StoneHardPassion (5 page)

Trailing the dildo down her body, she circled each aching
nipple, trembling at the smooth touch. What she really wanted were strong,
work-roughened hands there, the rasp of his skin instead of this slick caress.

Lower now, until the dildo finally rested against her pussy
and she could murmur the spell to bring it to life. When she opened her eyes,
an image of Vidar knelt on the bed between her spread thighs, his cock
perfectly positioned for his first thrust.

“Yes.” Jasmina lifted her hips, inviting him in. “Yes.”

His hips flexed, the warm tip parting the labia, sliding
into her, until she had taken it all. With a rock of her pelvis, Jasmina rubbed
her clit against him, gasping as sensation ricocheted out and into the rest of
her body.

“Touch my breasts.”

His huge hands practically covered her torso, the thick
fingers tweaking her nipples to even tighter points. And she was still rocking,
letting the lust build, trying to be carried away by it.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the physical stimuli,
attempted to clear her mind of everything else. It felt good—the tugs on her
nipples, the slide of her clit against the hardness. Being penetrated, knowing
as soon as she was ready she’d be properly fucked.

But there was no sound except her own shallow inhalations,
and if she opened her eyes, there would be no expression on his face. Not like
when she’d heard the wild rasp of Vidar’s breath as she’d sucked him, or looked
up to see him practically growling with pleasure.

A shudder went through her, and Jasmina gave in to the
memories, wove them into her fantasy.

That’s what he’d look like above her as they fucked—his face
contorted with bliss, his body shuddering as he drove into her. He’d bite her
neck, groan her name over and over, tell her he adored her, loved the way it
felt to be inside her. Vidar wouldn’t be gentle, not this time. Their need was
too urgent, too raw. She imagined his voice, harsh in her ear.

Next time. Next time I’ll go slow, make love to you.
Right now, I need to fuck you, hard and wild.

“Yes. Yes. Fuck me, Vidar.”

The first withdrawal and thrusting return made her cry out.

“Harder. Faster.”

He was slamming into her and she opened her eyes, looked
down along her body so as to watch his cock disappear into her pussy. She’d
tell him to look too, see that expression of wonder on his face when he did.
He’d groan, that deep, delicious sound that just made her even crazier with
desire. They would be perfect together, she knew, their bodies meshing with
rare synchronicity, turning the hardest fuck into the sweetest pleasure.

Rotating her hips, pressing up to meet each drive, Jasmina
felt the first spasm of orgasm, held on to it and reached for the next. As the
waves hit she closed her eyes, arching her back to maintain the contact with
her clitoris, riding the climax, trying to stretch it out as long as she could.
Finally it was enough.

“Stop, stop.”

As the dildo slid free of her body, she whispered the
dispersal spell without opening her eyes, not wanting to see the conjured image
of Vidar disappear. Pushing the phallus aside with her leg, Jasmina rolled onto
her side and wondered why what had seemed enough just moments before now left
her feeling so empty.

Wiping tears away, she admitted that magic sometimes really
wasn’t enough.

Chapter Five

Two fucking weeks.

Jasmine strode across the Café, smiling in greeting at
patrons who called out to her, but inside she was seething.

It had been almost two weeks since Vidar and she had their
intimate encounter. Eleven days, to be precise, but it felt like a year. Seeing
his name in the appointment book, having to laugh through Ula’s snide comments,
just made her already high stress level peak. Hopefully she looked her usual
cool self because inside she was a quivering mess.

No matter how she told herself it was his right to stay away
as long as he liked, that he’d told her it would be a while before he could
come back, it still rankled. Reminding herself they were supposed to be just
friends didn’t help either. If the situation were reversed, she knew she
wouldn’t have been able to stop from seeking him out a lot sooner. But while
she’d been drowning in lust for him, unable to restrain herself from conjuring
his image while she masturbated, he’d probably not given her a thought.

She refused to wait by the desk staring at the door like a
lovesick dork. At least if she sat at the bar the entrance would be out of her
line of sight.

Fucking troll.

Hopping up on a barstool, she grinned at Bolaka. The
bartender smiled in return, slapping his towel against his shoulder as he came over.

“What can I get for you, Jazz? A shot of tequila? Senderac?”

Wishing she could have a glass of the sweet palm wine
favored by her people, Jasmina shook her head. “Nothing, thanks. I have a
client coming soon.”

“How about something soft?” The elf winked. “Come on, I have
to look like I’m busy.”

“Hard to do on a night like this.” The place was almost
empty, with a couple of guys playing darts on the other side of the room and a
slightly morose-looking werewolf slumped at the other end of the bar. “Okay,
give me a rosehip barley water, please.”

Bolaka wrinkled his nose, even as he was reaching for the
bottle beneath the bar. “Don’t know how you can drink this stuff, sweetheart.
If something tastes this bad, it should at least be alcoholic.”

“I like it.” She gave him a haughty look, which just made
him laugh. “It’s not my fault you don’t have any taste.”

