Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

the lobe with his tongue. He sucked the delicate little bud of flesh, tugging it as she felt the heat of his mouth, the gentle nip of his teeth. Felt the exhalation of his breath in her ear. She shivered, and he murmured, “Whether you come or not, there’s so much pleasure we could discover in each other.”
    As lightly as if he were running a feather along her skin, he trailed his fingertip all the way from her earlobe down the long column of her neck. Along the sweep of her collarbone and down the center of her chest. Then he traced the outline of her breast, until all of her was shivering in anticipation. By the time his fingertip neared the nipple, she was aching for his touch, straining toward the promise of that caress.
    She dared not move, lying still on the bed, not wanting to give him any sign that his tactics were working.
    His fingers stroked the underside of her breast, playing there. Squeezing a little, ever so gently. His hot breath fanned down her neck, seemed to skim along every nerve ending in her body, to set every cell of her quivering.
    Don’t move, she told herself. He mustn’t win.
    Her mouth went dry and her lips parted. She heard her own breath quicken, ran her tongue along her lips to moisten them. Sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep herself from making a sound that might betray her. Squeezed her eyes shut, but that only intensified the pleasure he was teasing out of her. A melting sensation tingled through her, radiating out from the place his fingers were stroking. From the nipple he was now touching. Which hardened at his touch.
    Her body was a traitor, responding to enticement by an enemy.
    But her mind was still free.
    She bit harder on her lip. Even that did not stop the tiny sound of pleasure in the back of her throat, a sound so quiet it was not even a moan. Yet more genuine and more telling than any of the loud exclamations of faked pleasure she had manufactured just moments ago.
    He whispered in her ear. “See what I mean?”
    She heard the smugness in his voice and shook her head. She sat up blinking, breathing hard. I must get away. It is imperative that I get away.
    “Oh, I know you see,” he murmured, pulling her back into his arms. He reached to pull the tangle of her hair free from her neck so he could kiss her there, running his lips along the sensitive flesh where her pulse beat its quickened cadence. “You know exactly what I mean.”
    His hands roamed the curves and valleys of her body, seeking, exploring. His lips followed, his mouth hungry to explore. His tongue flitted over one nipple, then the other. She bit her lips again—both of them this time—to keep from arching into the sensation.
    He eased her back on the bed. She reached out desperately, gripping the silk sheet to pull herself out of the breaking storm. Instead, that hand seemed to anchor her, gripping to hold her in the middle of that maelstrom, waves of pleasure washing over her, threatening to drown her.
    Reaching down, he stroked her belly, teasing. He shifted his own body, kissing her stomach in the wake of his fingers. All the way down to the most sensitive place of her, a place he had already been. But this time he lingered, stroking the closed lips of her sex before he coaxed her legs open. With his fingers and tongue, he stroked lightly, ever so lightly, so that she finally let herself go.
    When she realized she was writhing on the bed, she sighed out her defeat.
    He raised his head and she saw his gray eyes shining with satisfied victory. “Do you still want me to stop?”
    “I want you to…” she began, gasping a little. The syringe of poison had slipped out of her thoughts completely.
    She lost the ability to think entirely when he dipped his head again, returning his attention to her, plunging a finger into her darkness. She tensed around him, her body on the brink of climax as it had never been before.
    He was on top of her then, entering her as she climbed toward her peak. He inched into her slowly again, as hard as he had been the first time. But now he kept his finger on her clit, continuing to stimulate as he pushed into her, each stroke seeming to stretch into an eternity of pleasure.
    She was full of him, matching his rhythm, caught in his silver-gray gaze as he watched her face, his attention unwavering for even a moment.
    He was a man utterly set on his task. A man deep in the eye of the storm, unfazed by the tempest he had unleashed in her body. A tempest he was