Satan (2 page)

She cocked her head to one side, and a slow, sex-bomb smile chased those scarlet lips. “You’re a tactical man. Ex-military’s my guess. Either is fine. And yes, Shalimar.”

He remained standing there for a few seconds after she shut the door in his face. Then he shook his head and went into strategy mode. Goal—seduce Angelica O’Malley.

Satan hurried to the kitchen, snagged a bottle of Australian Grenache from the wine cooler, and grabbed two crystal goblets and an opener. He made it back to the hallway just as she exited the bathroom.

“Better?” She’d have to spend the night, because the first fuck was going to go down fast, and once just wasn’t going to cut it.

“Much.” She eyed the wine glasses and tightened her grip on the black clutch purse she carried. “How long do you think it’ll take for a cab to get here? I’m guessing there aren’t too many limo companies this far back of beyond.”

“Stay the night. I’ll run you back into the city tomorrow.” His bulging erection couldn’t be missed, and she shot his crotch a pointed look.

“We’re total strangers. I know nothing about you.” She may have been offering a verbal refute, but her body language shouted a different message. Angelica had assumed the classic siren’s pose. Hand on canted forward hip, she flicked an errant wavy auburn lock and licked her lips.

“Believe me when I tell you that’s going to change pronto. The library has a great view of the bay, and the fireplace is prepped. Shall we?” He stashed the wine under his arm and intertwined their fingers.

“I don’t do this. This is so not me.” She didn’t resist when he tugged her into motion.

Him either. He hadn’t had a one night stand since…Satan searched his memories—college maybe?

“What a lovely room.” She halted when they entered the library, the only room in the whole damned house he liked. It had once been his mother’s study, a room strictly off limits to him even as an adult.

When his parents died, and he inherited the McGuillycuddy fortune, Satan hadn’t planned on living in his ancestral home, but the estate was entailed. He half-decided to rent the house, but hadn’t gotten around to dealing with realtors. After a few months of waffling, he hired an architect and an interior designer to gut this room and make him a library. Three rooms had been redone, his cavernous study where he and the Hades Squad often met, this one, and the kitchen. She freed her fingers from his, dropped her black purse on the coffee table, took two steps to the bookshelves, and homed in on his collection of rare first editions. “
The Sound and the Fury
. May I?”

He knew from the way she trailed her finger over the worn backbone of the hardcover book and the awe in her voice that she, like him, was an avid reader. “Feel free.”

While Angelica carefully withdrew the book from the shelf, Satan placed the crystal glasses on a side table next to his reading chair. He uncorked the wine, left the Grenache to breathe, ambled over to stand behind her, and linked his hands around her waist. “You like Faulkner?”

She stiffened when he nuzzled her ear, but neither rejected nor accepted the caress. “One of my favorites. I think I’ve read
As I Lay Dying
a thousand times.”

“We have a lot in common. It’s one of my favorites, as well.” He swept her hair to one side and kissed the crook of her neck.

“That’s a stretch that we have a lot in common. We haven’t spoken more than three dozen sentences to each other.” She elbowed him slightly and twisted around, the book still reverently clutched in her hands. “I need to put this back.”

“I’ll get it.” He retrieved the Faulkner novel, inserted the book back into place on the shelf, and drew her into his arms. “Do you have any preferences, rules, dislikes? For the record, you’re right—I am ex-military, and I get regular checkups. No STDs as of my last physical two months ago.”

When their gazes met, his breathing hitched at the sight of her dilated pupils and the sexy half-hooded look she threw him. “I haven’t, um, done this for a while. No STDs either. I’m on birth control, but—”

“I have rubbers. No worries. The wine should be ready. Shall we?” He waved at the plush sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, interlaced their fingers, and kissed the pad of each scarlet-tipped nail.

“This is so crazy.” She glanced at the doorway.  “Maybe it’d be best if I call—”

Satan turned her in his arms and kissed the ruby lips he’d been salivating about for what seemed like hours. Her mouth was subtle and sweet, plump and moist, and her response to his thrusting tongue shy at first. Her tentativeness disappeared on a sensual moan, and she wound her arms around his neck.