“I have impeccable taste.” Bolaka was looking over her
shoulder, and his voice fell to a low croon. “And I’d
looove
to get a
taste of what just walked in.”

If the place hadn’t been so empty, Jasmina would have turned
to look but she didn’t want to be obvious. Besides, she knew Bolaka’s taste in
men.

“One of those pretty boys you like so much?”

“Not this time.” The elf ran his fingers through his hair, a
slight frown between his brows. “In fact…” A look of almost comical shock
widened his eyes and caused his mouth to sag open for a quick second. “If I
didn’t know better, I’d say that was Vidar.”

She swung the stool around so fast she banged her elbow on
the bar, and when she saw the man standing just inside the door, the breath
locked in her throat.

Oh. My. Stars.

Even her ability to curse seemed to desert her and she sat
there stunned, her heart racing.

Gone were the long, wild tresses, shaggy beard and whiskers.
His hair was swept back from his face and fell in thick blond waves to just
cover the tops of his ears. Without the beard and moustache all his craggy
beauty was revealed, right out there for the entire world to see. Stern,
chiseled lips and a firm jaw were in perfect balance with his strong nose, and
his eyes, with those lovely, fair curly lashes, seemed even bluer than ever.

All she could do was stare, blood rushing with dizzying
force through her veins, pleasure and desire swirling inside.

Did he do that for me?

The thought caused something warm to flower deep in her
belly, tendrils of joy unfurling and making her grin.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and he started across the
room toward her, his gaze never straying from her face.

“Sweet goddess.” Bolaka’s words were barely audible. “How
come I can’t find a man to look at me like that?”

Jasmina didn’t answer, so caught up in staring at the new
Vidar she hardly heard the bartender’s words. So enthralled she almost didn’t
notice the slight tingling warning of her magic, the distortion of the air
between her and Vidar.

Just as it registered what she was feeling, a body
materialized in front of her. Startled, it took her a long moment to realize
who she was seeing, and the shock of it caused her to press slightly back
against the bar before she could arrest the motion.

“Mahmud.” She lifted her chin, forcing the name to flow
smoothly from her lips. Every nerve in her body said to flee but she stayed
seated, even rested a casual elbow on the bar. “What a surprise.”

The man she had once been promised to looked the
same—prosperous, slickly handsome and smug. His dark hair was artfully coifed
into a sleek style. The light-gray suit was of the finest quality, fitting his
broad shoulders and slim hips to perfection. But a rivulet of loathing trickled
down Jasmina’s spine as she remembered their last encounter and glimpsed the
hatred he tried to conceal behind half-lowered eyelids.

“Jasmina Binaar Elalmadhoun, we finally meet again.”

He spoke in the traditional jinn language, his words imbued
with such mockery every hair on Jasmina’s body immediately stood on end. She
smiled, stretching her lips to the utmost, sending his disdain back at him.

“Uh-huh, I guess so.” Refusing to relent even a little, she
used the common language. “What do you want?”

Mahmud bowed, bending at the waist in the traditional
greeting, but his leering gaze raked her from head to toes. A shudder of
revulsion started in the middle of her back, had to be suppressed.

“Princess.” Now, as he used her old title, she was glad he
spoke in jinn and no one else could understand. “I bring word from my new
ruler, His Highness King Ahmet. He asked that I advise you of the death of his
father, King Farkan and request your return to the palace. Apparently your
brother sees fit to welcome you back into his family.”

A wave of cold enveloped her torso, washed up into her face,
freezing the muscles.

Father—dead?

It didn’t seem real, even possible. He had been indomitable,
so big, so strong and powerful. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain she
knew would come. And yet, hadn’t he been dead to her for all the years since
she left? There was sadness, but mostly at the realization she’d hardly known
the man who’d sired her, and that she’d been little more than a useful pawn to
him.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened her eyes. Mahmud was
watching her, his hands folded in front of his waist, but despite his posture
she felt he was gloating.

Why would he gloat? And why would Ahmet send him as
emissary, knowing our history?

Trusting her instinct, she nodded and, switching to jinn,
replied. “Thank you for coming all this way to inform me of my father’s
passing. Tell my brother I will attend at court within the week.”

“No.” For a split second Mahmud’s urbane façade fell away,
revealing something ugly and dangerous. Jasmina’s muscles tightened and she
braced, ready for whatever he might try next. “His instructions were for me to
accompany you back to Eldmar. We will go now.”

“I’m afraid not, Mahmud. I have work to do, and I’ll come to
Eldmar when I’m ready.”

“You
will
come now.”

The anger in his voice was evident, and his magic rose as he
reached out as though to grab her arm. But she was prepared and jerked back
before he could touch her, sending a silencing blast at him, stealing his
ability to cast any spells. She was about to follow it with an immobilizing
spell when a massive forearm appeared around his neck and Mahmud was suddenly
suspended in the air. Unable to translocate away, the jinn hung suspended from
Vidar’s headlock, his eyes wide, face turning red. Mahmud’s fingers scrabbled
at the forearm of the man holding him, but the troll didn’t seem to even
notice.

“What do you want me to do with him, Jazz?”

