget his worries and simply be.

Again and again, he filled his aching lungs with the warming air.

Let it go,
he told himself as he exhaled. Like it or not, his future would decide itself.

The fragrance of lemons and cinnamon rode the magic carpet of the breeze, the smell pleasant enough to lure him after it. He decided he’d find a café and have an early breakfast, something rich and filling and sweet. Except his feet weren’t taking him in the direction of restaurants. They were taking him into narrower byways, until he finally reached the quarter known for clothiers. Weekend or not, Tailor’s Row was busy, every shop supplemented by a bin of “bargain” offerings on its pavement. Here pedestrians could only walk in the street, which was barely wide enough for a donkey cart.

He stopped when he recognized a familiar figure hovering indecisively in front of Farouk & Assam’s Sari Emporium. He hadn’t been wandering aimlessly after all; he’d been following Beth’s scent trail.

Well,
he thought,
no sense fighting Fate if I’ve come to this.

She didn’t hear him as he walked up to her from behind.

“Beth,” he said, and laid his hands on her shoulders.

She dropped her jaw as she turned and caught sight of him. “Mr. Pahndir!”

He couldn’t resist cupping her face and stroking it, adoring the softness of her downy cheeks. He wanted to say her name again, but that seemed foolish. It felt so wonderful to be with her, exciting and relaxing at the same time.

“You look as if you could use some help,” he said when she began to blush beneath his caresses.

“I…I was thinking of refreshing my wardrobe.”

“Farouk and Assam’s is a fine establishment. You couldn’t choose better.”

“Pahndir.” She dropped her voice, despite the fact that no one was paying them any mind. “Are you following me?”

“No,” he said, a half-truth at best. He had trailed her—just not deliberately. He smoothed her hair behind her ear, the shell of it glowing pink in the sunshine. “Thank you for using my name.”

She laughed, and he didn’t give a damn what had amused her. The sound warmed him too much to care. “It can’t be a coincidence that you’re here.”

“Maybe it’s destiny.”

She stopped his hand before it could slide into the neck of her shirt: Charles’s shirt, he realized from the faint scent that wafted off of it. The knowledge didn’t help him behave more befittingly, instead stirring memories of other half-met desires. He licked his lips. Her breasts looked lovely from this angle: different, round and full and—

“Pahndir!” she said, a laughing scold this time. “If you’re going to stare, why don’t you come in and make yourself useful?”

She had his hand in hers, her fingers warm, and he followed her into the shop like a puppy tugged by a leash. The sari emporium was a cacophony of silk and cotton stacked floor to ceiling on overladen shelves. The place reeked of dye and incense, though the combination wasn’t unpleasant. Two male attendants bustled out at their appearance. Without a second thought, Pahndir pulled four gold crescents from his pocket and slipped them into their palms.

“Bring things in her size,” he said. “We’ll want the fitting room to ourselves.”

Beth widened her eyes at his order, but the attendants simply smiled and bowed. This was Bhamjran, the city that thought it had invented open-mindedness. Pahndir knew they must have handled this sort of request before.

“I need to be alone with you,” he murmured as their guides turned and led the way through the teetering maze of cloth. “You’ve no idea how badly.”

She almost tripped, and he caught her elbow, his cock gone hard enough to stab through her plain brown skirt. He loved that he could fluster her this way, loved that he was going to be alone with her, loved that he was going to advise her on what to wear and she would obey.

“Salwar kameez,”
he said to the attendants when they reached the back parlor that served as F&A’s fitting room. “Saris would be too difficult for her to walk in.”

He didn’t watch to see them leave. His eyes were too busy savoring his companion’s blushing confusion.

“You can undress now,” he said softly. “Or have you forgotten that I stripped for you the other night?”

She fell back a step, her legs bumping a sapphire-silk settee. All the furniture was low and colorful, as rich as a parlor in a real Bhamjrishi home. Beth’s heart was beating so hard he could see it pulsing in her throat. She had her hands crossed protectively over her breasts.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she said, and nearly killed him by wetting her lips.

“Are you shy then?” he asked, softer yet. “I’m sure the attendants will knock before they return.”