Angelica tasted like manna to a desert-parched man. Satan cupped the back of her head to hold in place for his plundering. She wound her tongue around his and sucked the tip lightly. He bit down on that full generous lower lip and soothed the slight sting with small sips.

Kissing must once have felt like this, like paradise and heaven all rolled into one, but the memory had been buried deep in his subconscious. Though his cock and balls ached, he had a mad urge to learn the hidden crevices that prompted a small gasp from her and had her fingers tangling his hair and her nails scraping his scalp.

He discovered tickling the roof of her mouth made her wild. She shuddered, grabbed his shirt, pressed her hips to his groin, and rubbed on his erection. He lifted his head and smiled at her obvious arousal, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, and lips swollen and wet. “We fit.”

She blinked and tilted her head, a tiny frown marring the porcelain perfection of her brow.

“The right height,” he explained. “Aside from the obvious benefits of getting horizontal, we could make love in this position.”

A wicked grin danced about her mouth and was reflected in her twinkling eyes. “It’s a tempting proposition. Because we do fit. I’m five ten and you’re what, six two?”

“Six three,” he corrected.

“With these heels, there couldn’t be more than a mere inch between us.”

He led her over to the sheepskin rug and helped her to sit. He poured two glasses of wine, offered her one, and sat on the floor, his back against a solid club chair. Her hips grazed his, and he longed to pull her onto his lap. Instead, he raised his goblet. “To beginnings.”

“A toast? I didn’t think you were that kind of man. Okay. To beginnings.” She clinked her goblet to his.

They both sipped their wine. A scarlet drop slipped from one corner of her mouth, and before she swiped at the wine with her finger, Satan pounced and lapped the bead of fermented grapes. He pried her wine glass out of her hand, put both crystal tumblers on the table, and pulled her to sit sideways over his thighs.

She ran her delicate pink tongue across the seam of her lips.

“Nervous?”

“A tich.”

He chuckled and crooked a brow. “A tich? Is that an actual word?”

Angel did a delicate shoulder roll. “It could be a Trini word. I grew up in Trinidad, and we tend to make up words. Kind of a national hobby.”

What a weird conversation.

Had she finally lost any semblance of sanity?

Why else was she still here? In a house in the wilds of Long Island with no neighbors in sight? About to have a hook-up with a total stranger?

Okay, maybe not an
absolute
stranger because Jess Blaine, who had become a friend over the last four months, not only knew Lorcan—who went by the moniker Satan—but deeply respected him. Angel had heard enough tall tales about the vaunted Satan to know he was a man of strong convictions and ethics.

A wave of guilt warmed her cheeks. She hadn’t lied to him, for her given name was Angelica. He hadn’t told her his nickname, so why should she share hers? Still, was it wise to spend the night with someone she’d never met before?

Jess had mentioned Satan epitomized the image of a medieval warrior of yore. Dark, brooding, and menacing, in the sexiest way. Jess wasn’t wrong. The man oozed sensuality. Those inky shoulder-length curls, the black-as-sin eyes fringed with thick sooty lashes, his stubble-shadowed square jaw, and that wicked, wicked mouth, which hovered on a hint of a smile.

God, she hadn’t felt any attraction to a man in ages, far less this overwhelming urge to jump his bones. Now she understood his nickname—Satan. The man was devilish temptation incarnate. She’d never had a one night stand. Was she totally off her rocker?

Did it matter? If everything went the way she figured it would tomorrow, this might be the last time she ever had sex. That decided the matter. Go for it.

“We? Are you visiting the U.S.?” His hand traced the length of her shin. “You’re cold. No stockings?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Always put my fingernails through the damned things, so I gave up on them a long time ago. No, I live here as of four months ago. And it’s not we, just me. The ‘we’ referred to Trinis collectively.”

The man had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. But he wasn’t built like a wrestler. No—he was whipcord lean, lanky, and he moved with the grace of a stalking panther. He reached back for a throw slung over the back of the chair, smoothed the material over her legs, and tapped her knee.

She frowned not understanding what he wanted. “Sorry?”

“These shoes, while sexy as hell, could get dicey in a few minutes.”