She’d thought she’d seen him angry, but now she realized
what she’d experienced before could, at best, be described as annoyance. His
face looked as though it were carved from stone, his voice was as cold as the
winter wind. She shivered.

Before she could answer, both Hervé and Jakuta appeared
beside her, obviously alerted by Ula of the problem. And she could see the
goblin standing on her desk, hands extended, ready to join in should there be
the magical fight. Even Bolaka, who always described himself as a pacifist, was
on her side of the bar, although when he got there she had no clue.

“You okay, Jazz?”

Anyone who knew Hervé wouldn’t be fooled by the dragonkin’s
calm tone, and there was a decided scent of ozone emanating off Jakuta, as the
storm god readied for battle. Tears pricked her eyes as she looked at them all,
and then at Vidar, who watched her with that unfathomable gaze.

She truly was surrounded by friends. This was her family.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. “I am now,
thanks. And if Vidar will put Mahmud down, I’ll send him back to where he came
from.”

The sound of disgust Vidar made needed no deciphering, and
he released Mahmud so abruptly the jinn had no chance to keep his balance.
Hitting the floor with a thump, his leather-soled dress shoes sliding on the
polished concrete floor, he went sprawling, landing on his hands and knees.

Stepping down from the barstool so as to move closer to him,
Jasmina grinned. “That silencing spell is a nice little trick, isn’t it? I
learned it from a grand mage one night over a few drinks. Hard to perfect, and I
don’t think I got it completely right. You’re only supposed to be without the
ability to cast spells for a short time, but I find my spells last a hell of a
lot longer than they should. Don’t worry though, I’m sure you can find someone
in the souk to reverse it for you.”

Mahmud lifted his head, a sneer twisting his thin lips.
“This isn’t the end.” He spoke in the common tongue, as though wanting everyone
there to understand. “The protection your father provided you died with him.
You were promised to me, and no matter how long it takes, I will possess you.”

Vidar growled, and Jasmina knew she had limited time to
prevent an out-and-out brawl. Leaning down, she snapped her fingers under
Mahmud’s nose, knowing the insult used by jinn street urchins would rankle more
than anything else she could do. Rage sparked in his eyes, and she grinned as
she said, “In your dreams, asshole.”

With a flick of her fingers and a translocation spell, she
sent him back to Eldmar.

Well, not exactly to the city, but to the middle of the
desert a couple of days walk from it. Unrepentant, she shrugged to herself. He
could use the time to consider the error of his ways.

A bubble of laughter rose in her chest, began to expand. She
didn’t dare give in to it, because underneath it was a surprising lake of pain
over her father’s death. Once she started laughing she might fall apart.

“Jazz.” Hervé pulled her to one side. Over his shoulder she
saw Bolaka translocate back to behind the bar. Jakuta took another look around
and then he too disappeared. Ula was settling at her desk, but still glanced
their way.

She didn’t dare look at Vidar. Not yet.

Thankfully no one understood her conversation with Mahmud.
Her origins were unknown to her friends so she could just be Jasmina, one of
the group, not a princess. Losing that camaraderie, the sense of belonging,
would be devastating.

And what was that bullshit Mahmud had spouted about her
father’s protection?

“Jazz. Did that guy just say your father died?”

Blinking, she focused on Hervé, realized she’d zoned out on
him. “Sorry. Yeah. It’s a bit of a shock.” She swallowed, forced the words out
carefully, enunciating them as drily as possible, shaken but trying to hold it
all together. “I wasn’t expecting that kind of shit at all.”

For a moment Hervé said nothing, but she felt he could see
right past her defenses with his sharp emerald gaze. Hopefully he wouldn’t
commiserate. She didn’t think she could deal with it right now.

“And that guy? Who is he, and will he make good on that
threat to you?”

She released her pent breath, relief making her almost
lightheaded. “He might, but you know I can take care of myself. He’s
inconsequential right now. But if it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a few
days off, try to wrap my head around everything.”

“Huh.” Hervé’s lips firmed into a grim line. “I know you can
handle yourself but be careful. In fact, I’d feel better if you stuck around
where we can keep an eye on you.”

Forcing a smile, she shook her head. “I need a little time
to make sense of everything. I’ll wander around for a little, go visit some of
my old haunts and just relax. It’ll be fine.”

Hervé didn’t look impressed. “If you insist, but just shout
if you need help, any time of day or night. Come back when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Hervé.” She touched his arm, seeing his frustration
and concern, appreciating his forbearance. “I’ll be in touch.”

With a nod, he strode away, heading back toward the bar, no
doubt to try to pump Bolaka for information. Once the two men had been lovers
and, although they’d both moved on, sometimes she could still see the
connection between them.

Taking a deep breath, she turned, finally, and looked at
Vidar.

He hadn’t moved, and his gaze was searing. She fought the
urge to just go, wrap her arms around him, take comfort in his embrace. Instead
she walked over to where he was standing, tipping her head back so as to look
up into his face. Crossing her arms she tried to smile, but gave up when the
motion faltered on her lips.