“I…I’ve gained a little weight lately.”

He laughed at her, unable to stop himself. A little weight would only make her more beautiful to him. “Let me see.”

She bit her tempting lower lip and began undoing buttons, but after only two she stopped. “What exactly are you planning to do after I undress?”

“Look at you. Maybe touch you a little.”

“Do you promise that’s all you’ll do?”

“On my honor. I realize going further in a public place would embarrass you. When you and I make love for the first time, I want you to be relaxed.”

Her face turned as pink as poppies. “
When
we do…”

“When we do,” he said firmly.

“So when I thought you didn’t want to see me again, I was mistaken?”

He could scarcely believe she was serious. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because you were so curt when you sent me off in your car. You said—”

She squeaked as he stepped to her and covered her mouth with his. She was stunned only for a moment, after which she clutched his head and kissed him back eagerly. Oh, how he loved the sounds humans made when they were aroused. Beth’s little moans were especially appealing, shooting like arrows straight to his groin. He found it almost impossible to lift his head again.

When he finally did, her fingers traced his mouth wonderingly.

“I’d have to be dead,” he said, “before I stopped wanting you.”

One of the attendants cleared his throat behind them. “I’ll just leave these tunics and pants on the bench for you.”

The bench was by the entrance, the pile of
salwar kameez
uninteresting at the moment. Pahndir’s hands were on Beth’s buttons before the heavy velvet curtain rustled closed again.

“Oh,” he breathed, his palms cupping her exposed curves. She was indeed more bounteous. “Look at you.”

He maintained one heartbeat of restraint, and then his mouth was on her nipple, his throat making hungry sounds without his consent. Truly, though, the most orthodox Yama could not have blamed him. Her skin was creamy and flushed with rose. It tasted like the scent that had led him after her. Crazed for her responses, he sucked her harder to make her bud more.

The shirt she’d borrowed from Charles hung open to bat his face, like a flag to a bull in rut. For the sake of his control, he suspected they were lucky the shirt was the only thing Charles’s personal smell clung to. Had it covered any more of her,
marked
any more of her, Pahndir wasn’t sure what he’d have done.

Royals could be very territorial.

“Pahndir,” she gasped as he switched to stake his claim on the other breast. His mental powers weren’t at their sharpest, but quite clearly, her nipples were sensitive. Her spine was arching, her hands pressing him closer. “I can’t think straight when you do that.”

He didn’t want her to think. He wanted her to squirm and moan and grow so hot her juices would overflow her sex and perfume the air. She gratified the wish almost as soon as he had it. He groaned, tearing himself away because if he didn’t do it now, he never would. He’d let matters go far enough as it was. He didn’t remember moving, but he had one knee on the settee behind her and one hand smoothing the back of her thigh through her unattractive skirt.
Her
hands were buried in his hair as if she liked the feel of it.

Both of them were breathing hard enough to have been running for their lives.

“That’s more than a ‘little’ touching,” she panted.

He released her and straightened, but couldn’t utter a word, his control too slim to waste energy on speech.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to a tufted red armchair. “You’re going to have to behave if you want to stay.”

The thrust of her arm was as autocratic as any high-born Yama. Pahndir couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through him, the dark excitement at the unexpected shift in power. He didn’t think she knew she was taking charge, or at the least she didn’t know what that would do to him. He sat, his genitals so engorged it hurt to put weight on them.

He tried to keep the most salacious of his imaginings off his face. She was still nervous, watching him for a moment before she wriggled awkwardly from her clothes. The striptease was all the more effective for being unpracticed. He groaned aloud as her last undergarment dropped.

“No,” he said when she would have covered herself. The little patch of hair between her legs enchanted him, the curves of her, the soft, embarrassed glow. She was perfectly tall, perfected rounded, her waist a strong inward dip that would have drawn a sigh from any race in the world. Every inch of Pahndir’s skin was pulsing with desire. “Beth, you’re so beautiful you steal my breath.”

The intensity of his tone seemed to frighten her.

“You look as if you want to eat me up,” she whispered.