Surprised and taken aback, that a man who looked like danger personified would perform the mundane task of removing her shoes, Angel couldn’t drag her gaze from his tanned hands on her white skin. His movements were confident and unhurried. He unbuckled first one shoe, then the other, and rearranged her so she straddled his thighs.

He plucked a large cushion from the couch and set it against the coffee table. “Lie back.”

“What?” Not for the first time since meeting Satan, Angel wondered if she’d fallen into a rabbit hole.

“Cushion. Lie back on it.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You will.” He reached over and gave her a gentle push.

She leaned into the downy over-sized pillow and sent him a wary glance. He palmed both of her feet. When he began to knead her heels and soles, she decided insanity was a small price to pay for the heavenly massage. “Oh, Lord. That’s sheer ecstasy.”

“You limped a tad on the way to the bathroom. Figured you’d been wearing those wicked red stilettos all day.” He worked his thumb along the arch of one foot, the pressure intense almost to the point of pain, but so incredibly soothing at the same time.

She sank into the cushion and closed her eyes. No one had ever massaged her feet before. He rubbed the backs of her ankles, and she nearly swooned in ecstasy. She moaned aloud when he pressed the pads of his fingers along her arches. “You have magic hands.”

“And you haven’t even seen or felt the magic yet. Wait ’til you feel my thumb here.” He shifted, leaned over, slipped his hand under her dress along the inside of her thigh, and unerringly found her clit. “Fuck. You’re drenched.”

Angel’s cheeks heated. She sucked in her lips and focused on a spot to the right of his shoulder.

“Don’t.” He pulled her forward so her knees rode his thighs, and snagged her chin so their gazes met. “Don’t be embarrassed. Makes me feel like a stud to have you so wet for me.”

“A stud? Love your word choice. I noticed you haven’t removed your hand.” His thumb worked her insistently, tracing a slow circle around her clit.

Angel shuddered. She hadn’t had an orgasm in forever, not a single, lonely spark of desire to have sex for too long to pinpoint the time. One touch from him, and he had her on point. He pressed down on her clit, she shivered, and her breath came out in fast hitches. She lifted to his touch.

“Not going to. Christ, you’re passionate. I wanted to take this slow. Not going to happen now. I’ve been wanting to undress you from the second I saw you on my doorstep.”

He stretched out, shifted them so they lay face to face on the sheepskin rug, and combed her long waves around her shoulders. He kissed the cusp of first one and then the other. “Elegance and siren all rolled into one.”

He slipped one strap of the black dress down and nibbled his way to her elbow. The slight, grazed kisses had her on fire. Who knew a forearm could be erotic?

By the time Satan tongue-tickled her open palm and placed a hot, wet kiss in the middle, she was squirming on the plush carpet.

Two could play this game.

She licked the pulse at the hollow of his throat. Her range of movement was limited by his arm curved around her back, so she nuzzled his neck, and reached up to nip his ear.

He grunted and slid up the length of her. She found his mouth and ate at him, running her hands over his sinewy deltoids, and tugged the sweater over his ribs to feel his hard, hot chest. God, he was ripped. She couldn’t drag her greedy gaze from pectorals so perfect, every muscle so delineated, the statue of David would weep in shame.

His hand slid down the length of her leg, and the roughened tips of his fingers left a trail of smoldering embers on her skin,

She struggled to sit up, and he helped her. She shimmied the other strap of her dress down and reached for the half-zip in the back.

He caught her hand and nipped the base of her neck. “No way. You’re my present, and I’m unwrapping you.”

“Up a bit.” He offered her his hand.

Puzzled but curious, she allowed him to pull her to kneeling. “What now?”

“This.” He tightened his hand around her waist and turned her around.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. His black eyes smoldered, and she knew he was on the edge too. “Hurry.”

He didn’t hurry. He tugged the dress off her in increments so slow she expected to implode. Her nipples hardened into burning peaks. Her breasts ached and felt too heavy.

She wanted to brain him. “Hurry, hurry.”

Satan was on his knees behind her. He cupped her breasts.

“Yes. Yes. Pinch them.” She arched into him and threw her head back.

“Glorious. Fucking glorious. And so fucking sensitive.” He rolled and tugged her nipples. She writhed on him, pressed her butt into his groin, and then reached behind to cup his balls through the rough fabric of his jeans.